Chương 5

The Greenwood Titania of Whitewood, Dame-Captain of the Goldenwood Rasil was always his most relaxed in the quiet of the woodlands, far from the busy conversations of his fellows that he found so disagreeable. The first time he had asked to go camping had been fifteen. She had been expecting the same surly and sullen boy at the time, and so proposed a single day, and three if he behaved during the trip. It was the first time she had seen an unguarded smile on his face.

The second day, resting against the crook of an oak root and listening to the sounds of the woodland about him. Not a smirk or a toothy mockery or coldly polite raise of the lips. Lady Greenwood had been cool and unsurprised when Titania told her of it, upon their return. Resigned above anything else. The first trip turned into a second, then a third. Soon it had become something done every summer, a month in the greenwoods under canopy and star.

Just herself and her student, delighted by the space and quiet and company. Private moments and secret jokes exchanged, with a boy finally comfortable enough to let out unguarded laughter. She cherished those moments. The dog of earth trotted up to her, bark-skinned and grass-furred, tail dropped and expression sad as it padded in one spot.

"Not here either?" she asked, dropping into a squat and reaching over to rub the elemental's head. The doglike spirit leaned into her gentle scratching, giving a slight whine.

"No?" She tilted her head.

"You did smell him?" Another padding, then a circle and a point using its entire body. She narrowed her eyes, standing up once more and listening carefully in that direction. The sound of gentle flowing water crept through the trees and brush, reaching her ears and provoking a considerate twitch. That was the western river, which she had not yet had the opportunity to take him camping near yet. She had been saving that for his twenty-fifth year. Teresa had not reported a fishing rod on his person.

Titania frowned and began a series of bounding leaps, great swathes of woodland conquered by each brief trip through the air- the strength of her blessings and mana. Several minutes later, she slowed her pace and dropped down from the treeline, landing as softly as she could manage on the banks of the western river with a slight frown. A gentle flow that babbled through rock and root as it wound its way southwards towards mannish lands.

The dog spirit padded about, emerging from a nearby oak and trotting up to the edge of the river, before giving a small whine and looking up at her.

"... The other side?" she asked. The spirit whined again. Her frown deepened as she considered the stream. It was relatively broad and shallow at this entry-point, more than capable enough to walk within. If Rasil had entered it but his scent did not emerge upon the other bank, then he had waded within the stream for a long enough distance for the scent to emerge elsewhere. She had taught him to conceal his tracks before, a handful of small, basic lessons.

If he had come here during the first day, then traveled along the river for a significant distance, then the current and time would have drowned a significant portion of his scent. Even now, only the faintest traces of his oak-smoke and honey smell remained along the bank. She glanced up the stream, then down. It thinned out as it went northwards, eventually emerging from mountain flows still thawing in the early summer.

It strengthened and merged with other streams as it went southwards, eventually combining with the Midden Sea, at the mouth of the Mannish port city of Threeway. He was not camping in any of their previous locations. He was attempting to cover his tracks, traveling in a section of the woodland he was unfamiliar with. He did not want to be followed. A terrible suspicion began to form in her mind. Was he impetuous enough to do that? She considered what she knew of the boy for a moment longer, before her ears fell.

He absolutely was. She began to move again, this time bounding in a northwards direction along the riverbanks, taking long and deep inhales between each bounce. If he was truly seeking to get away from everyone, then he'd travel upstream, towards the quiet of the mountains and the hidden places therein. It was summer, so they'd be as warm as they would ever be currently, giving him plenty of time to establish a basic shelter and hide in time for winter.

Monsters dwelt in those places, far from the arrows of elves and men, and they would capture him with great swiftness. A child would understand this danger intellectually, but their perception would be warped by inexperience and ego. Of course they can handle a few monsters, they would think, they're just monsters. Rasil was more than prideful enough to believe something like that. He was stubborn and relished his own competence.

Eventually, an hour or so later, she slowed down once more, coming to stop around much shallower waters, with rocks that littered enough of the surface that it was impossible to step entirely around them. He would've climbed over and around them in making his way further up the stream and into the mountains. And yet, the scent of oak-smoke and honey was nowhere, not even faintly. Merely the smells of creekwater and moss-laden stones.

She frowned again, taking several confirmatory sniffs before frowning upstream, and turning to look downstream. Civilization was found downstream, she had taught him the basics of navigation, she knew that he knew this. So if he hadn't traveled upstream to avoid others, then he had traveled downstream to join others. Others who were not elves. Many men and dwarves and dark elves, but very few elves. She furrowed her brows.

'Silly boy, has your romanticism overtaken your caution? Running off from home so young to see the world? Could you not wait another twenty years? … could you not wait to ask me?' Despite all of his words and glares and little grumbles, Rasil was absolutely an elf. She began another bounding run, southwards and downstream this time, leaping over rock and shrub and fallen logs as she did. Not once had he expressed interest in the wider world.

The extent of his interrogations was a disinterested hum whenever a detail was revealed, but he was a clever boy, and this is not something he would do without thinking long over the matter. In hindsight, it was clear that he had never asked about the wider world to prevent any initial suspicion for when he fled in this manner. He had not told her of this desire, to flee the Greenwood and leave all these things behind him. Had she known, she might've pursued immediately.

Perhaps she wasn't as close to his heart as she had thought. How shameless of her, to assume. She'd redouble her efforts for the remainder of his time under her care. Ten years was not enough, mayhaps ninety would be. Two hours of bounding run was enough, the faint scent of honey and smoke appearing once more upon the banks of the river, and curving to the side and then scrambling up a tall oak to rest for some time, then down again and continuing along the riverbank.

He had sought shelter in the branches for his rest in an unfamiliar region. She smiled faintly. Just as she'd taught him. She continued her bounding pace southwards, following the smoke and honey down to the borders of the Greenwood territory. Another pause, then a frown as she raised a hand. The spirit stepped forth from another tree, a pine this time, before trotting up to her and wagging its tail. She knelt to withdraw a bit of parchment from her satchel, emergency inkpot, and fine quill pen.

A letter was rapidly written upon the parchment, before held up for the spirit to sniff curiously.

"You have served me well, little one. Please take this letter to the Greenwood estate, and your duties will be complete." The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. The wooden dog stared at the letter for a few moments, before reaching forwards and gently taking hold of it in a dry wooden mouth. Being made of wood and bark meant very little saliva to ruin her handwriting. Instead of leaving, it reached up with one paw and rubbed behind its ears.

She obliged the noble beast with many good scratches behind its ears and under its neck, after which it waggled over to disappear into the pine. A noble little spirit, the hound of Greenwood was.

'Rasil has run away from the Greenwood. He has fled southwards along the western river, beyond the wardstones. I am following him.' -Titania — Hoofcross, Bridgetown Mallorn the elf"So that's Hoofcross?" Mallorn asked, doing his best to speak Mannish. He wouldn't be learning anything if he stuck to Elvish the entire time, even if it was easier than not now that this additional fellow was present.

He had been repeating the words for explaining where they were going a few times in his head, not eager to screw it up later. The town was significantly larger than the logging village, but not to the degree that he'd call it a proper city. Situated directly on top of the mighty river and surrounded by grey wall, perhaps ten feet high. The wall terminated in great gates to the east and west, and was broken up by tremendous arches for the river-travel to flow over.

The center of the town could be seen from the little hill they were upon, and through one of the river-gates, and was dominated by a truly enormous bridge of stone and wood, which sloped gently upwards to allow unmasked ships to pass beneath, and for great rows of carriages and carts and cityfolk to pass over. This great-bridge was flanked by two smaller drawbridges, which were currently pulled up, and he imagined would be used for repair and emergency transport if the great-bridge were to collapse.

All in all, it looked very much like the town of origin for some plucky young adventurer chosen by a Goddess to defeat the Demon King with a special power bestowed upon them. It was almost charming in how nostalgic it was to look upon it. The only strange thing about the scene was the very clear shanty town built encircling the entire city, wooden structures of exceptionally crude manufacture often stacked on top of each other, doors and windows too short to be useful to humans.

The occasional glimpse of green skin told him that these were goblins, and therefore a goblintown, and no one seemed particularly surprised by it.

"Aye, looks it," Rayne replied with a rather unimpressed tone. Then, a laugh burbled up in his throat.

"You know why it's called Hoofcross?" He grinned, turning to look at him more directly.

"No." Mallorn shook his head. Dura looked up from her place on his other side to give a similar look of mild curiosity.

"Two stories. The first is that a battle was lost here, when a ~~~~~ fell of his horse, the legs crossed. He died, and the battle was lost, and the victors named the town to ~~~~ them." Rayne waved a hand, clearly showing lot little he cared for that tale, raising a finger and grinning before he begun the second.

"The second was that the first ~~~~~~~ was born here."

"... ~~~~~~?" Dura asked with a raised brow.

"I don't know that word." Mallorn frowned.

"Centaur," Rayne translated, holding back a laugh.

"... And how was the first Centaur born?" Mallorn asked, a small smirk growing on his face as he read the tone, guessing where the joke was going ahead of time.

"Well, only one way to do it, rightly." Rayne pretended to be serious, before letting a wide grin cover his face as he pointed a thumb at the bridgetown.

"A ~~~~ was caught ~~~~~~ their horse here." Mallorn could tell what the missing word was from context, letting an amused snort out to contrast Dura's offended yelp.

"That's dirty!" she claimed, a hot flush on her face.

"Allow me to introduce myself, Bastard," Rayne replied with a mocking grin and a hand on his chest." Are there normally this many goblins in towns?" Mallorn asked in Elvish, reaching up to scratch at his neck in thought. He wanted to be clear with this question.

"Hm?" Rayne glanced over to him, then over at the shanty that surrounded the town walls.

"Not quite this many, no. Hoofcross has a lot of travelers going through, lots of coin to pay for lots of goblins." So goblins weren't just monsters here, that was good to know moving forwards, he supposed. Briefly he considered that he had done something wrong earlier, before remembering that even if they weren't goblins, they'd still be kidnappers, so he was probably fine. Then Rayne grinned and leaned forwards, hands groping the air.

"Ah, is the elf looking to partake in some goblingirls? Short, cheap and eager to please, I bet they'd throw in another discount for a big pretty boy like yourself." He blinked behind his mask, before tilting his head.

"... People pay to have sex with goblins?" He thought back to what the males looked like with a furrowed brow. Either there was significant sexual dimorphism at play, or people here were just desperate. Maybe both. Rayne let out a long laugh at that, pulling ahead and not answering the question.

"What did you ask?" Dura looked up at him with furrowed brows.

"Mallorn pointed a finger at the goblintown.

"Green men are many. Normal?"

"T-then he asked if people p-pahaha p-paid to have ~~~ with them or not!" Rayne got through barks of laughter. Mallorn noted that word as 'sex'. Dura let out another offended little gasp, before turning to him and latching onto his side as they were walking.

"Mallorn! ~~~~~ are very bad! You must not go around them, okay?! Not even once!" So that was the word for 'goblin'. Mallorn raised his hands to place on her horns and tried to push her away from his side.

"I was not! Let go, little dwarf!" he asked in a dispassionate manner.

"Not until you promise! Not one goblin. That's how you become a ~~~~~~~~~~~ and spend all your coin down in ~~~~~~~~~! That happened to my uncle! Now he has ~~~~~~~~ goblin children!" she cried out in a panicked manner, latched on even as her head bent back further and further from his pushing. Rayne just kept laughing, even as they approached the outer bounds of the goblintown, road patrolled by guards in brightly colored tunics and alleyways crowded with curious greenskins.

Mallorn noticed that the vast majority were either women or children. Children were easy to spot, being tiny implike things wearing scant raggy clothes, running about and smacking at things. The women were likewise easy to spot, on account of their overall proportions, occasionally bit of jewelry or makeup, and scant raggy clothes. They were also significantly less ugly than he was anticipating, and most of the goblintown smelled like cheap perfume more than shit like he had been expecting.

Occasionally, he would spot signs in mannish letters with big arrows pointed at larger doorways, alleys practically choked in loitering females. The signs were advertisements, reading out times and prices in basic, blocky shapes and letters. Mallorn frowned to himself, ignoring Dura latched to his side and glaring at every goblin who glanced their way. Now he just felt a little stupid for asking his earlier question. Four hours for a copper coin felt ridiculously cheap.

"Stop looking!" Dura snarled at him, reaching up to smack at his chestplate. Small hand making a hollow thump noise as it impacted his wooden plate. He rolled his eyes and ruffled her curly hair, ignoring her offended grumble as they approached the gates of the town proper in the light of a setting sun.

"Hail!" The guard at the gate gestured at them with a long spear. Not aggressively, but firmly.

"Business in Hoofcross?"

"Just staying the night, we're heading to Father Erem," Mallorn answered in his best Mannish. Thankfully, the guard didn't comment on it, which meant that all his mental practice had paid off!

"Eh, an elf?" The guard reached up to scratch at his head, glancing down at the dwarf by his side and then at the man and his horse.

"Well, alright then. You know where the taverns are?"

"I do," Rayne replied, raising a hand and waving off the question.

"Thanks for the offer though." The guard nodded, before leaning back against the wall and pointing a thumb towards the township.

"Alright then, no ~~~~~~ business now, you hear?" The word for 'funny', perhaps? Mallorn nodded gratefully, and they walked into the township together.

"You've been here before?" Dura asked Rayne with a suspicious tone.

"Hm, yeah a few times," Rayne replied casually.

"There's a tavernkeep that I know, and she owes me a favor. We can stay at her place tonight."

"I see," Mallorn responded with a nod and twitch of his ears. The town was exceptionally noisy, especially compared to the vast stretches of wilderness that he had traveled through to arrive here, but it was a new and not altogether unpleasant type of noise. The smell was again better than he had been expecting for a non-Elven town, mostly dominated by perfumes, baked goods, and alcohol. Bread and Beer. It was a very 'yeasty' town.

Rayne led them confidently through side-streets, leading his horse by the reins until coming to a stop at a tavern kept in the shade by the watchtowers, walls, and other buildings around it. He lashed his horse around the front, before stepping up to the door. Mallorn glanced around, feeling eyes upon him but seeing nothing in particular. Mostly just cobbled roads and packed, slightly worn buildings. He turned from his inspection of the roads behind them to the tavern he had been lead to the doorway of, and paused.

"Marcille! Are you still alive?!" Rayne called out, sliding up to the bar. A woman with dusky skin and pointed ears glared at him from a door leading into the back. Her dress was cropped and revealing, and her eyes were a light pink.

"Hey Bastard, what are yo-" She stopped as she turned to look at them. More specifically, at Mallorn's fair ears. She was hardly the only one, as most of the people in the tavern were looking at said ears. Because most of the people in the tavern had long ears of their own, save in their own tanned and dusky skin tones. Most of the people in the tavern were dark elves.