Chapter 21: Isekai Life & Difficult Concepts

Seran securely strapped Calliope’s body to the griffon’s complicated saddle, while Haseth stood off to one side, organizing his kit. There was enough light now that we could see, and, Seran assured us, for Barador to take off with. The griffon’s beak was still wet with blood and sticky with giblets of flesh from his post-battle meal. One taloned fore-paw was held almost daintily up in the air, where an unlucky hit from one of the worgs had bit through feathers, flesh and tendon. Despite the injury, Haseth and Seran swore that the beast could both fly and land safely.

Raszil chose to save his healing powers for our party, as both he himself and Yua were badly injured in the battle.

“Um, so, this is going to be okay, right?” Voss asked nervously, “This big guy isn’t going to get hungry and ... need a snack, right?”

Seran laughed. “No, Sir Voss, you needn’t worry. Barador is a good boy, he knows better. And besides, he’s had his fill. It should take us about three days to return to Avenda Vereh Loica, and griffons are gorging predators- once their belly is full they can go a week between meals.”

This easy banter kind of pissed me off, so I went over to stand beside the griffon and seize one of the straps of its’ harness. I looked Seran dead in the eye. “Take good care of Calliope,” I commanded, “If I return from completing your mission and find that something has happened to her...”

“I understand, Lord Theodore,” he said, taking up the reins, “Your lady is safe with me, rest assured. We may be a reclusive people, but you would not be the first travellers to have chanced upon assistance from the mist elves ... although it is somewhat unique for you in be in a position to give back.” He grimaced suddenly. “Please, I leave my honour in your hands. Complete my mission so that I do not dishonour myself to assist your lady.”

I nodded, and released the harness. In truth, I was sad to see the beast go- I could think of a lot of good tactical uses for a flying, seven hit die monster with three attacks per round.

So burdened, Barador needed to take off like a plane. Seran heeled the griffon to a wide stretch of field, far from the farm buildings, gave a brief salute, and then Barador ran forward, great eagle-like wings spreading and flapping until the great beast was able to find the momentum needed to catch the wind and soar up into the air.

On the ground, the griffon was huge and ungainly, but with it’s wings outstretched and paws gathered close to it’s body, Barador’s flying seemed graceful, even majestic.

Voss whistled, evidently impressed. “I have got to get one of those.”

Moruca snorted. “You want to fall that badly?”

“I want to fly,” Voss corrected, “Falling is what happens when you screw up.”

Moruca smirked at the knight. “And how many times did you fall learning to ride a horse? You think that won’t happen just because your mount has wings?”

Voss scowled. “If these elves can do it, so can I. Besides, haven’t you ever heard of rope?”

“Come on,” I interrupted, “We need to get back to Rhymer’s Cross and plan our attack on the goblin hideout.”

Voss turned his back on the old woman, seething. We weren’t really in a hurry, but I had never seen Voss like this. He was gregarious, cocky, occasionally witty, but he never seemed so bitter and angry before. I guess I wasn’t the only one who was feeling Calliope’s loss.

I think I could understand, though. Calliope- smart, witty, courageous and magically potent- could not possibly by replaced by an old woman, a pervert gnome, and some half-blind elf dude. Part of me resented all three of them for having the audacity to live when Calliope had died. I suppose my semi-split personality let me control that emotion to a degree, but as we rode in silence back to Rhymer’s Cross, it only grew. My mind gnawed at that resentment like a dog chewing a bone. Especially seeing Haseth riding Buttermilk, since we had no other horses ... it all seemed wrong, somehow.

The gate guards, who had become used to our coming and goings, immediately intuited that something dire had happened when they saw that Calliope had been replaced by Haseth. As they helped us unload our forage, one disappeared, heading further into town. When he returned, it was with Estrid- the young Shire-Reeve’s usually stoic expression only slightly softened.

“You have my condolences about your lost party member,” she said, with all the sensitivity of a brick, as expected.

“It’s a dangerous job,” I replied bitterly, “This is Haseth, a warrior from the mist elves. He’s agreed to assist us with the goblin problem.”

Haseth gave a salute, as one warrior to another, but Estrid was already shaking her head.

“Aye, I know he’s a mist elf, and that’s why he’s not welcome here.”

My eyes narrows in confusion. The drunken gnome worshipping the literal god of secrets was welcome, and this elf wasn’t?

“Sir Theodore,” Haseth spoke into the awkward silence, “I think I see what is happening here, if you care to listen. And this young lady may feel free to correct me as she sees fit, to represent her point of view.”

“Alright...”

“This land- what humans call the Lakelands, we refer to as Kreieth Shai- the Shattered River. Once, a long time ago, we conquered this land from the hill dwarves, and ruled this land as part of our kingdom. But due to internal strife, we had to recede back to the valley containing our capital city, and the Vale of Mist beyond,” he explained, “It was some decades after that, when humans migrated into the area. Officially, the Mist-King knows that this land is outside our influence, but that does not keep some of citizenry from seeing it as ours, and the humans as interlopers. They have been known to occasionally make mischief for the human settlers.”

“Mischief!?” Estrid’s eyes went wide with a mix of surprise and anger, “You call driving people- good, honest people- off their land with sword and fire, torching homes and fields, to be mere mischief!?”

Great, there’s an elven Klan. This won’t be an awful situation to explain my way out of.

Haseth bowed his head, in response. “Forgive me, I did not mean to cause offence. And allow me to apologize for our failure to police our own. I can understand your ... reluctance to offer one such as myself hospitality under these circumstances. But if you’ll allow Sir Theodore to explain, I believe I can help.”

“He thinks he knows where the goblins are operating from,” I explained, “We haven’t discussed it in detail, but I think we may rest a day, and then make an assault and try to address the source of the problem.”

Estrid frowned. “Well, if it keeps my people safe, perhaps we can tolerate him for a few days.”

It was my turn to bow my head, this time in gratitude. “Thank you for understanding.”

“If there’s trouble, I’m holding you responsible,” she replied, simply, before marching off to return to her duties.

I sighed. “Well, great. As if we didn’t have enough going on, we also have racial tension,” I gave Haseth a wry look, “I thought you said that the mist elves were friendly to humans?”

“On the whole, we are,” Haseth said, sounding tired and sorrowful, “However, we have a bloody history, and there are many who have trouble in seeing that aspect of our culture for the cruelty and barbarism that it was. We are a people divided against each other, and for that reason, the Mist-King’s council is deadlocked and we remain incapable of healing these old rifts.”

That made me blink in surprise. That went against everything I’d ever known about elves in AD&D, that’s for sure. It was one of the fundamentals- sky is blue, water is wet, orcs are always chaotic evil and elves (except drow) are always good. I was driven to ask, “What the hell did your people do that was so terrible?”

Haseth hesitated for a moment. “My people’s ancestors were the storm elves,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

For some reason, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, but I had no real clue what he was talking about. “What’s a storm elf?” I asked, resolving to someday invest in the History proficiency.

I heard an impressed whistle, and looked behind me to see Yua and Raszil standing nearby. Yua I expected- she usually followed close behind me- but I didn’t realize Raszil was eavesdropping.

“Oh, they were nasty folk, alright,” he said, strolling up to fully join our conversation, “Blood sacrifice, dark magic, piracy, slavery ... they worshipped nature, sure, but it was nature, red in tooth and claw. The kind of nature of predators and prey, and to hear it told, to a storm elf you were either a dangerous rival, or a prey animal to be used and abused as the predator saw fit.”