>>5878766The Elder’s eyebrows raise, and the younger elfmaids seem enraptured as you go on, explaining your mastery and development of spells such as <Monstrous Regeneration> or <Clone>--the latter a spell of your own invention, which shocks even your mother to hear.
“A new being, created fully-formed from some aura and blood?” Mylaerlea Mious asks.
“It sounds a little scary,” Nakiasha admits.
“It sounds useful,” Meorue corrects, appraising you with glittering eyes. “Potentially.”
“So you can make another one of you?” Sylmare asks ‘inncoently’. “Sounds FUN.”
The Elder pinches Sylmare, who yelps, and you tug at the collar of your undershirt as your face reddens a little. You have to admit, all this awe and attention from the three elfmaids is actually… Rather nice.
“It’s no big deal,” you say, clearing your throat and attempting to convey a sense of cool confidence in your ability. “It’s still a work in progress… Just like Man. As a Disciple of the true Fey on Old Maple Hill—that’s this fairy court situated round an ancient maple tree outside the city, near the farms—I was able to offer some of the people there a whole new perspective on the world. It was a side-effect of curing them of this plague—I was sort of put in charge of that by the Archmage and the Queen of Hawksong—but I think it will really help them to understand the beauty of nature more deeply. And it’s already sort of working, materially-speaking, since the Queen set aside a big swathe of land to be reforested and dedicated to the spriggan who presides there!”
“Quite the ambition,” Meorue acknowledges, with an approving tilt of her head.
“So COOL,” Sylmare gushes.
“You really must care about them a lot,” Nakiasha notes softly, and smiles.
“Well, you know…” you laugh it off, adjusting your head. “I am… Sort of one of them. Half, anyway.”
Your mother frowns a little, and notes: “That doesn’t mean you owe them anything, you know… Or us, necessarily.”
You blink, startled by this, but before you can formulate a response the Elder interjects.
“It is admirable,” the Elder Venphrya admits, without any obvious acrimony at having effectively been chastised by an outsider and half-elf barely more than a tenth their age. “I respect what you are doing… And I suppose I have been too quick to judge. That our peoples are different doesn’t necessarily make their culture EVIL, of course. They, too, serve the Gods of Light.”
“Yes,” you agree, "and there are plenty who DON'T who we ought to be more worried about.”
A chill wind seems to pass through the clearing, setting the three young elf-maid to shivering. Your mother casts a wary glance towards the woods—specifically, the area from which the Unseelie have lately emerged. It is not only them, though: there are so many forces of darkness to be wary of these days, it seems, from all corners of the globe.
