Sunday Morning, Fireseek 2, 591 Common Year

The two half-elven brothers, Indranil Marinus and his younger brother Lorindel Marinus, grew up on a homestead deep in the Dreadwood Forest. Both show their elven father’s heritage in their fair complexion, slightly tapered ears, and raven black hair kept cropped short in the military manner. The taller and heavier Indranil’s eyes are a startling elvish emerald while the shorter and slighter Lorindel, taking after his human mother, has eyes so dark as to almost be black.

Their mother, Anlaith, was the daughter of Keoish homesteaders who lived near the rather unimaginatively and ominously named Fort Dread. Fort Dread was built as a base for the King’s Rangers operating in the Dreadwood in alliance with the High Elves whose home the forest was. Fort Dread was also a place of refuge for those times when the forest was overrun with invaders from the Hool Marshes. In the past the raiders were from the Hold of the Sea Princes, in the more recent past orcs, hobgoblins, and even savage Amedi warriors in thrall to the Scarlet Brotherhood.

In the Dreadwood it was not unheard of for the High Elves of either sex to have dalliances with the humans living there. These were brief flings from the elvish point of view, two or three decades of slumming with the humans just to see what it would be like – though there was genuine affection in most cases, even love. And the elves made sure that their paramours and any offspring would always be provided and cared for.

From the human point of view, as in Anlaith’s case, it was a different story. Anlaith saw her elvish husband Ilmerion Marinus as a fairy tale romance come true. Ilmerion was an elvish ranger who had already lived for over a century and sired two elvish children with a pretty elf maid when Anlaith met him. Ilmerion was quite taken with Anlaith. For a human, she was very attractive, and unlike the more delicate elf-maidens much more rough and ready, and as a frontierswoman quite self-sufficient and even pushy. Ilmerion was charmed by this, and Anlaith was flattered by this elf-lord’s attentions. A brief courtship followed and one sunny spring morning almost three decades past they were hand-fasted by a priest of Correlon Larethian, god of the elves. Indranil was born first, 27 years ago, and then Lorindel, two years later. Indranil took after his father in terms of vocation and by his early teens was spending months away from home on expeditions with Ilmerion and other elvish and human rangers. Lorindel, however, felt more of an inclination to follow Anlaith’s ways, the ways of the stealthy scout. Anlaith’s uncles helped to further train Lorindel. So it was that Indranil came to be one of the King’s Rangers, and Lorindel became a member of the Scout Corps, units of skirmishers and scouts based at Fort Dread. Anlaith, however, now lives alone on her homestead. Ilmerion still visits from time to time, but his visits are sometimes worse than his absences. She is no longer a starry eyed young maiden, the blushing bride of an elf-lord; but a woman whose bloom is fading, presiding over an empty nest and living alone like a spinster in the forest gloom. When Ilmerion comes to her, looking no older than his own sons, Anlaith can’t help but think that he only returns out of pity, the way one would make sure that an old dog or cat is still fed and cared for as it gets more and more decrepit. She is not bitter, but she has come to prefer the unselfconscious loneliness. When her sons are able to visit, though, Anlaith feels a great pride in them, thanking the gods for the blessings she has received in life.

Lorindel and Indranil have both met their older half-brothers, Ciramel and Elbdir. The two elven brothers live among their own kind, spending their days hunting, drinking, singing, dancing, and making merry in shady bowers and groves. From a human point of view they have done nothing significant in their lives, even though they have lived almost four times longer than Anlaith’s children. From the elvish point of view they are still just children, though they are already competent with sword and bow and can hold their own against any threat from the marshes, and their skills in more gentle arts are no less refined. This has sometimes been hard for the half-elven brothers to accept, and they also can’t shake the feeling that Ciramel and Elbdir look upon them with condescension, even pity, though cloaked in kindness. To the elf brothers, the humans and half-elves live like mayflies and so it would be no use getting attached to them or taking them too seriously. For this reason Lorindel and Indranil spend more time among the humans, since humans at least do not view them with pity, though sometimes with a kind of awe, as though they were mystical beings that one should be wary of and keep at a distance.

Over the last few months, the two brothers have been assigned to work under an older human ranger named Ragnbjorn. Their mission has been to survey the Hool Marshes and watch out for any activity on the part of the Scarlet Brotherhood or their allies. Ragnbjorn is a tall, heavyset man with thick dark hair and a full beard, both now showing some grey. When not on patrol, he tends to wear blackened leather embossed with his emblems of rank. On patrol, he wears a camouflage cloak, a dark tunic, and underneath a mithril shirt. He also carries a wooden shield, longsword, dagger, morningstar, and a composite bow that neither brother would have the strength to draw, though they have noted that Ragnbjorn is no longer able to draw it back all the way either. All his weapons, and even his shield, are of the highest quality. Ragnbjorn seems unimpressed by elves or half-elves. He deems the brothers worthy of respect as soldiers doing their duty and not because of their heritage. He is a demanding leader, and can be quite gruff at times, but he is also a man of honor who they know will give his life for them if need be. It is, in fact, an honor for them to work with him. He was one of those who led King Skotti’s army safely across the Hool Marshes a year ago when Westkeep was taken from the Scarlet Brotherhood and the marshes declared a protectorate of Keoland.

It is said that Westkeep’s position is now very precarious, since it has been very difficult to send supplies and reinforcements from Keoland, if any were forthcoming that is. The Council of Niole Dra have argued that the invasion was unnecessary and at the very least premature. Consequently they have tightened the purse strings and made it all but impossible for the King to create a more secure supply route or to send more knights and levies. Still, should work finally begin on creating a more stable supply route, complete with way stations and even a string of forts in the marshes, the surveying work being done by small teams like Ragnbjorn’s will have prepared the way.

And that is how the brothers find themselves with Ragnbjorn in the middle of winter (though of course it is a warm and humid southern winter) in the depths of the Hool Marshes.

It is still, serene, and deeply quiet except for the splashing of the paddles and the rippling of the waters as the birch bark canoe glides down the bayou. The canoe is actually Ragnbjorn’s, and like the rest of his gear is exquisitely made. At the moment, Lorindel paddles from the bow seat, while Indranil paddle from the stern and takes care of steering. Ragnbjorn sits cross-legged on the hull between them, facing forward with his back against the thwart. His bedroll is propped up against the thwart to act as a cushion. The golden orb of the sun valiantly shines through the mist, and all around are the silhouettes of moss shrouded cypresses and cypress knees poking up through the dark waters of the bayous. Occasionally the honking of geese, the screech of an eagle or hawk, or the maniacal laughter of the loons breaks the silence. As the morning wears on the fog will burn away to reveal the grays and browns of the Hool Marshes in winter with its groves of barren tupelo-gum trees and seemingly endless expanses of reeds and cutgrass. Here and there a spot of color can be found, the deep red flowers of swamp red maples or the yellow crowns of yellow top. It is just enough to make the surroundings seem even more stark and barren by contrast.

This morning when the brothers broke camp Ragnbjorn had stopped in his tracks, and stared out into the fog. Then, to no one in particular, or at least no one they could perceive he said, “We will be there in just a few days, as His Highness commands.” Then he walked over to the brothers and said, “C’mon boys. We’re going back to Westkeep.”

They knew better than to ask him for any further details. They would know what it was about when they needed to know. That was his way. All this morning they had paddled down the bayous heading back to the River Javan. From there they will continue downriver until reaching the levee-docks of Westkeep. Indranil and Lorindel figure that by paddling with the sluggish current they will reach Westkeep by the next day at noon. That will be Moonday, the third day of Fireseek, which the elves call Diamondice (the first month of the year after the weeklong midwinter festival called Needfest).

That is, if they get there at all. Suddenly Ragnbjorn signals the two brothers to stop rowing and points away into the fog. Then they hear it, the sound of other paddles coming up the bayou. It is amazing to them that this aging human’s senses are so honed that he heard it before they could, and yet he did. It is probably 70 yards away and heading towards their canoe. Ragnbjorn directs the brothers to steer the canoe behind a nearby hummock. They do so, trying to paddle as quietly as possible. Once the canoe is safely behind the hummock, Ragnbjorn takes up his bow and moves as quietly as a ghost to the top of it to watch for whomever or whatever is coming upstream. The other canoe or boat is probably 30 yards away judging from the sound of it.

Indranil was sure that not all was as it seemed with Ragnbjorn and again he wondered if the man was part wizard. He had a most uncanny sense of things before they actually happened. Indranil knew that as a half-elf his senses were better than human, and yet Ragnbjorn’s trained ear had heard the strangers first. Whatever he may think, he trusted Ragnbjorn without question and immediately launched into action.

Ragnbjorn did not need to tell Indranil and Lorindel what to do. They knew. They were rangers and having worked together for so long meant they had formed an incredible bond of trust between them. Each man knew his job – and the job of the other – and could be relied upon to do their job without being asked. They were an elite unit of the King’s guard. As rangers it meant that their security lay in surprise and stealth and not in toe-to-toe skirmishing. It was critical they separate from each other. One thing was sure, when in the Hool Marshes any unexpected contact had to be viewed as potentially hostile. Indranil had no idea what to expect and while he would let Ragnbjorn lead, he and Lorindel would be ready to finish any nasty business if need be.

Indranil and Lorindel quickly scanned the area and exchanged a look. Indranil whispered, “Right, then let’s be about it.” 

They each stripped down to just their pants, strapped their bow and quivers across their backs – each wrapped safely inside their oiled lizard stomach water proof cases – and quietly slipped over the side of the canoe into the slough. First making sure to secure all their gear on the floor of the canoe, they then flipped the canoe over resting it against the hummock making it appear nothing more than another half-sunken log stuck on the bank. Confident that nothing remained to mark their presence they each took a deep breath, submerged and swam underwater 20 yards across the slough to hide beneath the cypress roots sticking out of the water directly across from Ragnbjorn’s hide atop the hummock. Slowly surfacing with just their eyes and nose above the surface they looked like nothing more than alligators waiting for dinner. 

Lorindel signals to his brother that he will move off a bit so they will be more spread out. From their concealed position in the water below the roots of the cypress trees they were perfectly placed to support Ragnbjorn and give him covering fire should the situation get out of control.

They readied themselves for whatever was coming around the bend. As Indranil lay there hidden in the water, he began his deep breathing techniques and extended his consciousness. He slowly felt his sense of self blur as he began to sense and feel what was around him and what the animals were seeing, smelling, hearing and feeling. He was ready.

Before long two canoes emerge from the fog. In each of them is a pair of Amedi warriors, who are making no particular effort to be quiet. Nevertheless they are grim and silent as they wield their paddles with a practiced grace. Deer pelts hang from their shoulders, and their leggings and loincloths are also of deerskin. Their tanned and freckled skin is adorned with jet-black tattoos of spiral and barred-spiral patterns as well as many piercings of bone and bronze in their noses and ears. Their auburn hair hangs down in dreadlocks. In the canoes can be seen their shields, spears, and shortbows. They scan the bayous for prey but overlook Ragnbjorn and the half-elven brothers completely, so well are they hidden.

The brothers have learned that the Amedi are a tribe or group of tribes who live much further south in the Amedio Jungle, a vast tropical rainforest. The sages teach that more than a thousand years ago an apocalyptic war with the Baklunish Empire destroyed the Suel Imperium. Suel refugees fled east over the mountains away from the ruins of their lost home, and some of their noble houses and followers remained in the Sheldomar Valley where they formed an alliance with the Oeridian tribes, who had also fled the destruction of their ancient homelands. Together they founded the Kingdom of Keoland. That kingdom splintered in time, and the Hold of the Sea Princes was the most disreputable of those fragments. But other Suel had fled further south, to the Amedio. In the jungle they degenerated into savagery and cannibalism and the worship of horrible and loathsome gods and even demons. There they remained until the Hold of the Sea Princes began enslaving them for their plantations. That began a couple of generations ago. Then the Scarlet Brotherhood appeared from their monastery fortresses on the Tilvanot Peninsula across the Azure Sea. The Scarlet Brotherhood used the Amedi warriors, as well as orcs and goblinoids, as an army to fight for their dream of creating a new Suel Empire. Many of those warriors fled when King Skotti invaded the Hool Marshes and took Westkeep. These warriors may be of those who fled from Westkeep a year ago. Or they could be scouts or spies from Monmurg, the capital of the Hold of the Sea Princes, sent by Elder Brother Hammandaturian of the Scarlet Brotherhood. Or they could be from any of a dozen or more factions battling for supremacy in the interior. 

Wherever they are from, they pass by without incident. Looking across, Ragnbjorn signals to let them go on their way. They wait, and then wait some more until it is certain that they have gone and that no more are coming. Finally Ragnbjorn signals from the other side for the brothers to come back so they can resume the journey to Westkeep.

Ragnbjorn says quietly, “If it were not that Prince Prospero wants to see us as soon as can be; I would that we had struck down those savages wherever we can find them. But it’s best not to stir up trouble. We know they are out there, and we’ll be back for them.”

The journey down the River Javan continues. The fog burns away, and it seems like it will be a pleasant enough day. The miles slip away as they paddle down the river. Time and river seemed to merge into just a single stream of being, inseparable. Indranil is keenly aware of everything, his breathing and those around him, the movement of the canoe, the fish below the water, the birds flying above, the insects buzzing around him.

Lorindel paddles in silence for some time until he’s sure they have left the Amedi far behind. “Indranil, what’s your preference?” he asks, glancing over at Ragnbjorn for any signs of disapproval for breaking the silence. Ragnbjorn just smiles wryly and then pulls the brim of his hat down over his eyes and settles back against the thwart, as if to take a nap, leaving the two brothers free to converse. “Was the choice right to live among men or should we have stayed with father? I’m torn. In the world of men opportunity seems limitless, yet I feel at home in the woods. It saddens me that our elven brethren see us simply as outcasts. On the other hand, the sorrow only lingers until I return from the hunt and watch the young maiden’s swoon,” Lorindel says with a chuckle and a smirk. Awaiting a response from Indranil, Lorindel returns to paddling and scanning the shoreline.

Indranil ponders his brother’s question for some minutes before answering. Preference for what? The distinction between elven and human is irrelevant. Finally he answers, “Ah, Lorindel, does the Moon prefer the Sun? Does the hawk prefer the eagle? Can you tell me where my elven blood ends and my human blood begins? Why do I have to make a choice at all? Being one race or another makes me no better or worse than another. Do those labels make you feel like more of a person? 

“No. I live within my experiences. What defines me is what I think, how I act, what choices I make. It is such a pity that people need to define themselves with labels as if this defines and justifies them. ‘I am an elf…’ ‘I live in Westkeep…’ ‘I like cake…’ Ha, so limited. And in this limited worldview they close themselves off from the greatness of the whole. The irony is that this need to define lessens them. Life is short, even for an elf. Too short to focus on building walls to define us, that cut us off from each other.

“And will wishing change anything? If wishes were horses then beggars would ride. What do I prefer? I prefer to be in Westkeep, dry, with a tankard of ale and wench on my lap laughing and singing! Now that, my brother, is what I prefer to paddling down this interminable, mosquito infested bog they call a river!

“Onward my brother, dig deep, pull hard. For tomorrow we will see the walls of Westkeep and the inside of the Travelers Hall.”

Lorindel nods, resuming his silent paddling and scanning of the shorelines.