Memoria (part five)
Taureth wandered aimlessly among the artisans plying their various trades in the dungeon-like workshops of Castleview’s Charter of the Truthbringer. Despite towering over many of the workers, the high elf attracted little attention from the engrossed crafters. The flame-colored froglok at his side however was being given a wide berth by many. Perhaps this was out of respect for the Ironforge Exchange badge pinned to his linen tunic, but more likely it was because of the scowl twisting his amphibian visage.
“If thou dost indeed wish to
aid in making Qeynos and her cause strong, thou should create items of worth and
use. One who knows only how to
destroy and cannot also create walks a dark path, even in our city of
“Aye, so you have told me, good sir. A dozen times is it now?” Taureth asked with obvious amusement.
“And I will continue to tell thee until such a time as thou hast settled upon a way to aid Qeynos’s commerce, and thus strengthen our city.” The koada’dal scout shook his head at this latest proclamation. “Or perhaps thou wouldst choose to take up the craft you followed of old in the place of your youth?” Taureth’s spine stiffened slightly, but instead of replying, he resumed roaming among the tailors and chefs, jewelers and carpenters.
And how pray tell do I resume a craft I do not remember, he wondered. He was lucky to recall he had been born in Felwithe, since everyone seemed to try and convince him he must have been born in some refugee camp, since he looked far too young to have seen Felwithe’s marbled walkways. He snorted quietly to himself. I may have forgotten most else, but home I can see in my dreams.
Becoming bored with watching a woodworker plane a bundle of ash, the elf followed the sound of clanging metal into a cave-like area filled with forges. He watched as a sword blade began to take shape on the anvil, red hot metal glowing almost as brightly as the coals in the forge. Taureth blinked rapidly as another scene seemed to overlay the world around him.
Turning to question the smith on this strange magic, he saw white hair turned fiery by the reflecting light of the suddenly smaller forge’s flames. Instead of the brawny form that had labored before him a minute ago, a figure as tall as himself, though considerably more slender than the active scout, worked at the forge. Pointed ears had replaced rounded ones, and instead of a workman’s smock, the form was draped in ornate blue robes.
As Taureth gaped in shock, the elf beside him turned to display the blade he had just quenched. Even unpolished it glowed a pale gold in the eerie lighting. Looking up from the blade, Taureth took in a narrow face alight with triumph.
“The next one is yours, Atar!” the oddly familiar elf exclaimed with obvious excitement. Without waiting for a reply, the smith spun to show his creation to another white haired figure hovering nearby.
Atar? He had a child? He tried desperately to dredge up any memories from a mind spinning in useless circles. Not A child he suddenly realized, gazing at a half-elven face that echoed his own. Two children he couldn’t remember, one Ary’dal, one Koada’dal, probably a pure blood judging by those sharp features.
How did THAT happen? When for that matter? By Innoruk’s black blood, how could I forget my own children? While he stared at them in shock, the koada’dal turned to look Taureth in the eye, somehow seeming to become more REAL as he moved.
“Seek the Silverwings, to find your way,” he said quietly. Startled, Taureth tried to answer but found himself unable to speak. “Kithicor will guide you to them,” the smith continued. Staring at the other high elf in confusion, he tried again to speak.
“But Kithicor is DEAD!” Taureth finally exclaimed. A rough voice answered him, breaking through the chaos of lights as the world dissolved and reformed into the face of the brawny human smith in the Charter. The man was giving him a concerned look as he spoke.
“Aye, so he has been for quite a bit of time.” When the high elf failed to respond, the weapon maker spoke again. “Are ye alright there, ye need me ta get a priest ta help ye? Ye been staring at th’ forge fer nearly ten minutes now.” 10 minutes…, Taureth contemplated in a state of shock. A dream… or madness… or a vision… but am I the type to get visions? Finally noticing the smith still staring at him, the scout gathered his wayward thoughts.
“Yes… yes, I’m alright,” he stuttered in reply. “If you want to help me, you could tell me where in Qeynos you find a wing of silver though,” he said, laughing at himself for asking about a thing from his bout of madness.
“Only Silverwing I’m knowin’ of would be that Jethal and th’ lady who came wit’ him, Elquinjena. Ye’ve heard of them maybe? He was bein’ the one that led Kithicor’s Legion a fair time back.”
Taureth gulped in shock. “Kithicor..? And… where would one find this Jethal? For that matter, what’s he doing in Qeynos?”
“I heard he was after startin’ up a little group in th’ old elf’s memory, but with such a new bucha’ folks, they’d probably be in the wood elf refugee homes still.”
“And where do the feir’dal in this city reside sir?” the high elf pressed urgently.
“Th’ wha? Oh, ye mean the woodies. Well, they’re usually given quarters over in th’ Willow Wood, want ta be closer ta th’ Grove I suppose. Ye sure ye’re okay? Seem a might paler than even ye’re folk come.” With an almost panicked expression, Taureth nodded quickly.
The human continued to stare at him doubtfully for a minute, then shrugged and turned away. The moment his back was turned, the high elf turned and fled through the doors leading away from the forges, and didn’t stop running until he was up the stairs and again at the entrance desk of the workshop.
“And hast thou decided in what way thou can help Qeynos to thrive?” The Ironforge representative’s croaking voice startled Taureth so much he almost launched himself over the railing overlooking the workers. Catching a hold of the banister and leaning against it, the elf turned to answer the froglok in the negative. A flash of light caught his eyes from the window as he turned and for a moment he again saw white hair, two sets of blue eyes, and a golden sword.
“I think… I’ll be a weaponsmith,” he answered hesitantly, making plans to venture to the feir’dal settlement as soon as possible.
A/N Don't own any of Norrath, including places and people and any other Sony property, this is just a bit of fan fiction, so please don't sue. For those who like languages, memoria is Latin for memory (I was strapped for an appropriate title), and atar is Tolkein's quenya for father. I figure the Noldor are a good parallel to the koada'dal. *smiles* Thank you to Jethal and Elquinjena for letting me use their character names. The legion mentioned is the Erollisi Marr guild Legion of Kithicor, and the "little group" mentioned is the Antonia Bayle role playing guild Legion of Kithicor.