Pheinixfall -12- Part 2 of 2

The Challenge of Proposition (contd.)

Rang was caught a moment of study as he tried to catch on to what was obviously the middle of a very long, detailed story, and this study pulled him in. The shadow of the elf-lad, still young but not entirely a child, couldn't seem to keep up as he moved about the fire, telling his story to the tune of the musicians about the place. His movement caught Rang staring, for he was like silk blown on a breeze, erratic but purposeful smooth. Then, all at once the young lad came to a halt, poised like a stalking cat with a shorter Elvine thin-blade in hand. It was pointed right at the Dwarf, a razor-edged needle, and in his smoky state, Rang twitched. He was thoroughly entranced by the story, but he had no idea what was happening within it. Was he at the climax or the resolution? Or was it all just the end of the first act? With his trance broken by his twitch as the boy froze there, Rang glanced around.
Everyone was watching intently, waiting quietly. All about him, all about the ring, young apparently single women were edged in around the circle the young storyteller had created. They were listening as intently as the dwarf had been, whilst couples and older men sat further out, listening to the tale with glazed eyes as they envisioned all that the boy had displayed. The young lad moved, drawing back the scoutmaster's gaze with a new level of curiosity and study that bordered on suspicion.
Shalon's motion was a drink from a bottle of wine, but he did not relinquish his poise, and his sword arm a-pointing did not waver in the slightest. Then, the bottle disappeared within his satchel, and he was creeping forward around the fire like a stalking black cat with tiny thin blade aimed along his path. His movements were trailed by his satchel, a pair of floor length coat-tails, and that lengthy pony-tail, bound back by and joined with several lengthy braids. But even so, his visage was scored and framed by long ribbons and strands of stray ebony that refused to be kept.
"And in the darkness of the halls of Kul'raen I crept forward, wounded, alone, with only my sword to guide me." He spoke as he padded about the flames. "And lo' and behold, dear Quilencce thought it amusing, no doubt, to leave me in such a predicament." He chuckled at what was obviously meant to be a joke, and the onlookers shared the amusement, jarring Rang with their outbursts. Then, his little blade sprang to life, glaring bright with indigo hues of a most radiant blue. Rang was startled by the suddenness of its coming, for it was a sudden star in the forest, but thereafter he sat mesmerized like everyone else.
Who the devil was this boy?! Surely no mere storyteller, Rang thought. This lad was a professional, for his tale was enveloping. He put so much thought and reality into his every aspect of telling as to be no less than a true performer. And so the Dwarf tuned his little ears to the story to listen well to what could be revealed as the tale wore on. His pipe came back to him, smoldering profusely, and he took it without taking his eyes from the boy, missing nothing of the tale until a young lady wandered past, bearing a large broad bowl of some foodstuffs at her hip as she made her way through the crowd. Rang was too intrigued to listen to his stomach. He swayed aside, so as not to miss a step of the tale, but was then forced to lean swift in the other direction with irritation as she broke his field of vision. The light of the lad's sword had dwindled suddenly.
"I kept it low." Shalon spoke about the volume of his lighted blade as he crept a few more paces. "And there in a massive cavern my search for light overland finally paid off. I had found the end of that damnable tunnel and a way out through a portal in the earthen sky, but luck was not on my side." He took another healthy drink and swayed a little bit. He was clearly drunk. Perhaps that was the key to his investment to the telling of the tale.
Strange, Rang thought, that I hadn't noticed it sooner. After all, anyone could spot a drunk from a mile away, but this lad barely let on. He certainly seemed a bit young to be so drunk, even for an Elf, all of whom looked ever-young to begin with.
"The portal was ever-high, at the midst of a grand cavern's domed ceiling, and far below my encircling walk were gathered a thousand Drovanye devils!" He was grinning as he elaborated the tale, surely embellishing as he pointed down upon the fire with a sweep of his blade to emphasize the scope of his vision. His sapphire eyes glinted with a peculiar sort of light, as though the flames alone were not all that glared back from within, and Rang leaned forward.
"Cautious, I backed away," Shalon stated, snuffing out the light of his little sword, and so he backed away towards the ring of spectators. He then dropped into a crouch and glanced about, sipping another tug on his wine bottle. "I didn't know where to go or how to reach the light on high." He gestured up to the smoke and embers of the campfire.
"Until…" And suddenly he was erect on his feet again, cat smooth and quick. He approached the fire and gestured as he ringed it, speaking.
"I realized that the walk I had emerged upon had been given a primitive railing of tough hemp, and a length of it so long as to couple and bind a dragon or two." He said it so matter-of-factly that there was no need to question, and all simply listened on.
"So I severed it." He made a flourish with that little sword, body rising up onto one leg and then dropping down into a widely braced crouch, smooth flowing, as flowery as a butterfly's unpredictable swooping. His sword flashed of its light in a deathly swift down-strike, but it swooped back and wheeled about his grip as he came to rest, feet sprawled, body leaning forth at the lip of the campfire, as though he was peering down upon the Drovanye creatures far below. His blade then dropped to hang slack in his grip as he recoiled quickly. "And I gathered up the rope, retreating." And so he performed the motions of coiling an imaginary rope as he walked backwards whilst still crouched, an eerily disturbing movement. Rang had never seen anyone move like that. It surely looked impossible, though he was sure he'd never seen anyone try it either. Perhaps it was easier than it looked, but he wouldn't have bet on it. It looked unnatural, but the boy made it seem effortless.
One of the many girls wandering about with those large bowls was on an unwitting collision course with the backpedaling cat, and Rang saw it coming. He started to open his mouth to warn her of the storyteller's whereabouts, but Shalon was talking again. There was no room to interrupt the spell he wove.
"And so it was, as I backed away, that my luck completely ran out, and I ran aground against something that should not have been there." He kept backpedaling and the girl bent over to hand down a drink to someone on the ring's edge. Shalon's shoulder ran aground upon her bottom, and so startled, she rose up. But he was more than swift. He wheeled even as she did, and up he twirled into her, catching up her slender figure and dipping her back. Rang caught a flicker of that sword's light and the lady gasped. The spectators gasped with her, and Shalon froze there with her. For a full string of silent moments, the two stood there on Shalon's balance alone, for the girl had pitched back in her surprise and by his force. But she did not fall, for the situation was well under the lad's control.
"I wheeled upon a Drovanye who had found me out." Shalon began again, pulling the cold flat of his sword off of her stomach to hang it out wide for all to see. "I slit him wide and his innards fell." He paused, grinning in the girl's startled face. But her surprise slowly melted to swooning under his skill. Rang didn't know all there was to know about the Elves, but he knew the look of a swoon in any woman. He glanced about, and every one of the young ladies still hung on every word. It was to be expected of course, for that was the lure to an Elvine lass. It was not looks or riches or power that drew them, but rather, skill. It didn't matter what kind of skill, only that their man be skilled in what he did. Rang supposed that was to be expected as well, for the Elves did pride themselves on perfecting whatever it was they undertook in their long lives.
"And I let him fall." Shalon continued, gently lowering the girl until she sat amidst the spectator's ring, blushing and smiling bashfully. She did not rise to continue her duties thereafter.
"However, the lone Drovanye I thought had snuck upon me was not one, but many." He explained, and suddenly exploded in motion. A second sword joined the first in his free hand where his wine bottle had been lost or intentionally cast away, and Shalon wheeled away from the lass, fighting imaginary foes like a lighted blossom. As a cyclone of power and obviously lethal skills, rising and falling and twisting about. He moved back towards the fire and came to a new halt, dropped to a crouch again, blades wide and lights dead. Rang was suddenly no longer mesmerized in the same way. No longer did the story matter. No longer did his own mission to reach Batteles matter. He'd already found a Symphonier. He knew it without question, for he'd never seen any Varan hunter move like that. He'd never seen anyone anywhere move like this little elf-boy could move. What he was, was unquestionable.
The Dwarf lost focus on the story's progress. He didn't care for the rest of it, as entertaining as it was. Instead, he studied the lad, and waited for the tale to end. After all, it could be that this boy was not a Symphonier, for he did not wear or appear to possess what was the deciding factor. There were several alleged signals that would prove the boy a Symphonier, of course, but the one that no one dared mimic, was the wearing of what the Elves called, a traditional split-ear hood, which was told to be fashioned that their long ears need not be concealed. Thus, his study wore on and showed him many things until the end of the tale. Rang noted the peculiar clothing the boy wore, which was very unusual and certainly not worn by the Vara, whose style was particular and generally simple. There was a strange tattoo on the boy's bare left bicep and shoulder, and upon his clothing he wore little silver emblems, each fashioned into their own symbols, numbering ten, or eleven if he counted the one that dangled from a sheath earring that concealed the tip of the lad's left ear as if a tip-scabbard for a cooking knife.
Surely those would be marks of advancement, handed down like Dwarvish military medals were given as reward for great duties. They would have been given by the boy's master, Rang thought, but then his thoughts ground to a halt as the story apparently ended and the Elves clapped and whistled for his story's culmination. The boy's master was a sudden concern to the Dwarf. Surely a lad that young, even with all his skills, could not be a Symphonier. Leastways, he couldn't be a master out on his own yet. Or could he? Rang didn't know for certain, but did take into account the nomadic ways of these vagabonds. It very well could be that this boy had been on his own for a very long time now, but with those in mind, he was still willing to bet that it wasn't so. He began scanning the crowd of watchers as Shalon erected himself amidst the applause. He bowed lowly and elaborately, and put away his swords at the low left flank of his back.
"Wine!?" He called, and a sudden flicker of movement off to the left drew the Dwarf's eyes, as a bottle of clear liquid sailed out to the dark lad. Shalon stepped to intercept it, dipped low with a stretch and caught it up with ease. Uncorked, he drank heartily as he smoothly staggered off in the opposite direction. He kicked at the flames in passing for no apparent reason, and they blew beneath his movement as though no more than a candle's prick beneath a gale. But, with his roundabout passing, the fires returned to their norm. Several girls went his way, the first of which had been the girl he'd sat down after their run-in, but the Dwarf now ignored him entirely despite the wonder that he was. Rang was too busy chiding himself for having not seen the elf who had tossed the wine to the boy, or more accurately, for the fact that he'd not thought to look for him sooner.
It would have been foolish to approach a lone Symphonier, apprentice or no, without watching his back as well as his front. He could have been dead before he knew it if he had approached the boy. But his spirits were on the up, for he now laid eyes upon the Master. He knew it without doubt, for there sat Quilencce, features concealed by a split-ear hood. He rested with a lovely lady under each arm as he leaned back comfortably against a huge Qu'chael hound, whom apparently slept undisturbed amidst the noise of the place. The lady under his right arm, with which he clutched a bottle of wine, was wearing a broad, droop-brimmed rider's hat several sizes too large for her that clearly belonged to the man. The other girl was content to just cling to the Symphonier.
Rang hesitated. How exactly was he supposed to approach the man? He knew what his mission was, but getting killed to accomplish it wasn't part of his plan. He knew the stories of Symphoniers. He knew how volatile they could be. Supposedly, walking on the thin ice of the first snows of the season was safer than talking to a Symphonier, but he had a duty to do. There was no getting around that. To help him ponder his course, he brought his pipe up and began to puff on it. Then, withdrawing, he stared at the empty bowl. All at once, Rang knew what he had to do.
He shook himself free of his Everoot daze, dug through his pockets for his pouch and prepared another bowl. As before, a lighted stick came his way before he was even finished. This time, he snatched the stick, rose and struck off towards the Symphonier. He traipsed across the open ground to the far edge of the spectator's ring, then cut into the people, making a direct line for the Symphonier and his company. He knew he would be watched every step of the way, especially since his smoking friends made it a point to follow him. But once he drew nearer to the man, his followers seemed to peel off as if they knew where he was going. He took this as a certain sign that this was the man he needed to talk to. The distance dwindled to a matter of a handful of yards and instantly the slumbering Qu'chael hound's lengthy lynx-ears perked up. Its head lifted in a snap and it faced him squarely, keen eyes narrow and dark, hidden by its dark double-tear marks. Rang's pace faltered in spite of his resolve, but he held on to a shred of it long enough to force himself to keep going, knowing well that if the hound knew of him and gave him its utmost attention, that he must also have the Symphonier's hidden gaze. With pouch, pipe and burning stick in hand, he felt confident that he would at least be tolerated, if only long enough to grant the Symphonier gift of partaking.
And so he was. The yards dwindled to a matter of a dozen feet before the Elf lifted a hand for him to stop.
Close enough. Rang thought. To die.
"What's that you've got there, runt?" Quilencce asked, smirking. Close as he was now, Rang could see all but the figure's eyes. He could see the grin and the smooth shape of a slightly aging face, but a pair of spectacles caught the firelight and hid the man's eyes. Insulted, Rang reined in on his tongue before it got him into trouble. The Symphonier was trying to anger him. He was being tested, and so, respectfully, he bowed.
"Everoot, if you would carry wish to partake, Master. For the tale of your boy was a most pleasant enjoyment." He gestured off towards Shalon's disappearance.
"A dwarf with manners?! A dwarf with wits?" Quilencce chirped a laugh. "Alright, I'll bite. Sit, Dwarf." He offered, and his smile faded. The lady in the hat sat up, brushing back curly blonde locks over her shoulder. Quilencce let her go. He still had the other one in his grip, whose turquoise hair mingled with the silver braid that emerged from his deep hood and ran down his chest. He kept her very close, and obviously preferred her. So bidden, Rang plopped himself down at a comfortable distance from the elf's feet, and the Qu'chael hound looked away. He lit up the fresh pipe-weed, puffed it into a burning ember and passed it to the girl in the rider's hat. She in turn passed it to Quilencce, who rather than smoke, merely inspected the pipe for a moment.
"What's your name, Scoutmaster Elmarang?" Quilencce spoke, proving he could read the Dwarven tongue that lie engraved on the pipe stem, which meant he also knew the ways of Dwarves. Most would not have known they wrote their lineage on just about everything they owned. He held the pipe disinterestedly after that and did not smoke.
"Will you be graceful enough to offer yours in return, Master?" Rang asked, but he received only the barest perceptible nods in return. "I am Rang." He gave the short version of his name, omitting the long string of forefathers that typically accompanied his people's introductions.
"Not only a dwarf with manners, but one with tact as well?" Quilencce commented, genuinely impressed.
"You've done your homework, lad."
"Not homework, Master." Rang denied. "It is merely the business of my office to know what's out there, even if I may never have the luck to encounter its grace."
"And you come here humble with flattery too?" Quilencce mocked surprise. "What do you want?" He suddenly became sharp, harsh, demanding. It was only a subtle shift in his tone, but Rang hesitated nonetheless. The change was abrupt, and it came just when he was about to think a Symphonier wasn't so bad as they'd been made out to be. He now knew he was already on thin ice without having done anything to insult anyone. He also knew that Quilencce was indeed a Symphonier for having known there was an ulterior motive so soon. He'd probably known it before the Dwarf had even finished approaching.
"Out with it, Dwarf." Quilencce spoke flat and even.
"Forgive me, Master Symphonier." He nodded his hooded head, then realized he'd failed to be as polite as he possibly could be. He drew back and pulled down his hood to expose himself further.
"That will depend upon whether or not you can speak right."
"Yes, right." Rang stammered. The Elf had him backing up on himself already. He could feel the stress building. He didn't like it. He had to be careful now, but he also had to be strong.
"I was merely choosing my words." He defended his behavior needlessly.
"Then pick them." Quilencce leaned forward, setting aside his wine bottle and woman, peering over the rim of his spectacles. Rang saw his eyes for the first time in that shaded firelight. They were a glittering silver white in the night surrounding. The girl who had clung to him was finally disturbed and forced to relinquish her touch. With the blonde girl already partially distanced from his figure, the Elf was now free to move in any way he chose, and Rang knew it was a dangerous sign. There was only one reason he would need to be free of constraints, not that constraints could have held him, let alone slowed him down, but that reason was unmistakable.
"I have come at the bidding of my Lord Dahrnen of Dulgnar, King of the Dragluln..."
"I know of him." Quilencce commented, cutting him short.
"…who bid me come at the behest of the new Toolian King of the heartlands east."
"The Toolian?" Quilencce scoffed. "New king? Then Diriwin is dead at last. Irwin succeeds him? What does he want?" Rang couldn't answer immediately. He was too surprised by the depth of the Symphonier's easterly knowledge, especially considering the Symphoniers had always allegedly been Western Hold-locked. Rang snapped out of it and answered quickly.
"I-I was only told what I needed to know in hopes to sway the Vara to find you for our sake, as per their request, but luck has had me find you without their aid."
"Some might not say luck." Quilencce commented pointedly. "What then were you told?"
The Symphonier was demanding an answer, as his eyes flickered up and beyond the stout little fellow. A bit of laughter caught Rang's ears and sudden motion at his side startled him, but he held firm as the dark lad dropped down beside him and looped an arm over the Scoutmaster's burly little shoulders. Under his free arm, Shalon had some pretty young lass. Shalon appeared to completely ignore the Dwarf, kissing and smiling upon the girl, but as Rang looked upon the lad, he suddenly found himself nose-to-nose with the boy. Shalon's sparkle-lit eyes were piercingly strange, and their sapphire hue was luminously intense. But they were also very dangerous and darkly deep-set. He smiled upon the Dwarf like a devil. Rang gulped. The boy had only come over for one reason, Rang realized. Because his master's posture had changed, and it was enough of a signal not to be missed. He'd come over because he was instructed to. Rang's nerves were thoroughly on edge at that nearness. If the master so wished it, he wouldn't even be able to blink before he was dead. He made it a point to watch his words now, -very closely.
"I-I was told that they are searching for someone that cannot be found by any means, and that they were in such a dire need of finding this person that they would offer the challenge to you, the greatest of hunters, even if you would not hear their word in council." Rang tried not to lose his train of thought and spoke quickly to answer the master as succinctly as possible.
"Who is this person?"
"I was told that they did not know who he was, but that he was an Elf who was said by legend to be the will of the earth herself." Rang answered immediately, voice gone into a storyteller's tone, as though he had a hard time envisioning this person. Quilencce's head turned aside immediately and lowered a bit, albeit just a subtle twitch, as though he recognized what the Dwarf had said.
"Do you know of this man?" Rang asked, reading the recognition that flickered across that smooth face.
"What do they need this Elf for?" Quilencce volleyed with another question. He was in control here, not the Dwarf. He would ask the questions, and Rang would allow him to do so.
"They only told me that he was needed in order to find someone else who they said could be found by neither magick or hunter. A girl of some great importance." Rang answered obediently. Quilencce's gaze flickered to Shalon beside the dwarf, then to the woman with his student, and then beyond for a moment.
"What importance?"
"That I was not told."
"You do not lie." Quilencce made it a statement, as if he could tell a lie when he saw it.
"I do not. I know better than to lie to the likes of you." He chuckled nervously. "As I said. It is my business to know what's out there. And how to stay alive in the face of those things."
"So you do." Quilencce commented, and finally he took the pipe to his lips and puffed on it to prevent the ember from dying. He blew out a big cloud and went on. "This challenge they offer me?" He hesitated. "Does not sound like much of a challenge." Again his eyes drifted to Shalon. They looked thoughtful and distant, and again they flickered beyond the conversation.
"I agree." Shalon finally made a comment, squeezing in on the burly little shoulders of the Dwarf as if hanging on an old pal or perhaps a newfound drinking buddy.
"I also agree with you, master. Or at least I did until they told me that this Elf was an elemental creature..." Rang went on. Quilencce's brows rose sharply, as though he were greatly intrigued. "..who is allegedly interminably powerful. They said he was a blessing and a curse. They said that he was needed to accomplish some ritual, but that afterwards he would become a danger. They said that when he had completed his birthright, he would become the challenge they would offer to you. I was told that you would be given right to face him in fair combat. They said that it would be the greatest challenge ever faced by any man."
The Master Symphonier was staring off into space, as though he was seeing right through his student, and he remained that way for a long string of moments, puffing on the Everoot of the Dwarf's pipe. Tense and uneasy, Rang leaned forward. His bushy brows arched highly.
"It would be glorious." He spoke as though such glory was a prayer. Quilencce fixed the Scoutmaster with his silver eyes and handed back his pipe. Rang took it tentatively and puffed on it himself.
"Looks like we've overstayed our welcome." Quilencce said, changing the subject and glancing to several Elves who now clustered nearby beyond his student's backside. "Its time to go, Scoutmaster Rang." He gestured for the Dwarf to lead the way. Rang only looked confused, and Quilencce only explained because he felt like explaining.
"You see. Shalon's lass here tonight happens to be married, or maybe betrothed, drunk and free as she is. He has a knack for finding the ones that will get him into trouble." He smirked. "Personally, I think he does it on purpose. But, at any rate, her husband or lover, her other, is the jealous type, and he has friends, and they're all fools."
Rang glanced over his hugged shoulder, saw the Elves a fair distance away and he got the picture after a moment. He looked on the young apprentice, to find himself nose-to-nose with the boy again, but Rang knew it as a test. He carefully concealed his opinion and disdain for intentionally chasing a skirt that belonged to someone else. Besides, his Dwarven-bred feelings of honor set aside, Rang could see a fight was about to break out. In that fact, he was perplexed, for the Symphoniers held no equals if it was a fighting matter. They shouldn't be willing to run from a fight, no matter the odds. But either way, he didn't want to be on one side or the other, let alone caught in between by association.
"I suggest you go get your things together, Mr. Elmarang." Quilencce nodded. Apparently, the Symphonier had made his decision as to what he was going to do about the summons to council.
"Now." He said it coldly, and Rang only hesitated for a moment as the Symphonier rose, snatched his hat from the blonde lady and pulled on the braided reins of his Qu'chael. The beast rose up gracefully and he simply hopped on as it did so. It stretched itself from slumber beneath his meager weight.
"Let's go see what these Toolians have to offer, shall we?" Quilencce grinned, but then he was riding away at a casual pace. Shalon ignored everyone but the girl. Rang glanced over his shoulder, watching the gathering of those loyal to a jealous husband or lover, and without a second look he was on his feet and shuffling away from the scene. He would have liked to stay and watch, but he was afraid of being caught up in the struggle. He didn't relish a beating or a blade, especially if it be the dangerous lad's.
Before long, he heard a commotion break out behind him. Swords met in several clattering clangs and men and women cried out alike, scattering away into the night. Rang just rushed ahead, not daring to look back, and within moments silence returned to the forest. By the sound of things, the fight was over before it really began. Rang tried to ignore it, and instead focused on the fact that, while the Symphoniers had been everything they'd been made out to be, they were also somehow not as bad as they'd been made out to be. After all, with a little minding of his manners, he'd directly approached one, no, two of them together, held a coherent conversation with them, and apparently, successfully convinced them to come with him to Dulgnar without succumbing to harm. He was almost elated, whilst behind him the entertainment of the evening was done. The party was broken and the music was dead. It would only be a matter of time before the small square was cleared and lights were snuffed for the night.
Rang made way, slogging uphill to his lodging, gathered his few possessions into his pack, and departed for the nearby stable where he'd bedded down his huge steed. He was admitted by the night stable-boy to fetch his animal, but at the exit he was forced to rein a halt, for there sat the Symphoniers upon their dangerous Qu'chaeli. Rang wouldn't have been surprised by the fact that they were already waiting for him, nor would he have been afraid, if it hadn't been for the hounds' lowered heads and flattened ears which normally stood perfectly erect and very tall with a peculiar sort of bestial pride and keen attention. They were just silhouettes against the faint light of the dying entertainment square cast diffused through the town's canopy. The hounds' double-tear marked faces were all but hidden in shadows along with the rest of their camouflaged figures, but their eyes glared back at him in the dark and their long tail plumes hung low and aside behind. They were poised to kill. He knew it as surely as he knew any predator, regardless of size. There would be no outrunning them, even if he managed to charge past them. Not on his steed. He placed a great deal of faith in his powerful horse, but it was no match for these huge predators. He placed even greater belief in his axes, but they wouldn't last longer than a moment against a Symphonier, let alone two. The hounds would tear the stallion down and kill him before he got ten paces. The Symphoniers would kill him far before that. They were just in another class altogether. A class they made up by themselves. But, the Symphoniers' split-ear-hood-hidden features, unreadable in the darkness, were the real matter to fear. Rang held his breath and didn't move. His horse nickered nervously as the Qu'chael padded closer, very slowly, very deliberately.
"Whoa." Rang cooed to his horse, but he didn't back down. "Easy, Jakk." He added, and the tense moment seemed to pass as if the Symphoniers had simply decided simultaneously that they didn't need to intimidate him any further.
"Let's go, Dwarf." Quilencce bid him, reining his hound about. The beast beneath him gave one last lingering look, but then gave in to its master's bidding and trotted off. Shalon was a bit longer in giving up the game, but eventually he turned to follow his master as well. Rang let out a soft sigh, then urged his steed ahead.
"May I ask your name, Master Symphonier? That I may know whom with I travel when time comes to tell the stories?" Rang called ahead, appealing to the Symphonier's sense of vanity as their mounts slogged down the muddy road amidst the tune of fat post-rain droplets.
"Quilencce." The master responded. "My son is called, Shalon."
And so Rang was given to following as they passed south and left the village of Bil Elstaen behind. He received a drenching as his horse swam across the river that fronted the settlement, but he didn't mind, being too amazed by the Qu'chaeli to worry about a little cold and wet, for they trod almost delicately across the river's surface and left only ripples in their wake. They truly were the most wondrous of creatures. And so they rode away in the night, apparently undisturbed by the fact that they were very intoxicated and would have a long journey ahead of them.
"It might take two weeks." Rang commented of the length of the journey, as they let him take the lead.
"I know." Quilencce answered forth. "I have been through Dulgnar… long ago."
"I was given to understand your kind only dwell west." Rang tried to force the small talk further.
"We do only dwell west. But there was a time when I traveled through every land Arillus had to offer freely." The Master sounded bitter. "There then is a reason we only dwell West." He added as afterthought, but his tongue sounded so harsh on the matter that Rang second-guessed his earlier desire to push it further. He just let the matter drop. He'd acquired enough in those few sentences to let him know a great deal more about who he was dealing with. This Master Quilencce was no shut-in recluse. He was a well-traveled, obviously very wizened man in regards to the world he lived in. He knew how to find his way in every land and probably knew his way around very well indeed. That was enough to know for the Scoutmaster for now, so their trip would be long and very quiet