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Mallorn It wasn't all that hard to negotiate, once he had arrived in the quaint little logging town proper. They had an old scholarly type come out who spoke Elvish and was willing to translate on his behalf. The practical embodiment of 'cozy township old man book-keeper', Mallorn liked him from the moment he laid eyes upon him. This revelation seemed to take some of the wind out of Dura's metaphorical sails, but she was still following him around as he went about completing his objectives in the township.

Namely, trading out his various recognizable Elven knicknacks and goblin loot for good old fashioned steel and basic supplies. As was typical with fantasy settings, they had a general goods store in town willing to buy as much of his old stuff as they could afford. In practice this meant all the stuff taken from those goblins earlier, plus his ironwood sword. Surprisingly, they weren't using golden coins as was typical, but little copper chips.

Even more surprising was that they also used little divisions of these same chips, half-coins and one-fourth coins, to account for purchases too small for even a single copper coin. That was a greater degree of world-building detail than he was actually anticipating, but one which he really shouldn't have been surprised by in hindsight. Back in Greenwood the smallest unit of currency was a silver coin, but they were rich assholes, so that made sense.

Rich assholes who paid for everything in silver or favors, because you'd be mocked relentlessly by everyone if you were known for not paying people back.

"Ah- Mallorn do next?" The old scholar spoke in his best Elvish, which was still pretty stiff and staggered. He didn't speak Elvish well, after all, just enough to communicate and translate on his behalf. Dura had been sticking well to his side, but rapidly and quietly chatting with the scholar in between efforts of translating for him. Elvish was a rather tricky language to get right, lots of abstract rules and flowing grammar that changed depending on context and formality, but undeniably beautiful in end result.

It was doubtlessly the language of assholes who had entirely too long to learn all the little rules and edge-cases and thought themselves better than everyone else, namely elves." A blacksmith.

"Mallorn nodded, hefting his new sackful of coins. Most of his goblin stuff was exchanged for a new bag and a handful of useful camping supplies." Replace ironwood-"He patted his breastplate for emphasis before continuing." -with steel. Good steel."

"Ah… Stay here long, then?" the old man asked in a somewhat interested manner. Mallorn furrowed his brows, trying to see how the two statements connected, before realizing that without whatever forging-magic that Elven smiths used, it would probably take quite a long time to craft a full replacement set for his armor. Even at its fastest, making something new would probably take a few days. He frowned and considered this, before turning to look down at Dura." Where is your home? Take you there?"

She furrowed her brows, knowing some of the words in the sentence but not all. The old scholarly man translated for her, and she nodded and smacked her lips in thought.

"~~~~~~~~~~. ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~."" Father Erem. One of the Dwarven holds, near to our lands," the scholar quickly translated back to him." Dwarf?" Mallorn returned, blinking and looking down at the short, busty woman with horns. He supposed he didn't know what he was expecting female dwarves to look like, but she was in roughly the correct height range and general profile. The horns had thrown him off though, those were new.

The depictions of dwarves in Elven lands were mostly propaganda pieces, with them fighting alongside giants and against dragons and dragon-men, or as the butt of some manner of Elven joke. Little helmeted men acting in foolish or unclean ways, or fighting against some other thing that elves liked even less than dwarves. Those depictions had horns too, but he had honestly thought that they were coming out of the helmets and not their actual heads. Shame on him for not asking the right questions, he supposed.

This wouldn't be news to him if he had been reading books on dwarves, but he had seen the world and the elves' depictions and decided that he knew everything important about them already. That, and it had been hard to fit personal reading in between the lessons on Elven history and the lessons on playing harps. Dura tilted her head back and looked questioningly at him, clearly understanding that word and his tone.

"~~ ~~~ you ~~~~ I ~~~~?"" What do you thought I was?" the scholar translated, hands folded behind his back, in the manner that old men often did to force themselves to stand up correctly." What did you think I was,"Mallorn idly correctly with a twitch of his ear, making the scholar give a grateful sound. Mallorn tried to think of an answer that would be satisfactory, before just shrugging and explaining simply." I thought the horns were on the helmets." He reached up to tap at the sides of his head.

The scholar translated quickly. Dura blinked, before letting out a snort, followed by a handful of giggles. She raised a hand to cover her smile, looking down and away as she continued to find humor in his lack of understanding. Mallorn gave a slightly humorous smile, turning to look at the scholar and gesturing at the giggling apparently-dwarf woman." I get no respect,"he declared in an amused tone." No respect at all."" A bad situation." The scholar nodded gravely, eyes twinkling.

Mallorn was glad that humor was able to translate over, that would've been troublesome.

"~~~ ~~~~~ you ~~~ ~~~~~ on ~~~~?" Dura asked after suppressing her giggles enough to talk again." Why will you placed horns on helmets?"" Why would you put horns on helmets,"he corrected again - it was only polite to help the man improve his Elvish as payment for the translation services - before giving another shrug." Decoration." A translation and another fit of giggles followed in response. — Eventually, they had gotten around to actually answering his initial question.

Dura was from a relatively close Dwarven-hold named 'Father Erem', whatever that was in Dwarvish, and did indeed desire to go home. She was expecting a marriage to some charming bachelor-dwarf for the sake of improving clan relations and some manner of trade agreement. A few days ago she had been kidnapped by that group of goblins and spirited far away. Afterwards, he had found her and the rest was history.

With that in mind, the old man was more than happy to write down directions about how to get to her home from their current location, and he felt it would be rude to stay in town for more than a day or two. So with a heavy heart, he refrained from asking for a new set of armor and instead just traded his bag of coins for a new steel longsword. It took a full day of work for the blacksmith to complete. The weight was maybe five pounds, and it felt incredible. He couldn't stop playing with it.

, hefting it about and juggling it between his hands and going through sword-forms with a stupid little grin on his face. For the first time in a lifetime, Mallorn had his hands on proper steel. The motion of the thing was much different compared to Ironwood, and he endeavoured to get used to it as soon as possible. Sure, it was just a basic steel blade, rapidly forged by some random village blacksmith, but it was hard to not feel giddy about the whole thing.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. That night in a local tavern-cum-alehouse was paid for by providing music and song, a basic harp rapidly assembled from fishing lines and a particularly bent branch, improved through the generous saturation of mana. It didn't exactly sound great, to his ears, but it was likeable enough to the assorted townsfolk who didn't understand what any of the actual lyrics were.

Good enough that he got an extra serving of chunky potato-and-rabbit stew. Delightful little bowls of chunky potato-rabbit stew in a delightful little tavern." Happee?" Dura asked with an amused tone, walking alongside him down the wood roads and towards the southern bridge, which led across the now-significantly-significantly river. This bridge connected to another township, which had its own roads, which in turn led to any number of places in the wider world.

One of these places was north of this river-town, the mountain hold of the dwarves that Dura hailed from. Mallorn was quite excited to see dwarves, having never seen one in person. His ears twitched as he turned to address Dura. Well, he supposed he had seen one dwarf in person." Yes. Very happy. I have a new sword now." He grinned, brandishing the blade, before chuckling and returning it to its sheath at his belt." What wraung uld swaurd?" Dura asked with a raised brow.

They had maintained their little game of pointing at things and naming them, and she was now carrying a little lexicon that the old man of the logging village had written for her. A few sheets of paper sewn together, full of scribbled words and their meanings. Wonderful hospitality thus far, simply wonderful.

He had a little lexicon of his own, which translated 'Mannish' words into Elvish." Wood,"he explained simply, shaking his head." Not steel. Not good."

"Ah," she replied in a manner that indicated she understood exactly what his sentiments were." Nat goud. Yees." The conviction of her words and strength of her rapid nodding was all he needed to convince himself that she was indeed a dwarf. It was still a bit difficult to communicate with her, because her pronunciation was pretty consistently off, but she was working off about three days of prior communication and a rapidly-scribbled dictionary, so he wasn't about to hold it against her.

The road wound consistently next to the river, which had deepened and strengthened noticeably from its prior upstream levels. The road's surface was little more than packed dirt, delineated by frequent posts and the occasional little offshoot road leading up to a shack or farmhouse. Every now and then they would come across a little shrine, the size of a birdhouse, dedicated to one god or another, and occasionally find the remains of offerings of incense or long-extinguished candles.

Elves were aware of many gods, but long standing religious and cultural law held that venerating anyone except Amarami, the Earth-Mother, was beneath them. They were, after all, the first born race, and thus they were collectively on par with the first generation of god-children born from Father and Mother. Venerating your parents was expected, worshipping your siblings was scandalous, and worshipping any of their children was just plain shameful.

Mallorn certainly didn't feel like a god, so that was probably a lie elves used to make themselves feel better about being elves. The trees had, at some point along the way, stopped being mighty oaks, apples, and ironwoods and turned into pines and dogwood. Much more humble trees with brighter shades of bark and differently-shaped leaves. They broke up a blue sky above with dispersed canopies hanging next to and slightly above the packed road.

He had left his home at the beginning of summer, with the end of the normal Elven schooling period and the start of a brief break. Traditionally, apprentices were not given any work for the week or so of celebrations that heralded the start of summer in the Elven year, and Amaryllis had sent word about her plan to spend that time with family, returning from her education in the capital.

That was more than a good enough excuse for him to leave, which meant that it was currently the fruiting period for just about everything around. Flowers were in bloom, trees had begun to generate little fruits, harvests had already been planted and little sprouts were shooting up from the tilled rows of earth. All manner of pleasant things.

It also meant that his armor and clothes were unexpectedly hot beyond the densely shaded lands of the Greenwood, which tolerated only enough sunlight to grow the little things and warm the earth, and no more. Here in the much more open lands, his armor was warm almost to the point of discomfort and he had to do a great deal of squinting behind his wooden mask. Like all the other new yet nostalgic experiences he had been having, he embraced it with a delighted little smile.

— Titania of Whitewood, Dame-Captain of the Goldenwood"... Where has my darling brother hidden himself away?" It took Lady Amaryllis six days to ask that question, one day before her visitation from the capital was scheduled to end. She had been looking, traveling up and down and throughout the household in search of him, always under the guise of refamiliarizing herself with the home and those within it.

The real reason was quite obvious- that she very much missed her brother and wished to spend time with him once more. Titania recalled one particularly long and seething rant from young Rasil, about what he called the Elven obsession with pointless obscurements and social games. This behavior of his sister's would most certainly qualify.

"Camping," she answered bluntly, wiping her brow with a wetted rag. With her student's present absence, she had filled her schedule with long hours of martial practice.

"Camping?" Amaryllis asked, raising her brow and giving a tiny scoff and a bemused shake of her head. She crossed her arms over her lace-covered chest and declared.

"He plays games with me even now. Hiding and forcing me to seek as he has." Titania was more than familiar with Rasil at this point to take his declared intentions as blunt truth, as strange as it seemed to her. If he felt the need to talk, he loathed his words being ignored as smoke and veils.

"He informed the household that he was camping to avoid your visitation," she declared, obscuring who exactly was the recipient of said information. There was no need for Teresa to be harassed over a spat between siblings.

"A test, to see how thoroughly I'd search for him within the bounds of the estate, no doubt." Amaryllis smirked.

"I'd be irritated if his intent wasn't so obvious. As it is, it's simply adorable."

"He is exceptionally precocious," Titania stated, pretending to agree. She placed the rag down, now carrying the scents of her martial labor, and began to loosen her top of leathers and quilts. She would mop away the sweat on her torso, then return to the yard for another round of forms and exercises.

"Well then, if you're here, I suppose he's gone off with another. Has he finally made a friend, or is there some harlot I need to frighten away?" Amaryllis asked, politely turning away from the bare chest. Rasil, as the son of the Greenwood line, should by all rights have ample friendships among the people. But he was a lonely boy, and his pride was that you treated him as proud or you would be sorry.

He was very well known for his complete lack of patience for other males, willingness to spew blunt insults at the slightest provocation, and complete disregard for maintaining a good reputation among his peers. It was often joked that no elf had ever been angrier than him, that there was nothing but fire and venom under his skin, and that at any moment he might catch aflame and burn himself to cinders. His mother, Lady Greenwood, was not fond of those jokes.

Titania had the rare and private privilege to know that he wasn't merely fire and venom. There was anger, yes, but beneath that anger was a beautiful little boy. Well-spoken, well-reasoned, mature beyond his years and possessing a range of awareness that startled her at times. A rude wit, a disgust for sham, and a contempt for pettiness. And very, very gentle beneath everything else.

That she was one of the bare handful that knew this side of the boy was delightful, thrilling, and something she was quite proud of, a precious privilege. He seemed to get along fine with girls, but his sisters were quite insistent on monopolizing his time, using any number of threats or insults to keep other females away.

"Neither." Titania spoke, already knowing what was to come with her next statement.

"He has gone alone."

"What!" Amaryllis swiveled on the balls of her feet to glare into her eyes. All polite precautions against seeing her bare chest vanished under the sudden panic and anger.

"He's gone off alone?! He's just twenty! He's going to die out there!" The anger sharpened into a fine point.

"You… You let him-""No." Titania cut off the line with a sharp look of her own.

"He left before I awoke, leaving the message behind to greet me when I asked about his whereabouts during breakfast."

"Why haven't you gone after him!?" Amaryllis rubbed her face, pulling at the roots of her long blonde hair, and started to pace about. Her robes, cut in the style of the capital, swished about as she moved and turned and fretted.

"You could've followed the instant you learned! Why are you here and not protecting him!?"

"Because he is exceptionally precocious," Titania responded easily, finished wiping down her abdomen and placing the rag down again, beginning the process of retying her top closed.

"Precocious! He's twenty!"

"And he has declared that he would spend a week in the Greenwood on his lonesome, taking his arms and armor with him, and a full bag of supplies." Titania tied her waist-belt closed and looked up again, locking gazes with the sister.

"He is more than capable of this, I know this because he is my student. He has declared a week of solitude. I will give him a week, then seek him out. Perhaps I will join him for another week of time spent in the woods, if he has done well for himself, perhaps we will return at once, if he has not."

"Gaah…" The sister gave a long and miserable sigh.

"That will be tomorrow then, I suppose? Another day entirely before you set off to find him?"

"Yes."

"Tell him that his sister is finding his little games less and less charming as the years continue." Titania had no intention of doing that.