Fenlys - The Beginning

Waterday, 5 Planting CY591
Although the Growfest festival time is more for the humans that farm the land, Oellune was not immune to the infectious nature of celebrations. The elven community decorated itself much as the human towns and cities did, though most of the deities they celebrated were fey in nature; except for the ancient one, Obad-Hai, and his feminine counterpart Ehlonna, whom the elves showed respect and paid homage to at various times of the year.

This was the last period of time Fenlys would be spending here at home with your friends and family, as you have been directed to travel to the Seelie Court of Celene to seek out teachers there who might aid you in controlling the untapped power that rages within you. The forest is thick with life, the high boughs of its ancient trees casting long shadows across glen and field as you prepare for your journey.

The weather is warm, breezes blowing lightly, causing the rustling sound of the trees and thick reeds to move across the Dreadwood. The sounds of children playing, dogs barking and people laughing ring all about, making you pause to look out of a window and watch them.

"So, my son. Have you decided on your route of travel?" Turning, you see you mother standing there, her eyes showing signs of redness, her frame standing upright yet stiff.

Fenlys
"Any route seems too dangerous for me." your mother replies. "I wish that things could be different. You could stay here with us, you know; with your father and me. He could always use help, you know, though he is loathe to admit it. Oellune will not be the same without you."

Nor shall I. she adds, frowning slightly.

Fenlys
"Aye, I know, my son. But the stupidity of others does not make this any easier on your father. He may not say it all of the time, but he loves you as deeply as a father can."

Pausing briefly, she adds "And Mordenkainen is a pompous human fool, if you as me." With a chuckle, she hugs you tightly and then helps you pack your gear. "You will write often. Once your magic is powerful enough you can message us even more so. You will eat well and treat others with respect, even if you feel they do not deserve it. Honor your name, my son. That is the best you can do in this world."

With your gear packed and everything set, you step outside.

Fenlys
With a good-bye to your parents, and a final look upon your childhood, you depart Oellune and begin the long trek south. You know the road well enough, as you have traveled north and south along it for your entire life, but this time it feels different. There is a nervousness in your step as you realize that the farthest you have gone until now is Oaken Heart, the elven outpost turned center of operations for the Dreadwalkers, a loosely-knit group of ranger conclaves that road the Dreadwood keeping evil at bay. One of their leaders, Elveress Lizhal, was rumored to have once driven a dragon from deep within the woods where it had made its lair.

The day is clear and bright, with a scattering of clouds and a light breeze, and your journey remains uninterrupted for almost the entire way. You arrive in Oaken Heart by early afternoon, the sun just passing its zenith, and the sight before you never ceases to take away your breath. An impressive community stretches around the base of large trees and rope bridges give access to the high boughs where homes and businesses sit among the treetops.

Though there is no wall surrounding the village, there is no shortage of elven warriors on patrol both aground and aloft, their sharp eyes and bows ready to meet any would-be challenger or beast. You can see a few places that might offer refuge or a night's stay, including the Griffon Crier, Bazeal's and The Tree Frog, though those are just a few you see upon arrival.

Fenlys
A server approaches at your hail. She is average in height for a human, sandy colored hair that is pulled back into a pony tail. She wears simple, cloth clothes, tan and brown, with a white apron ties about the waist. Her face is marked with pimples, though not overly so, giving away her young age.

"Aye, sire. Welcome to the Griffon. Name's Olivia. Drink? Eat? We've a good selection of all the finest brews, so name your ale and I'll be prompt to fetch it for you."

Inside, the Crier is fairly busy, with a few tables available even after you sit. The clientele is a fair mix of elf and human, and behind the bar is a thick human may with a heavily waxed mustache that sticks out like a pair of oars on a small boat. With him, moving up and down a small shelf behind the bar, is a halfling. Both are working quickly to keep up with the orders the three servers are calling for.

Fenlys
"Aye, sire, 'tis typical of the day. More so t'night, when the bards arrive. Will you be needing a bed, too?" Olivia asks, as she goes to retrieve your order.

"We've just private rooms, so more's the' cost, but their warm 'n' airy."

"Probably, so I'll reserve one now. However, I'm more in need of information. Can you point out anyone who may be a traveler? I'm trying to get to the coast, Sanduchar or maybe Seaton, and I'm looking for information on the best route to take through the forest."

Fenlys
"If it's travelin' yer wantin', speak with Meister." Olivia replies, nodding toward the halfling. "Word he tells is e's all the way from Elmshire, what be north of the Free City of Greyhawk h'erself!" she gets a bit of a faraway look before coming back and adding "Or Fenwick the Bard. Oldest known elf I ever met!"

Turning on her heels, Olivia returns to her serving duties. A few minutes pass when she returns with a key. Attached is a small wood square, looped with a thong of thin leather. Carved into it is a number 3.

Fenlys
"Hallo, then traveler! I'ms Elavon The Meister, makes me own drinks here for ya, I does, so drinkin' it we'll be, ya!" the halfling says with a wide grin, taking a mug and filling it up. With a cheers to you, he takes a deep draw and then belches loudly. "Baste in the Dreadwood Preserve, ya?"

Raising an eyebrow slightly, he then asks "So then, ya, what is this knowledge the maiden fair done sent ya to an old fool then, ya?"

Fenlys
The halfling smiles at your request. Arcane ya says, does ya? Wale then, ya! Entertain t'night ya should, ya? Most travelin folk come in then, ya, p'raps find ya one that's haded south, ya?

Course, if the Nyr Dyv is what yer lookin for, ya, then ya's be haded the wrongest way, ya? That great beast of water lie east, not south, ya? Either ways, ya can prolly find ya travelers haded there, ya?

Fenlys
You return to the taproom to find a much larger crowd than when you had left. Elavon the Meister still mans the bar, but he is now accompanied by a different man, one that looks younger and more fit than the mustache man from earlier.

The crowd is still a decent mix of people, all intent on the group gathering on a small, raised platform across the room. An elf, thin and old even for one of his race, begins to strum a finely crafted lyre. The lights suddenly dim, as if a veil were tossed over anything giving off light, and the sounds in the room deaden as if you are underwater. A moment later, a beautiful male voices breaks through, regaling you to a tale of long lost kingdoms and the godly battles that shaped the Flaneass. You are not sure how long the song lasts, but when it does the veil parts and you almost feel blinded as the taproom goes crazy with applause and cheers.

His songs continue for nearly two hours, each tune either a soaring, epic tale of fierce battles and fiercer loves or a comedic vision of some of the same tales. One in particular tells the story of a village that makes a bargain with a dragon by feeding it virgins until one bright fellow suggests that they can rid themselves of the dragon by ensuring that there are no more virgins to be had.

The crowd is roaring and drunk by this time, and a server stops by your table pointing to Elavon. The halfling motions to the stage, apparently offering you a turn to entertain.