------------Across Dasaria the call had been heard. Elves of all kinds knew this sound, for it had been written and spoken of as a matter of lore throughout their history. Few of the elders had lived in times when it was used to call those of Rian back to her borders. In crowded towns and cities, the other races looked on in confusion as elves fell to their knees calling for an end to the tormenting noise that they alone could hear. Innate as the magic of the elves was this sound, only those of elven blood knew its meaning and could hear its beckoning call. Those of half blood heard it as faint as a whisper.
All that could hear this bitter sweet sound instinctively knew its meaning. Return to Rian, return to their Mother, or give away freely their immortal lives. The choice was each elf’s own decision, but the consequence was the same. Refuse to answer the call, and a natural death would come in short time.
That was the day of my death. That was the day of my rebirth.
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570: First Fall of Dasar - Forest of Daris
The moon shone brightly illuminating patches of ground beneath the canopy of trees. The light revealed a pressed path through the grass left by the Varanite patrol, they made a round through the area making sure not to idle for to long. They had stripped the bodies of their rations, coin and whatever trinkets they may have possessed; And then they left. In one of the trees, something stirred, rustling the leaves as a figure poked his head fully out of the leaves. His stomach growled forcing him out of his lair and clambering down the mighty oaks trunk. Rushing from body to body seeing if any food had been left behind, it had been almost three days since his last meal and was starting to get sloppy.
A gust of wind rearranged how the light shone, a beam of moonlight focused itself on a dead captain. Who was laying face down next to the ashes of a small campfire, the scavenger was watching the body as if there was a chance it would stand up and start screaming. The snap of a tree branch off in the distance sent the figure dashing back up into his "home".
Day broke hours later, more soldiers passed through the forest heading towards Dasar. Some had managed to avoid their patrol route and were taking a break not more than a stones through away from where the scavenger watched. They had started a fire and were enjoying a meal, the smell wafted its way to the Oak tree, forcing the figure to close his eyes and curl into a fetal position. As darkness began to blanket the forest once more the soldiers had finally gotten the story they were going to tell if anyone asked, they kicked some dirt ineffectively over the embers and resumed their patrol.
Once the sound of the patrol had died down, he moved; climbing down the tree, through the sea of shrubs towards the now dull red embers. The noise of bushes being pushed aside could be heard crisply if anyone cared to listen but the scavenger didn't care any more. Not even bothering to look spare crumbs that had been left behind he threw some makeshift kindling onto the embers. As the fire slowly ate the fuel the shadows darkened and concealed him as he shuffled away to what he'd been watching all day; mulling over the idea in his head all day.
After a few minutes two men came into the view of the light given off by the flames, the first was the scavenger, the second was a Varanite on his back and being dragged next to the fire. Stripping the corpse of his armor and clothes was the easiest part of the task set in front of the scavenger. Grabbing a discarded arrow nearby, the arrowhead was cleaned and pulled off; placed aside for later. A bent branch was placed on the edge of the fire for the meat, picking up the arrowhead and heading over to the now naked "dinner".
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Oronar is my name. That was my first lesson.
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583: Second Fall of Dasar - Oraan's Crossing
The conflict was escalating, the Varanites were always proceeding further on the heels of Oronar. He'd have been able to easily outrun them if he wasn't so burdened by his supplies, food, drink and arrows; something he wasn't willing to leave behind and chance finding more later. He had to keep moving, Dasar would need all the able bodies it could get and he had a feeling it would get worse.
Wading waste deep through the swamp was a good way to get attacked by a Koa'lisk but slowing down wasn't an option. Figuring that he had a good hours worth of light, he pressed on hoping that eventually he'd stumble into a village soon.
As the light from the sun disappeared the torch light of the camp was a welcome sight as Oronar marched into town; never breaking his pace. The population had boomed, the village was crowded with a mix of desperate and solemn faces, either watching the elf or huddling together near the fires. Finding himself a patch of grass a trolls step away from a boy with a sword far too heavy for himself, and a helmet a size too big. Oronar shook his head as he disarmed himself, thinking how terrible the idea of forced militia was. After making "camp" he lay down besides his equipment and took off his boots; a first in weeks.
And then he felt it, something pulled at his body telling him lay down and close his eyes, to sleep. Holding himself up as he tried to make sense of it, when it first happened years ago it was a slight tug which forced him to lay down and let his body relax but never actually having to sleep. Now was different, the week long march had pushed himself over the edge. Oronar’s last memory of the night was the clouds parting to reveal a half-moon and the pitter-patter of rain.
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I’m no elf. I live as a man, I will die as a man.
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594: Ascension of Marcus IV to the throne - Forests of nearby Dasar
Securely hidden in a tree, Oronar sleeps, contemplating his life and possible futures and its inevitable end; these thoughts pass through his mind in an almost fevered dream, digesting the events of his new life.
In my dream I watch myself march against a gale of wind and sand, crossing a completely flat wasteland. My movements cause web like cracks to shoot outwards on every step. Holding an arm in front of me as I push onwards towards nothing.
Crunch.
As I look downwards I can that I’ve stepped in snow, the wind has settled and my armor has gone. It is cold and I can barely see the powder which I walk on, but in the distance I can make out glowing eyes. Leering at me, hungry, waiting for me to keel over and die so they can pick the scraps off of my body. The snow is rising, now reaching my waist as I wade onwards towards a faint glimmer of light. Every moment that goes by the light threatens to disappear, so I double my pace straining to make it to the embrace of the glow. Suddenly I disappear under the snow and my vision is blurred and blue. Water fills my nostrils and I swing franticly to reach the surface of the water . The light shines brighter than ever piercing down almost as if taunting me, I can feel my fingers break the surface but I can’t swim any higher no matter how hard I try. The world spins as I am sucked downwards in an underwater tornado, I hit the ground and am pinned to it. Staring upwards as I am pulled slowly into the sand, no longer struggling I accept that my life will end.
I wake up on a raft, a man I have never seen before but I know is my friend reassures me and tells me that we are lucky. Sitting up on the makeshift boat I laugh tiredly but unable to control my joy for living another day. We drift down the river, surrounded by forest, the hungry eyes still watch but I know now that they pose no threat. The only thing stopping me is myself. The landscape melts away leaving a white abyss and myself. Closing my eyes for an instant, I open them and I am awake.
A sneeze escapes Oronars hold and he pulls the blankets. Glancing to the south the broken walls of Dasar can be seen reminding him that he was too late; I’ll do what I can to help the people of Dasaria he thought. Rolling over and yawning, after a good nights rest he added.
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I’m not a martyr. I’ll help, but I don’t intend to be a corpse they sing songs about.
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632: A year ago - Port town south of Dasar
Morning came as it always does, and Oronar woke up as he does as of recently, sitting himself on the edge of the bed. Grabbing his right boot and tugging it over his leg, then grabbing his left and locking his wooden leg to his knee. Readjusting the bootstraps on both while uttering.
“Damned traps.”
Standing up and pulling on his tunic and getting to work on strapping his armor on. Weathered is the simplest way to describe it, the only time the armors been cleaned is during a rainstorm. Nothing adorns the armor besides the holes left by arrows and dents from use. Within an hour Oronar is ready to catch a boat heading to someplace far away for as little as possible. Tugging his eye patch over his right eye as he opened the door, and heading towards the exit.
Moments later he returned, stamping his feet a bit, swinging open the door to his room and heading to the bookshelf where he’d left his newly acquired possession. Popping in the replacement for his upper set of teeth and continuing on his way.
