We Elves, as many are aware, are a predominantly peaceful and enlightened folk as a race. We are blessed in this, much as we are blessed by our innate connection with all living creatures and our lithe and beautious forms. All other creatures, though they too are to be beloved as the work of natures skilled hands, are basically either fat, short, slimy, or any combination of the three. Humans are fat. Dwarves are short and fat. You get the general idea.
We live by our principles, surviving and thriving in forests that would strangle and starve the other races, existing harmonously for the duration of our lives.
Mostly.
I had not heard of such an event. But I was made aware that it was not without precedent. That a young elf, upon reaching the age of maturity, occasionally starts to smell.
The smell, or stink I might say, of a penchent for a seriously unelflike unhealthy unnatural violence.
Some say they merely are influenced by that aspect of nature, the violently aggressive predators. Others that the abuses that the other races lay upon the earth takes root in their souls which burn for revenge. The wisest among us know the best course. Try not to get upset, accept the fact that the day would come in which that Elf approaches the druid as asks about a quest.
So it was with young lady, barely more than a child when the urges took her. She picked up longsword of chestnut for her own. Along with a shield of pine. She borrowed a bow when she could for practice though she had not one of her own. She spent time among the guard, almost as if considering being one of our worthy protectors. Her helm was crafted from saguaro. Her gauntlets from birch. Her leggings from larch. Like her shield, her boots were also of pine. She would've been the picture of a guardian, though we all knew what would really come of things.
We could smell it.
So, Rofa Acithiemima, which would be `Rofa Gorgegulf', on the 13th of Granite in 1050, set out from her forest retreat Kifinocaraca, `Stylesshell' to seek out the druid of our people.
She asked a peasent the way to the Capital, Humiddells.
Then she began a line of questioning that frightened the poor peasent, whose name was Ada Alinoica, out of her wits as Rofa demanded to know everything Ada could possibly recall about the outside world.
Finally, satisfied that she'd absorbed enough information, Rofa promptly left.
As soon as she was gone, the entire forest retreat of Kikinocaraca held a celebration in honor of the day that the child who stank feircely of murder and violence had finally left them. Needless to say, they did their daintiest dances and recited naughty poetry long into the hours of the night.
Who could say what things were on the mind of young Rofa? Was she aware of herself? Did she know her desire for violence, did she give it a name and talk to it? Or was it something that hid behind her eyes, quietly pushing her towards her inclinations?
Unlike humans, elves, even ones like Rofa, remained unthreatened by the beasts of the wilds. However, it was not unheard of, for Elven warriors to test themselves against such creatures. And as she journeyed towards Humiddells, she kept her eyes open, and her ears sharp for anything of interest in the forests.
Just a day from Humiddells, her chance came. She halted her stride. There was something near. And she began a circuituous route in the vacinity, seeking the creature. Her first test as a ... a what? A warrior? That word would do, yes. Her first test as a warrior was upon her.
Rofa blinked. Then stepped out into the open just to make sure she was seeing what she was seeing.
A grizzly bear.
Was Rofa daunted? Did she hesitate? Who could say. But this was not an ordinary combat she had planned on. She had saught to battle the first beast she saw by the traditions of proving a warrior that she'd heard stories of.
Perhaps with trepidition, Rofa put her chestnut longsword away. She adjusted the strap on her shield. She approached the bear, grabbed hold of the bear's head with her free hand, and sat down upon the ground, with her shield at the ready.
Almost at once, the bear broke free of her grasp, but not without some struggle. Indeed, after deflecting two strikes from it with her shield, she restored her grip.
The flurry began there, the bear breaking free from her hold, and her shield defending herself, seeking opportunities where she could to reapply her grip. She knew that there were two possible outcomes to the fight. The bear would exhaust itself, and she would have it at her mercy, or the bear would defeat her, by either exhausting her, or striking past her shield and landing a killing blow.
Soon, due mostly to the bear's struggles to break her grip on it's head and her lunging attempts to restore that grip, she began to feel her exhaustion. Rofa began to sweat, knowing that should her tiring diminish her ability to move her shield fast enough, she was in serious danger.
A quick assessment of her opponent revealed hopeful news though. The bear too was tired.
Author
Topic: An Adventurer Of The Most Hated Race (Read 1364 times)