As of 12/8/97
Created by
Allen Hawkins
Your party, after a long adventure that you would not care to reflect on,
decides that staying in the nearest hamlet for the next "hundred years"
would be a great idea.
You are seated at a table talking about what you are going to do with
your treasure and power you gained in your latest adventure. Suddenly, a dull wind
flows through the tavern and silence permeates the room
filled only moments before with music and song. In through the door walks a graceful Fpathen
form dressed in the traditional garb of his people. His cloak hides his face, it seems,
at the last instance just before it would become visible. The mere
appearance of this individual filled you with an awe that could not be
described. His bow and long sword are of the finest materials and
could only be described as "sleek death."
He walks to your table and stands
before you. Removing his hood, you can hardly believe your eyes, for he is a Mnoethen, the eldest of the elves, standing before you. He is a little over five-foot-tall
and about 115 pounds, possessing a gracefully handsome face. His voice melodically
speaks to you, "Does your group have need of a warrior?"
Background
A lone form sat crouched on the wind blown face of the mighty
mountain. No Fpathen had ever attempted to climb this, the mightiest
of peaks, but Talanamrius of the Silverbrook had excepted its challenge and was climbing
to its top. It had been 3 days since he started climbing the mighty
peak and things were going worse than he had planned. His food was low
and the cold was freezing his very bones. The silver medallion given to him
by the chief of the village below heated him, keeping
him protected from the mountain's harsh forms of torture.
On the
fourth day, starving, he came upon a dark and ominous cave and saw a chance
to escape the mountain's unbearable cold and get some rest. Talanamrius entered the cave and walked back and rested
against the wall, soon finding himself asleep. When he awoke
a fierce cold was enveloping his body, but he found that he was not
dead, as he thought he should be. Sleep soon found him again.
Some time later
he awoke to behold a beautiful sight: a young beautiful female
Fpathen seated on a rock, brushing her hair. Her clothing was quite flimsy, and this
surprised the young Talanamrius. Immediately he leapt to her, covering
her with his cloak and trying to keep her warm. To his surprise, though, the cloak was empty. The girl was gone.
He looked around the
cave for her. Slowly, light filtered from the back of the cave. In
the large back of the cavern a feast of wondrous delights was being
held, with a large party of noble-looking individuals feasting and laughing.
At their head was the young female Fpathen. She tapped her glass with a
spoon and her eyes looked to him. "Seems we have a visitor in our
midst. Do you wish to feast with us, Talanamrius, for you look tired
and must eat."
He looked around at the cave, and then at her, and said, "Yes, I would like it very much." He started towards the table
but was forestalled by her outstretched hand.
"You must
first give me something, young one," she said. "Something I need. Will you give
it to me?"
He stopped in mid stride and asked, "What do you need? Anything for you!" he gasped.
"Come to me freely and give me everything that is
your self," she answered. "Please!" All of the nobles were looking to him with a
fervent look of happiness and fulfillment. He walked to her and her
hands of pure cold enveloped him.
He awoke later on the side of the mountain, full of food, and
with a enough to keep him alive for a trip down to the mountain's base. He
returned to the village and caught many glares of wonderment from his
former family members. They all gasped, and spoke of him out of the corner's of their mouths. Not of
Talanamrius of the Silverbrook the Fpathen, but the 1,500 year old Mnoethen that stood in front of them now.
He was forced to leave, not excepted by the elder ones or the family he
had, and began his life of high adventure in the lands of Western
Glashia.
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