Elen sila lumenn - Oria's tale

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

((The tales of Oria's past towards a new future...))

Eyes cringing, she dug out another splinter from her hands. Why had she gripped the tree so tightly? After the past hundred years in the Stonetalons, she thought she would know better. Alas, Oria could be dense.

The cedars and pines had strange barks in this land. Unlike the Ashenvale forest, these would dig into the flesh, leaving behind pieces that would puff the skin and sicken the person if left for too long. She had been sick many times by now, learning harshly about this wild land. Such adventures of folly would have never been an issue...if still near Forestsong.

Closing her eyes, she dropped her hands. Tears were down her bare cheeks without warning. They were gone. The horror of it was still too close and raw. Pulling on her long green locks, most of it an absolute mess, the rest hastily braided as it grew out, she wished fervently for their return. She smudged at her face, wishing her father was near, her brother teasing her. Even the scolding of her mother.

A soft flutter of leaf nearby caused her to leap many feet away, eyes wild, dagger held high. She breathed quick between teeth, in a moment more, Oria was gone. The trees and leaves of the forest swallowed her passing.

Dorelin sighed. He thought he had been silent. The movement was featherlight at best. The lord of Brightmoon has paid him well to find the girl. It would take another decade to track her down. He would come close, then something would send her away. This hunt was difficult, annoying, and starting to press upon his patience. After five tries and fifty years, he was done with it. This Janlith would have to find his own way. Closing a small journal of notes, he gathered what little he had to return to Astranaar.

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

Galaad moved on dainty hooves, breathing slow and deep of the world. Her time in the barrow den was complete for now, giving her a chance to walk in the sun, enjoy a tale or song by the waters of the lakes, or even-- Hands wrapped around her small waist, face burying into her shoulder.

Oria had returned. How long it had been since she left, Galaad could not say. Smiling softly, cooing to the girl, she embraced her softly. "Oria, Little Bird, why are you shaking so?"

The whisper was harsh that traveled through her hair, setting the butterflies to flutter away. "I was hunted, Galaad... someone was...in the woods!"

The dryad leaned her cheek against Oria's head. "Of course, little one. The world misses you and this place. There will be a time when they come. Shall you run to the edge of the world?"

The chuckle made Oria's cheeks burn. She felt foolish and weak, rubbing again with grumbby hands at her face. Taking hold of the girl, Galaad led her down and away to the lakeshore. Shaking her head, she unbound the tattered clothing, pulling apart the braids. "Into the water, urchin. Wash clean and we speak hmm? I shall return with clothing, food, and a brush!"

Oria sighed and moved into the water as she was told. Diving deep, she sought the bottom, letting her tears join the spring waters. No one would judge her here. And only the dryads and keepers would come across her. Holding her breath until she could no more, Oria explored the world of the pond, the fish and plants, roots of the trees, stones of the earth. Surfacing slowly, the dryad was still no where to be seen.

Rising and settling in a grassy grotto, hidden from sight, she laid on her side. Pulling her legs up close, she watched fish rise to the air, birds diving upon them. Song filled the air, the warmth of sun on her skin. Drowsy, she slowly fell to slumber. Time passed as something warm neared. It curled close and covered her as a blanket. Smiling, Oria knew it must be Galaad, throwing her arm over her friend.

That was when the soft nervous cry reached her ears. Oria's eyes flew open, fear burning deep, and a large scratchy tongue licked her face.

A spotted nightsaber, young and softly furred gazed at the elf. They blinked at each other a long time. Galaad worried, pulling forth pipes to play a song to lure the cat away, but the claws did not dig into the girl. The cat it seemed was content with a new friend.

The dryad smiled slowly watching the two simply stare and at each other. Moving closer, she settled on her haunches. Taking forth a brush, she began tending the girl.

"She is lonely I think, Galaad." Oria's voice was small as she brushed her hands through the dark fur.

"Why do you think that?"

"I..." She tilted her head slowly, looking into the cat's eyes. "I don't know."

Leaning her head on Oria's shoulder, Galaad whispered. "Then maybe you should learn why. It would help you understand. Perhaps she understands you? After all the terror of what came to pass, and the rising of these mountains, maybe she is as lost as you?"

Humming softly, the dryad kept them both calm as they started to learn...how to speak again.

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

She woke in mist. It never faded, only moved with a strange life all its own. Never had Oria seen such a thing, as if the sky had fallen around her. For many nights she traveled through the mist, hands and feet finding their way through touch alone. For a time, she thought perhaps she never woke, only dreamed. Yet time to time, her pinches did hurt, her stomach did rumble.

It was in these strange travels her hans came to smooth stone before her. If she had not walked with arms out, she would have smacked her nose into it. Beads of water laid on the surface, chill to the touch. Moving her fingers over the edges, she sucked the moisture, so very thirsty.

"What is this? A wall in the mountains? How strange..." Following the edge of it, Oria moved around, ever seeking and wondering. Her fingers trailed lines in the mist and drops, feet finding steps with a slow wandering balance. At times she tired, seeking rest. Others she sprinted ahead, weary with the wait. Yet soon the stone changed, cracked, split. A way through.

Taking off her packs, she began to wiggle and squirm through the crevice of the wall, curosity burning her to full waking. What was this world? What was this place?

Shadows parted slowly in her eyes, the mists not hampering vision. And what she saw, made her gasp.

Skeletons laid in the room, some at rest, some in fear. They spiraled around her as fallen leaves from trees. The dead of her people. "A...splintered city...here? So far east and high in the mountains? But..how..."

She pulled herself close, not wishing to touch a single bone or rumpled silk of those long fallen. Room after room, she found them. Doorways were smote, charred from fel fire. The ground showed deep gouges from clawed feet, wide axe. And always the dead were here.

Oria knew she should turn, leave, never come again. Yet on and on she walked the halls until with certainty...she realized she was lost. The world was silence, this tomb of the fallen, filled with elegance and grace of a doomed people. Again she rested when tired, rose quickly when wakened.

The wayward journey continued, until she came upon a place hardly touched by the sword and fire of war. Marble here was simple, with little decoration. Yet those symbols still shown brightly. Magic. Warding. Old and waning.

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

It was years later when the keepers found her. The dryads and keepers never forgot the girl, yet when she was on their edges of land, for a moment they sought to lay her to earth in judgement of their father.

Galaad was called, risen from the silent tending of the sleepers. Into the groves she wended on clattering hooves. They were shaping the land, called to rocks, bending to the trees as they grew.

A cat larger, stronger growled low. Galaad recognized the eyes though the form was a staggering thing. "Corelua?! What has...bright mother moon!" She looked upon the girl, eyes widening ever so slightly. Something had changed her. They could not allow her to leave for a time.

With quick words as the girl lay caught in the sleep of the jinsel blossom, she gave word to the keepers. "Always within, she must be kept. Until I say otherwise." They nodded to her wisdom. They had all witnessed this before, and again it would be troubling. Luring the great cat to her, Galaad nodded to the others to take Oria away into the grove, ever deeper, near the grottos and ponds.

Ages it felt had passed, mind caught in so many dreams of halls and books. No matter how they pulled, even in sleep she would not loosen her hold of the bags. With a slow slitting of eyes, the huntress looked into the world. A soft startled cry tore from her lips. This was not where she wanted to be.

The dryad was before her, cloth at hand, wiping her sleep weary face. "Are you hungry, Oria? Or do you wish to tell this tale?"

She pulled the bag closer, eyes hard as the steeled blade at her side, also something new. "Very well. Corelua rests. Her journey was as hard. When you are ready..."

The voice was brittle. It would not take long. "I know. I...I'll call." Rising, she opened the bag, body straining and taunt. She was hungry, terribly thirsty, but first Oria needed to make sure the finds were safe. Gold and silver glinted from within as the moon rose high in the skies. The bindings of the tomes, never to wear away into crumbled dust, created in old ways. Each one was a treasure she could hardly understand. All but a few smaller ones. Two held tales from her youth. And the third was written as if only for someone so seeking as she.

In quiet contemplation, she had learned this book, sought to understand the difficult words, the strange symbols and ideals expressed. The mind behind it was thoughtful, enlightened, and spoke of things she sensed but never had words for. It was as if, he knew her. This author of a time lost. She had despaired thinking him of the dead. Yet the house's symbol, the bright moon upon the banner, was never seen nor found among those fallen.

This Janlith of Brightmoon. One day she would seek him. Hunt him. Demand he teach her these words. Pages were left in stranges ways. Sections missing. She had scoured other books, stolen tomes, anything to piece it together. In time, for now she needed patience. As Corelua entered the glade, eyes far brighter than when they first met, a silence passed between them, a whispering of scent and motion.

For her, Oria would find him. As the book was incomplete, so was the connection with the cat. Kneeling, she tilted her head, eyes slitting. The spotted saber neared, rubbing hard her head then face against Oria's eyes also slit closed.

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

They spoke in turns. At times of nothing more than a flower's color or the new winding of a river. And others, the terrors of this new world, the loss of the old. She would not speak of the bag, the tower, the ruins. Facing the memories was too raw and difficult a thing.

So the blossoms were placed in her food. Her drink. The pollen drifting through her sleep during the bright days. They would lull her to forgetting, leaving the past as a shadow until she was ready to unweave their magics.

Each eve, she rose stronger, brighter. She smiled again, ran and leap. Soon the terror of the girl growing into hazardous wild lady became the subject of much discussion. How would they raise this child? It was forbidden to teach her of Cenarius' way as druid. But their own counsel and love of nature, of hunting and keeping, that they could.

Yet of every lesson, one was the hardest accepted as her body changed, mind lengthened with age. "Galaad, what is the way of love among you? I know you seek the rituals of the moon and sun, of the land's changes. Yet what you seek in those times..."

The dryad smiled, eyes glimmering. "You wish to attend?"

Blinking rapidly, she held up her hands covered in the soft dusting of blues and pinks used to color their fur. "No no, I do not mind making these colors and helping with the crowns of laurels. But--"

The fawnling laughed and shook her head. "Sister-love, it is not what you assume to know. It is not a terrible thing to share, to experience joy." She turned to look at the sky, curls bouncing across bre shoulders. "Does the wind in the willows not bring tears to your eyes? Does not the glimmering fullness of Elune not lift your voice in song of adoration?" Her eyes fell to look at the chase of emotions over Oria's face.

"You feel it as we. You sense it, the burn and chill. For those that are keepers and laughing sisters, we all take part in life's eternal circle, as mist to cloud, cloud to rain, rain to mist. The sharing of it is solumn to joyful depending on the age and ritual, sister-love."

Oria bit her lip, green locks wayward in the breeze. Her hands fidgeted, leaving dusted lines of color on her knees and leathers. She trembled in fear and curiosity. Oh how Galaad always thought she would make such a sister true. "I...I do feel it..."

Taking her hands, Galaad pulled Oria closer, eyes looking into the silvered depths. Breath tasting of spice, she whispered. "Then seek, experience, and turn away to rest when you feel best." The kiss was quick and innocent, tasting of honeymead.

Flushed, Oria shook her head, yet the world grew warmer. Touching her lips, she chuckled. "For a short time--"

The dryad laughed gaily, pulling her close. "Well then! We must prepare you as well. Come come!"

The world became a spinning moment. The dryads gathering near pools. They splashed and washed, leaving behind their thin tunics and armors. With soft movements, they dipped hands into the ground colors from flowers and seeds. Colors of night and day, they dappled onto their haunches, rubbed onto cheeks and eyes. Nothing was where it should be according to Oria's mother. Yet seeing herself reflected in the pool, hair curled, leaves lost in it, colors across her face as petals caught in wind...she became entranced. It felt right.

Something was on the wind, spicey, sweet. Moving with the others, wearing little but a night shift and color, Oria joined them. Something on the breeze changed the world into feeling, warmth, a land of sensation.

Drinks came to hand, nectar to lips. Sweet meats cooked, fruits sugared. Fowers were given between each, laughter and dancing. Music of the world was around, a soft gaity that wound round their hearts, feeding upon the merriment. It was the time of the glades spring waking. The remaining chill on the wind enlivened them. Their magics called the flowers and trees to let their bounty fly upon the wind.

Settled against the banks of the waters, staring into the sky, Oria smiled, lost in the moment. Her hands moved, eyes wandered star to star. There was warmth near at times, drinks placed in her fingers, yet always the sky was wide, moon bright.

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

The crunching of sound was a terrifying thing around her. The bones of her neighbor sounded like dry twigs rasping together as the cloven hoof laid upon them. The whip. The eyes. Everything about the godlike fiend burned and hurt. Raising her arms, she thought to cover her face. But once caught in that gaze, she could not shrink away. None of them could.

The pain burned beyond flesh. It licked her mind, breaking it quickly. Falling to the ground, she felt life slipping away, consumed by the hunger of the felbeasts above them all. Her mother's hand...she focused on it, felt it curl in her long hair.

The earth shook suddenly. Dust and rock flying upwards strangely. And she with it.

The pain would not leave.

Screaming woke her, but not her own. Someone was trying to reach her, stop her. It cried her name over and over. The world seemed so bright as sunlight streamed in her eyes. It hurt to be blinded by it. It felt like...

Everything stopped. The pain, her thoughts, all faded away as Galaad poured something with care into her mouth. It was the drink, it sent every terrible thought away. Squinting closed her eyes, she wanted it terribly. But the time had come. With a backhand snap, she sent the cup across the grotto. "No...no more...please."

Galaad and others laid hands on her, words soothing, the magic of their kind. The touch of it suddenlt frightened her. A growl deeply sounded through the area as Corelua prowled close, haunches raised. Deep in her heart, Galaad knew the day would come. But it always seemed these moments came so broken and ill committed for the girl. She would make it right.

With a look to the others, the dryad sent them away. Taking up all the things of Oria's, she began packing them into a bag. "There are waterskins and fresh haunches for taking near the keepers of the west. The paths to the southeast are not watched. I spoke with birds. They have told me new lanterns are seen to the northwest. If you leave and cross through the wilds, you should find them."

Oria looked to Galaad, the anger and hurt giving way to soft tears and warmth. "You understand, sister."

Galaad nodded softly, changed from the others through her caring for Oria. "I do. But first, I wish to give you a gift. You will not understand it now, but in time. For now, gather what you will, and I will return."

Resting, seeking some clarity of thought, Oria fought back the instinct to run. "I am not the girl I was. It is time to become the maiden." Looking to a worn book, she knew what path lay ahead. "It is time to hunt."

Gathering all she had, oria waited for the return of the dryad. All the while, the dream spun through her mind. It was hard to see...hard to understand...

Taking forth a thin whittled bone and bowl of deep green color, Galaad returned to the grotto. She settled near Oria, looking deeply into her eyes. "This would have been done by your family, by the hand of your blood mother. I do not know if any of the Earthenstorm live still, my sister. So I ask to mark you in the way of our shared peoples as your sister."

Oria smiled softly, eyes not as brittle as they had been. Taking forth a thin blade, she cut from her hair and that of Galaad's. Weaving the pieces together, she fashioned two small rings. "We already share blood. We have given each other dreams and healing. Galaad...we have always been sisters."

Tilting her head with a soft smile, the dryad accepted the gift. She began the rituals of marking in a far simpler way than would have come in Forestsong. Cleansing her face, speaking of secrets of womanhood, telling Oria of all their shared history. And finally, she spoke of the mark she would be given.

"You have experienced death and lived through it. True death came and left its mark. Forever you feel the shadow of the one your soul was loosened by. Yet the grace of Elune shown, held you and kept you. There is one who knows such pains, who has felt such loss. She was a shadow and secret, with a love of life through knowing its end. Always about you, I feel the wings. The whispers of her secrets. You are a walking whisper, Oria. You hide even when seen. I mark you...in her memory, in your survival, and secrets shared."

The marking was painful, performed in the ancient ways of small pinpricks with colors. Blood flowed down her face as the forms of dark wings of the raven were marked over her cheeks. She was no longer a girl, holding back the tears and pain from the marking. Oria would leave the safety of Stonetalon a maiden.

[Archivist~Alabaster]

Time had moved for him in a terribly slow way. Every moment seemed crystalized, frozen. As the world changed to become the ediface of elven society, he felt ever apart from it. Skin burning, he moved his silk covered hands over it, as if to put out flames that were not there.

It hurt Janlith to live. Magic was near, around him, natural yet not. Within the glowing moonwells that the naturalists worked to create and grow, he saw the formulae of arcane. In the knotwork of fabric designs and heraldry, he witnessed the ages of his arcanist past replaced with warriors and the forest born. It was a war in its own right between the new vision and ancient legacy.

Sneering, he left the softly lit paths for his home. He would hide away, stay far from the others. It was as the knob turned he realized he had almost opened the door purposely locked that held his library. Leaning his head against the wood, the fallen arcanist thought his mind would leave him to once again try picking it open.

A polite movement behind him brought back his attentions. The name of the youth was not important, only that he wore the livery of his house. Without speaking, he accepted the scroll and package, fleeing into the santuary of his herbs and potions. If he could not conduct rituals of magic, he would consume this new art of alchemical magic.

Shuddering a sigh, he fell into the lone chair of the workshop. Words drifted to his lips to light the fire, but he did not speak them. He feared a time would come when he would. Yet the sight of that horrifying moment, of his mother's final walk, returned again and again. No fire had been set in the room since.

Pulling open the case, he removed a rolled parchment. And what he read caused him to stir. How long ago had he sent the new hunter out into the wilds? He had lost track. And then the returned missives? Again he could not recall. Yet here, in his hands, was a strange letter.

The paper was a meshed thing, made from leaves and bark. Primitive perhaps for lack of owning paper. It reminded him of the commoner's make of parchment. The writing was simple, flowing, yet not practiced, penned in inks of fruit and flower. Again the mark of peasentry.

But the words were anything but.

Lord Brightmoon, Lorekeeper and Once-Arcanist

Long have I sought answer to a riddle that has kept me questioning for many an age. With every reading of your works, every turn of page and seeking of other libraries to clarify, I have found myself further unanswered.

I am coming.

No name signed it. Not a mark nor symbol. And yet... he held the letter to his nose. It did smell of spice and flowers.

[Archivist~Alabaster]

How many moons passed since she found the elven war band and passed along the letter, Oria could not say. Yet onward she sought into the wild forests, trying to find places she knew. The Sundering was an apt name for what terrible movements had come through the world. Rivers and lakes were no longer where she recalled. Entire cities and lone towers of learning had simply vanished. Shrines and temples had fallen way to nature or the debasement of the furbolgs. The world she knew was no more.

Once again, her hands sought holds along the vines to move higher among the branches. Looking over the lands, she sought what path she could in the movement of trees. It seemed they were becoming wild, rising and shifting their homes among the soft earth as their own wills demanded. Such a thing to see them uproot and walk. But it seemed it happened. And so, she had sought to move during day as well as night. Perhaps then she could find some way through.

Corelua growled from below, the cat hiding digging at roots for a squirrel that hid. Grinning wide, she leapt near the playful panther. "You won't get it." The growl deepened. Crossing her arms, Oria snickered. "I told you, it's beyond reach, silly cat." With a hiss, Corelua turned in a bounding pounce on top of the huntress. Laughing, she rolled with the cat, end over end as they playfully fought in the leaves.

Laying back, they peered through the foliage above. "We need to keep moving. The trees will wake soon and move. The dawn is passed." Both of them grumbled at being awake for the third day, but it could not be helped.

Taking forth the slim book, she began to speak again, soft words in the old tongues that seemed to bring a brightness between them. A vitality caught their eyes, held their gaze. The rumbling of growls grew between them as cat and woman focused. Holding forth her hands, Oria placed them in points patterns before Corelua. And in response, the cat lowered her head, bristling in a deep snarl. They felt the rush of wind about them as the will between them worked. And in an explosion of breath and speeding hearts, they leapt as one to run. Their legs moved with the speed of the great cats.

One day, she would no longer need these books of Lord Brightmoon. One day, she would find him. For now, they tracked the scent of the hunting parties, seeking a place they called Hyjal.