"Startling Discoveries"

Log Date:
	6/24/02

Log Cast:
	Vardeus, Leafshimmer, Coralfire, Shortbranch, Shelbor, Shay'la

Log Intro:
	A lethal attack by nightmare creatures twisted by magic -- elf magic
-- has been carried out on the camp of humans and elves on the beach of the
Vastdeep Water. Vardeus, sickened and infuriated by the deaths of two more of
his crew (including the father of the first baby born to their number ever
since they've been in this alien land), has questioned some of the elves as
well as the local humans in the camp already, in order to figure out everything 
he possibly can about the nature of the beasts that launched the attack. But
Tefin and Wayfound have informed the human Captain that not only were the 
monsters created by elfin magic, they were created on _purpose_ -- and so now,
Vardeus must also try to discern what sort of enemy his people have made, 
that such creatures would have been sent against them deliberately.
	And so far, the only elves he knows of that might qualify as enemies
are the ones called 'Underworlders' from whom Shay'la has fled... and so, even
as night comes again to the camp, as the Briarholters react to the news of
their chieftess' Recognition, and as his crewman Torgan begins a quiet pursuit
of Coralfire, the Captain turns his attention to questioning Shay'la about
whether any of her people might have been responsible for the attack. But the
Captain is also about to discover that he has a great deal to learn, still,
about elves in general....

----------
Beach on the VastDeep Water
The pale sand is full of river-born crystal and gleams with tiny rainbow 
  lights in the early morning light. Wide and inviting, the sands stay warm 
  long after sunset. There are drift logs here, and a large boulder pushes its 
  shoulders above the surface of the sand. You can see footprints, small bare 
  footprints, leading into the water and out. There is dense foliage to the 
  north that follows the coastline closely where it bends to the northwest.
The twin stars of Timmorn's Eyes begin to come out as the dimming red light of 
  sunset fills the chill winter skies.
Contents:
Shortbranch
Shay'la(#9063PJXce$0)
Leafshimmer
Shelbor
Blizzard
Salmakis
Raven's Tent(#6222Je)
Yellow
Campsite <CS>(#691AJLe)
The Windrider(#1655AJae)
Seasong's Tent <SST>(#6051JUem)
Obvious exits:
Along the Beach<S>  Forest<NE>  Up the Shore<NW>  Water<W>  Great River<E>

Ever since the attack of the magically altered dogs upon the joint human/elfin 
  camp, the Vraeyans led by the chief and ((captain)) Vardeus have been 
  collective tense and alert... and more active than they've been for many 
  moons. In the space of days, what was left of the wreck of the ship-thing 
  called _Windrider_ has been almost entirely dismantled, good wood 
  distributed out among everyone in the camp to be shaped or carved into 
  useful or ornamental items. The rest has gone into making two wagons, 
  complete with wheels -- and parties have been sent afield to try to hunt 
  down any signs of wild ponies in the area, for the pulling of said wagons 
  once they are loaded. Vardeus has been everywhere, issuing commands right 
  and left to his people, taking frequent double watches, and being extra 
  special careful of pregnant Dharce and her already born infant, old Altis, 
  and the youth named Maerro. Tonight is no exception, even as the Captain 
  takes stock of what his people have accomplished today, surveying tired 
  faces of those settling down at last for a meal around the cookfires.

The Briarholt chieftess and her mate had vanished for a few days. The elves 
  all whispered of Recognition, though it's unclear how much the humans 
  understood just what was happening. Still, Whitefire proved well able to 
  cover for her in her absense, bringing news from the Plains besides, news of 
  more wild beast attacks upon the elven Festival there. And now it seems that 
  Leafshimmer has returned, looking pretty much the same as always. Though 
  Orenth has changed his name to Blackhawk, and seems to be more coherent than 
  he ever was before. "Heyla," she greets as she comes out of her tent, only 
  just waking up, as is the wolfrider habit. For guard duty at least, this 
  seems to work. Humans on days, wolfriders on nights. 

Coralfire has been off hunting all day, by herself for once. None of those 
  she's been teaching to hunt were included with her, as she declared she 
  needed time to think. Think about what? Well, that she did not say. But now 
  she's back, and the pheasants she brought are even now roasting on spits, 
  while she finishes taking care of her weapons. She looks up as folks start 
  trucking in after their day's work (or sleep) and smiles a silent greeting.

A little off down the beach, the strange, muffled grunts and indignant, low 
  rumbled curses can be heard. Accompanying that as well is the steady, almost 
  rhythmic 'squelching' sound; akin to someone's boots being filled to 
  overflowing with water. And soon, upon the camp comes the dripping elf, her 
  short, tousled hair clinging to her forehead in fright, and her lips drawn 
  into a pouty, thin line. She perks one ear to the sound of Leafshimmer's 
  voice and says quietly, curiously. "'Eyla?" The end of it curling up in a 
  questioning tone.

Shelbor has been odly quiet all day. He's been keeping himself busy, not in a 
  frantic way, but as if to keep himself occupied. And for some reason he's 
  been fiddling with a bag of fine-woven cloth he got from the new humans.

Shay'la has been keeping much to herself lately. You could almost say that she 
  appears depressed, but then the Underworlder was never big on showing 
  emotion. She's just been quiet and preferring her solitude. Currently she 
  sits atop one of the boulders, her crysmetal sword placed gently across her 
  lap just in case it is needed.

"((Summat f'r ye to eat, too, Cap'n, cannae have ye forgettin' t' eat,))" 
  young Virdi can be heard to murmur as he passes Vardeus a share of tonight's 
  dinner, before heading off to do the same for Iletya. Vardeus nods gruff 
  thanks to his crewman, before dropping down heavily on one of the 
  logs-turned-benches around the cookfire -- and turning his head in the 
  direction of Leafshimmer's hail. "Taydes, Leafshimmer," he calls out. He's 
  still drawing out the Raft Elves' traditional greeting in his odd accent, 
  but then again, it seems to be his greeting of preference for the elves. He 
  is, after all, a sailor. "All the watches say th' woods're quiet, today. 
  Wayfound's takin' a watch next."

Leafshimmer smiles at Vardeus, apparently used to his greeting by now. "Very 
  good. I'll have some of my scouts out as well." She heads over, sniffing at 
  the burning meat, and just shakes her head. "I don't suppose you've kept 
  some of that meat away from the fire, have you?" she asks, half teasing. 
  After all, she can certainly go hunt her own, if required. Her head snaps 
  over to see who it is who talks, and upon seeing the elf, she switches to 
  sending, at least for a few moments. ** Heyla, Shortbranch. Come meet all 
  our new friends. ** 

Coralfire gets to her feet, and she heads over to the chieftess, with two 
  pheasants, cleaned, but not fixed. "I saved you some, chieftess. I heard 
  that congratulations are in order, lifebearer."

Drip drip drip. Shortbranch stands, staring for a bit, then sends to 
  Leafshimmer in return, **Well, you look dandy. Good to see you again, my 
  Chief.** There's a warmth to the sending, even if Stubs' exterior may be 
  just a little cold. **New friends?** The short-haired elf shakes, spraying 
  water droplets in short range around herself, then walks forward, not 
  dripping has so much.

Shelbor looks up as Coralfire rises, then relaxes when he sees her attention 
  is on the chieftess. He returns to his odd task. Oddly, he has done little 
  cooking today, and has nothing on the fire now. It has burned down to smoky 
  coals.

Shay'la remains to herself, lost in her own thoughts. She reaches down and 
  picks up a rock and begins shifting it's shape. She doesn't even look at it, 
  her eyes focused straight ahead, out over the water.

"Aye, congratulations," says Vardeus to Leafshimmer, adding his voice to 
  Coralfire's in honor of the news that has come to him about the Briarholt 
  chieftess. "Wayfound says to me ye elves dinnae make babies sae fast as we. 
  All th' more reason to be pleased; I hope yer little 'un will be safe." He 
  gives the chieftess a earnest, kindly look, but even that is shadowed by his 
  recent tension, and so is the glance he gives to Shortbranch as the newcomer 
  draws near to Leafshimmer. Still, though, he gives Shortbranch a "taydes" as 
  well.

Leafshimmer goes still for a moment, and then she chuckles ruefully. should 
  have known she couldn't keep it a secret, right? Ah well... "Aye, in two 
  turns, my cub will be born. Give or take." And isn't that a long time to be 
  carrying a cub? Well, as a matter of fact, it is. Shim already thinks so. 
  She glances over towards Shay'la and sends a greeting, then turns back to 
  Shortbranch. "And why would I not look well? Vardeus, this is Shortbranch, 
  one of my tribesmates. And this is Shelborr, Coralfire, Shay'la over there 
  on the rock ... " Round robin, let's go through all the names she's figured 
  out. "And for those of you I've missed, please introduce yourself." She 
  takes the pheasants from Coralfire, and grins. "Thank you." 

Coralfire smiles, as she heads back to her seat. "You're welcome. It seemed 
  the least I could do." She shrugs a bit, glancing over towards Vardeus. "Did 
  you have a good day today then?" Her gaze strays towards Shelbor, and she 
  bites her lip, then looks away.

Shelbor places some green wood on the coals, and blows until it catches enough 
  to smoke considerably. He then takes his small bag and, holding it 
  carefully, begins passing it back and forth through the smoke. He seems to 
  be performing some sort of ritual, or trying to gather smoke in his bag. 
  Then, with an odd smile on his face and his eyes glittering (tears from all 
  that smoke, y'see) he holds the mouth of the bag over the smoke for as long 
  as he can stand the heat. Carefully, he moves the bag out of the smoke and 
  releases it. It lifts a bit, drifting with the onshore breeze, floating by 
  itself. It soon begins to sink, but before it can drop far it catches in 
  some bushes. Shelbor is grinning like a child with a new toy.

Shay'la responds to any who greet her, though her response is distracted. The 
  Underworlder has a lot on her mind... so many difficult decisions. If only 
  Stormdrift were here... he'd have answers. Of course if he were here there 
  would not be some of the questions..

The humans are coming in to eat their evening meal, after a long day of 
  working to prepare for a trip somewhere. Coralfire has been hunting, but 
  seems to need time alone. She gets up and leaves, with a raised hand. 
  Perhaps there are a few who watch her go, and Torgan leaves shortly 
  thereafter, though he doesn't obviously follow her. Well, not too obviously.

Leafshimmer has a couple raw pheasants in her hand and is standing by the fire 
  with the humans, talking to them. Shortbranch heads off to find the rest of 
  the Briarholt contingent, since she's just arrived and feeling perhaps a 
  little ill at ease with all the humans here. Shim glances around once more, 
  waving to those departing. She settles down to eat.

Vardeus, in answer to Coralfire's question, is about as well as a man who's 
  been pushing himself to prepare to move eighteen adults and one baby to a 
  safer locale, on a journey of as of yet indeterminate length through country 
  of indeterminate safety. His tension can be read in his eyes by those who 
  know him well enough, though he tells Coralfire before she goes that he's 
  "fine enou'". That done, his dinner wolfed down, he takes a share of some of 
  the greens that have been gathered and slips over to where Shay'la keeps 
  solitary vigil upon her rock. Well, at any rate, slips as much as a human of 
  his height and build can; Vardeus is not exactly made for stealth. "Hoy, 
  Shay'la?" he calls out. "Some dinner for ye?"

Shay'la lifts her head at the sound of her name, the rock falling from her 
  hand. She takes a moment to watch it roll down until it comes to a stop, 
  then she turns to look at Vardeus, "Tides Vardeus." She reaches up a hand to 
  take the offered dinner, though whether she will eat it or not is in 
  question, "Thank you." She looks around at all of the activity before 
  turning back to Vardeus, "You leave soon?"

"Aye," is the Captain's solemn reply. "Another day; two, at th' most. I need 
  t' get my people somewhere safer, before Dharce's new baby comes, and Xhosa 
  is frettin' for her people t' see us." Seeing what he's brought accepted, 
  Vardeus grins a bit, crookedly, satisfied to accomplish that much given what 
  he's observed of this sorrowful she-elf as of late. He drops his gaze for a 
  moment, then, blowing out a breath, before looking up to study Shay'la once 
  more. "Leafshimmer's takin' her folk t' better safety; we'll nae intrude 
  upon their Holt. Raven, Quietharm, an' ye... ye'll be goin' back to the 
  Rafters?"

Shay'la shrugs her shoulders, "Perhaps for a time... I told Surfsinger I would 
  come back for at least a day or two." She pauses a long moment, building up 
  the courage to say these fateful words, "I'm thinking of going home." She 
  can't supress the faint shudder that comes with those words. Though you have 
  to wonder... all the times she spoke of home she seemed afraid. Now it just 
  seems like she has accepted the inevitable. Home should be a good thing, but 
  it doesn't seem to be here.

He remembers, aye, what he's been told of the Underworld; that recollection 
  shows in Vardeus' ocean eyes now. "I... cannae tell ye I think that's a good 
  notion," he has to admit. Now an obvious reluctance comes into his 
  expression -- but for the sake of his crew, the Captain must ask the 
  question on his mind. "Especially if what ye've said of yer folk still holds 
  true. Shay'la... I must ask ye. Do ye know if there's any o' yer folk who 
  c'n make the beasts that attacked us? Wayfound and Tefin both tell me -- 
  they were made, and made wi' purpose, and this is so far beyond me I barely 
  ken where t' begin...!"

Shay'la chuckles softly, though there is an odd tinge to that chuckle, a 
  slight nervous edge, "I have not been home in more turns then you have been 
  alive I think... Morganthe maybe... Just look what he did with Orenth. No 
  other that I recall would have been strong enough... If Morganthe is back 
  though, he is not likely to be happy... and the world is in for a lot of 
  trouble. If it isn't him... I don't know. If one of my people had that kind 
  of power then yes they are capable of it... They'd stab you in the back if 
  you let them." And she wants to go back there? She lets out a sigh, "If it 
  is Morganthe then perhaps it is time I returned home... for punishment." Of 
  course if Morganthe were there that would likely mean death but she isn't 
  about to tell you that.

"Wait a minute..." Vardeus sucks in a breath, something suddenly clicking into 
  place that had never been clear to him, not before he had a solid enough 
  grasp of the elfin language. "Ye're tellin' me Orenth -- er, uh, 
  Blackhawk--" The Briarholters are calling him that now, he might as well, 
  though the Vraeyan is momentarily uncertain about which name Shay'la might 
  want to hear. "Had th' magic done on 'im?"

Shay'la nods her head, eyes getting that mixture of guilt and sadness, "Yes... 
  Before Lord Morganthe got him he was like the other wolfriders. Morganthe 
  made him taller, faster, stronger... He shaped him into the ultimate weapon 
  to fight on his side. He also broke his mind and made it so he would be 
  loyal... forever. He created Orenth... I am very glad to hear that something 
  of Blackhawk remains... enough that he will allow others to call him that 
  again."

"He... was a Wolfrider--?" It comes out of Vardeus 'Wolfrayder', still, though 
  the human finally does now seem comfortable with the birdlike tongue of the 
  Little People, odd though it may render in his gravelly baritone. "Like 
  Wayfound, Leafshimmer, Raven..." He has to shudder for a moment, as he has a 
  good enough imagination and a good enough memory of the feel of what Splash 
  did to his ribs that he can imagine how being made significantly taller must 
  have hurt. Vardeus then shakes off his disquiet, with an effort, and 
  concludes anxiously, "If there's... that kind o' magic an' that kind o'--" 
  Vardeus does not know the word for 'treachery', so he has to come up with 
  some other way to put it, and his brow furrows until he thinks of one. "Bad 
  will among yer folk... why gae back? I dinnae want t' pry, Shay'la... I ken 
  ye've had some sorrow, as o' late..." Ach. Deep waters, here. Does he 
  flounder, or does he swim, this sailor? "But I'm nae seein' how goin' back 
  t' them will help."

Shay'la tries to couch things in terms the sailor would understand, "I am 
  adrift... all of my anchors have been cut loose. At least there I have 
  family still... and even if they decided to sentence me to death... at least 
  I would see my home one more time... I left to give Leenar a better life... 
  There is little reason for me to stay now... I will never truly belong 
  here... Besides, Malandor has made it clear he wants me back home... He and 
  Melisanda are the only true family I have left... I just don't know if I can 
  bear staying any longer... To be honest, at least there I don't have to 
  care... The worst they can do me is kill me." She just isn't up for another 
  loss.

Vardeus is silent for a few moments, considering this, ocean eyes grave an 
  pensive in his weary face. "I... ken summat, o' nae belongin'," he says 
  then, very softly, just enough for the elf to hear. There are perhaps two 
  others in the camp that he'd admit this to, and one of them is his wife and 
  second, the other the little Wolfrider, Raven; there is, however, no 
  reluctance in him as he utters this now. "And ye must do what ye feel ye 
  must, Shay'la... but if ye'll take a word from th' likes o' me, round ears, 
  five fingers an' all... if it were me, I'd gae t' th' Rafters first. Make 
  sure they're safe. They've sheltered ye, f'r longer than me t' be sure... 
  an' yer gift o' th' rock could aid 'em, if there's an elf bent on killin' 
  yer kind and mine alike."

Shay'la nods her head, "I have given them a passage from land to the 
  underwater caves... I am not sure what else to give them in that regard. I 
  will go back to them.. perhaps even tonight... I promised Surfsinger I 
  would. Though seeing her... I miss Redtide already... And Nightlark was 
  always so sweet to me. She never knew me as a monster, just as the elf who 
  shaped caves. Her mother... A long time ago I led a group of underworlders 
  against her mother's people... and still her mother took me in when I needed 
  help.. and now her daughter is gone... I know that pain... but unlike the 
  wolfriders... I can not forget..."

Vardeus's eyes widen a little, startlement at Shay'la's words registering 
  along with the beginnings of comprehension. "Redtide--" He knows the name, 
  of course, even if he'd never once laid eyes upon the elfin chieftain during 
  his own sojourn among the Raft Elves. "Summat's happened t' Redtide--" It is 
  not a question, but what he has to say next is. "We've gotten nae news... ye 
  ken it, from across th' water?"

Shay'la nods her head, "I... Redtide and I shared soul names.... I knew when 
  he died." She shakes her head, "Poor Stormgrace... a brother and a lifemate 
  at the same time. Nightlark and Redtide were killed in a hunting accident. 
  Surfsinger told me." Now since Surfsinger hasn't been on the beach in some 
  time... well Vardeus can figure out how from that, "Redtide and I were... 
  lovemates." Closer to lifemates really, though it was never that formal.

"Surfsinger sent?" _That_ isn't quite a question; mostly, it's Vardeus asking 
  it aloud, to try to fathom the notion that the elves' mind-talking has such 
  a range for elves who are powerful enough. But now the comprehension grows 
  in his expression, another layer of understanding to go with the barely 
  repressed worry and grief he's carrying for the crew he has lost, and his 
  awareness of how the loss of Bearheart and Skyflame has struck the elves... 
  and of how the loss of her wolf-friend has struck Wayfound. "I sorrow for 
  ye, Shay'la," he whispers.

Shay'la shrugs her shoulders, "Another in a line of losses... My brother in 
  soul, his mate, my daughter, Redtide, Nightlark... Skyflame was Stormdrift's 
  daughter... he was my soul brother... You live as long as I do and you see 
  many losses... so very many losses..." She pauses a moment and her next 
  words are distant, almost as if she is not exactly speaking to you, "Almost 
  2,000 turns... so many have come and gone... I have yet to fathom why the 
  losses of the past few turns have overshadowed the pain of the previous 
  turns." Any who knew her could tell her... She let herself care.

_Two... -thousand-..._ Let's hear it for conquering the language barrier; the 
  lifespan of elves, too, is something that Vardeus has not yet truly 
  comprehended. He sucks in a soft breath, looking for a moment as if he has 
  been punched in the gut, and for the longest time all he can think is that 
  whatever god must have been in charge of making the Little People must have 
  a streak of cruelty, to give them that kind of time... and make it sad. He 
  opens his mouth. He closes it. And finally, huskily, wonderingly, he says, 
  "Ye... were alive before Shalros was a camp barely bigger than this... I... 
  dinnae know, Shay'la, if I can hope to ken what ye're feelin'. All I can 
  tell ye is... me heart hurts f'r ye."

Shay'la turns and gives you a tired smile, "Thank you my friend... I will work 
  things out... Who knows, perhaps Surfsinger will convince me to stay. She is 
  most persuasive." Not that Shay believes Surfs can pull it off this time.. 
  She has her mind pretty much made up, but you never know. She then lets out 
  a sigh, "I am sorry to lay so much on you... you have so much to worry 
  about. And there are elves older then I... Morganthe was what was called 
  First Born... He was over 9,000... All elves but the wolfriders do not die 
  of old age. It is our blessing... and our curse."

Vardeus' mouth quirks up on one end, in that sort of rueful 'What, me 
  bothered? Nah, I'm fine!' way that is entirely his... or perhaps, simply, 
  entirely _male_. But for all his attempted bravado, still, the man's 
  obviously a trifle shaken. "_Naen_ t'ousand--" That comes out of him a bit 
  thicker-accented than usual, and his blue eyes go positively round. He 
  stares, hard, at the she-elf before blurting at last, "Anyone else an' I'd 
  say yer jestin' wi' me."

Shay'la has to chuckles at that, though there is still a sadness behind it, 
  "Sadly it is true... It gives those like the Underwolders longer to 
  fester.... but at least they tend to keep their insanity to their own 
  caves... well normally... it sometimes bleeds over... Forever is a daunting 
  prospect."

Daunting indeed, especially to a human who hasn't really yet grasped the 
  concept that elves live practically forever, before now. The only thing 
  keeping Vardeus from losing his grip on his composure is the steady 
  proclamation he's been given by more than one person in the camp, of both 
  the round-eared and pointed-eared persuasions, that elves are simply a 
  different kind of people than humans... and not gods, as the more 
  superstitious part of his mind is trying to insist even now. He draws in 
  another breath, making it deliberately slow, doing his best to calm himself. 
  And now, another piece clicks into place within Vardeus' store of knowledge: 
  "Ye said.... First Born. First Born down from... who?"

Shay'la chuckles, "You do ask the hard questions... Elves are not from here... 
  not from this world. About 10,000 turns ago, give or take, a group known as 
  the High Ones... the original elves.. fled their dying world to find 
  someplace else. They thought this world looked good... and so they decided 
  to come closer... but something happened and they crashed. They met with 
  humans... who at that time were little more the savages... The High Ones had 
  never known death until they crashed here and faced the humans. The First 
  Born are the children of the High Ones."

It is sometimes said in Shalros by those of more domestic bent that those who 
  heed the call of the sea are the overly curious, the crazy, or the fools... 
  and now, as his jaw drops open and Vardeus forgets to breathe, he wonders 
  which of the first two categories he must fall, to be told what he's just 
  been told. A strange little choked cough escapes him, and if he looked like 
  he'd been punched in the gut before, now he bears a remarkable resemblance 
  to a man who's just been hit by a boulder. "World," he echoes, almost 
  dumbly. "Wh... what d'ye mean, another... _world_?"

Shay'la sighs, "Well as far as I know all of the High Ones are dead... all you 
  see here were born here. But according to our own stories, the High Ones 
  came from a world that was not this one... a world in which their magic 
  flowed more freely. See there is something about this world that lessened 
  their magic... it made them vulnerable to death. It is very hard to 
  explain... Most, if not all of us, known nothing of this other world... only 
  that it was dying and so they had to leave it."

Hold on, hold on, you've lost him back there on this 'other world' concept! 
  Vardeus' composed expression cracks now, giving him the look of a man who's 
  just had reality as he understands it fundamentally shaken, and it's taking 
  him massive effort to try to digest this. "W... wait, wait, wait... how can 
  there be another... _world_? All there is... th' land, th' air, th' sea... 
  the world's all o' that!"

Shay'la takes in a breath, "Well the Palace... which is what the High Ones 
  came in... it can fly... It requires an elf of certain abilities to make 
  that happen but it can fly. I can't really explain it better..." She is 
  beginning to realize she probably shouldn't have brought this up.

It's not the best of explanations, no, but it's the only one Vardeus has got, 
  and his brow furrows under his shaggy bangs as he tries to struggle through 
  it. He lifts one big hand to shove it unthinkingly through his hair, and 
  then the other, only serving to thoroughly muss the sungilt brown mop. 
  "Let... let me try t' fathom this," he croaks. "Yer High Ones... they're... 
  they're yer ancestors, aye?" He knows _that_ from Wayfound, who managed to 
  explain that much at least. "An' they had th' magic. L'il Wayfound, she says 
  one of 'em... she started her people. Timmain. She told me o' Timmain." And 
  now, fretfully, he starts to pace.

Shay'la nods her head, "Yes, the High Ones are our ancestors. They were a 
  gentle, peaceful people... They were immortal... they did not know death... 
  not anymore. Their magic was powerful... more then what you've seen. Those 
  that survived the crash scattered in the wake of the slaughter by the 
  humans... And different tribes ended up being formed."

One step at a time, Vardeus son of Marcos, one step at a time. He swallows 
  hard at this new news, though, rasping out, "_My_ kind did that?" It's 
  enough to make him sick, the notion that his own ancestors might have been 
  responsible for slaughtering innocents. "They were... in their pal-ace--" 
  That word is an odd one for him, and he has to wrestle his tongue around it. 
  "And it... flew. An' it crashed." Analog. Must have an analog. Restlessly, 
  he jabs a finger off at what's left of the _Windrider_. Even less of it is 
  left than before, now that the Vraeyans have been taking the ship apart 
  board by board for what's left of the wood. "Like tha'?"

Shay'la nods her head, "Yes, like that... and.." How to say this without being 
  overly offending, "Just as your people are more advanced then the humans 
  here... so the humans here now are more advanced then the ones of 10,000 
  turns ago. From what the stories tell they were little more then savages... 
  trying to destroy what they did not understand... Some of those humans exist 
  today... they call us demons and will kill my kind if they come across 
  them... One group tortured Redtide once... but they are no more." And yes, 
  she did help kill them. Okay so that one escaped, but he died shortly after.

That's got to be remorse welling across Vardeus' face now, foolish though a 
  sense of remorse might be for actions of proto-humans dead for ten thousand 
  years -- humans that Vardeus could not have had any prayer of knowing, since 
  his kind's span of time is a brief blaze of mortality when compared to the 
  long golden afternoon that is the life of elves. And yet, it's stricken he 
  looks now, as stricken as if he'd committed the act himself. Swallowing down 
  a sharp lump in his throat, sharp enough that he feels for a moment as if 
  he's swallowed his own dagger, he breathes, "And ye say this pal-ace... 
  flew.. frae another... place. Then... all o' ye... ev'ry last one o' ye 
  elves... ye're stuck here. In a place ye were nae born in, a place where 
  ye... dinnae belong." Finally. Something that makes _sense_ in this 
  thunderbolt of bizarre new information with which he has just been struck.

Shay'la nods her head, "Yes, the High Ones were stuck here... in this new 
  world that was strange to them... facing death... the magic they relied on 
  not working right... In a sense, none of us belong here really. Even those 
  of us who were born here... I don't know... maybe the humans have the right 
  to be angry.."

Vardeus, stuck in a land he does not understand and facing death and potential 
  death, hauls another deep gasp of air into his lungs and shoves _both_ hands 
  through his hair this time, though his fingers pause a moment at his temples 
  as he tries to rub the beginnings of a headache out of them. "Shay'la, I... 
  I cannae say what th' humans o' this land have t' say on it. In Vrae, I 
  swear t' ye, we knew nothin' o' yer kind. Nothin'. None o' th' oldest songs 
  I c'n think of say anythin' o' yer kind, and we sing a lot, back home. _I'm_ 
  nae int'rested in' bein' angry." His hands come down then and he finishes, 
  tiredly, "I'm jus' in'trested in stayin' alive, and keepin' me people alive 
  wi' me."

Shay'la nods her head and rises to her feet, reaching out to place a hand on 
  your shoulder. If nothing else in this conversation that sense of despair 
  that has been weighing around her has lessened, if not disappeared, "I know 
  that my friend. I do not call many friend... and none human until you and 
  yours. Just be wary my friend... Elves and humans here have a long and 
  bloody history... It is a history you and yours had no part in and can not 
  change... but should know. Not all elves are like those you have met here... 
  and not all humans are like those you have met here. Be careful my friend."

The big, tanned, five-fingered hand of Vardeus Alirreus comes up to readily 
  clasp the delicate four-fingered one of Shay'la... and at her words, the 
  human smiles lopsidedly, taking a measure of relief from what she says for 
  all that now, more than ever, he's certain he's a blind man leading the 
  blind in a land where being sightless can kill him. "I will," he promises, 
  "an' I'll say th' same t' ye. I hope... I hope th' gods, whichever gods're 
  look on yer folk, will bring ye some happiness."

Shay'la smiles at you, "Thank you my friend." There is the sadness again, 
  though not as profound as it was before. "I hope that you and yours find a 
  way home, or failing that, at least find a home here and that you can live 
  out your days in peace." She reaches down and picks up the forgotten 
  crysmetal sword and slides it back in the scabbard at her waist. You have to 
  give the elves this much... they look so delicate but they can be fierce 
  when needed.

And it never ceases to surprise Vardeus -- from the ferocity he has seen in 
  Shay'la's face to the small lethal wonder that was Wayfound of the 
  Wolfriders, fighting at his side with her spear. "We'll see what comes," he 
  says, lifting his chin a bit, without fear. "An'... I feel like a ((bairn)) 
  again wi' what ye've told me, an' I gotta think on it... but when me folk're 
  safe again. I want t' thank ye, Shay'la, f'r bein' here this long an' 
  helpin' us."

Shay'la nods her head, "I do not have many friends.... I must support those 
  that I do have." She actually has more then she thinks, but then the 
  Underworlder has never really thought well of herself... not since she grew 
  a conscience. "You are a good leader Vardeus. You care for your people and 
  they for you... I am sure you will do fine."

Now Vardeus' smile turns a trifle sheepish; he may even be blushing, though 
  his tan hides it well. Against human eyes in daylight, at least. "That's 
  what th' others ha' been tellin' me, though I dinnae think much o' a 
  ((captain)) who started out wi' fifty and wound up wi' eighteen. Well, 
  twenty again, once Dharce's second ((bairn)) comes... but, well." The hand 
  on his shoulder had stopped his restless pacing; now, a bit more composure 
  has returned to him, now that the initial shock of what he's learned tonight 
  has rolled past. Resilient, this human. He's had to be. "One more thing I'll 
  ask ye; we've got t' go east--" And he thrusts a thumb in that direction. 
  "An' Xhosa, Shelbor, Coralfire, Wayfound... they've all pledged t' guide us. 
  But if there's anythin' ye can tell me I should look for danger in... I'm 
  needin' t' know. I know o' th' Blue Mountain, but anythin' else... dinnae 
  know, nae yet."

Shay'la pauses a moment to think, retracing her own travels through her head, 
  "Well if you know of Blue Mountain, then you're well informed. The wolfrider 
  tribes shouldn't give you trouble with Wayfound to talk to them first... the 
  wolfriders have probably the bloodiest history with the humans.. But they 
  live in the moment... and forgive easily.... They forgave me after all... 
  The Underworld tunnels have two entraces... One is near lostholt, which is 
  memory serves me is not too distant from the Olbar, Shelbor's people... 
  Though Underworld and Lost holt relations have been... strained... Leading 
  up to the Olbar all I can think of is Blue Mountain.... and if there are any 
  more of these creatures around."

Vardeus pulls in a breath and lets it out again, nodding steadily. Oddities of 
  lifespans too long for him to comprehend, and flying palace-things that come 
  from other _worlds_ -- those are beyond his ken. But travel, and danger to 
  look for, are within the grasp of this big sailor. He notes grimly now, 
  "There's th' messenger that's come f'r Leafshimmer. Wi' th' word o' more 
  beasts, on plains, or sae I'm given t' hear."

Shay'la nods her head, "The plains aren't that far from the Olbar, but you 
  shouldn't have to move through them to get to the tribe... though you might 
  want to be sure and keep your eyes open... If they have the beasts in this 
  area, then who knows where they will be. And from what I heard about 
  Quenlyn... He was Or... Blackhawk's son... He was killed on the plains by 
  some bird creatures... If there are creatures that can fly then look for 
  them anywhere."

Some of the creatures might _fly_? Skyfather, that's all he needed to hear -- 
  but well. Maybe Xhosa can talk that flying elf she knows, Areelia, into 
  playing aerial guard? Or maybe Wayfound can use her bug to that end. Tired 
  though he is, Vardeus' thoughts skip ahead to try to plan these things 
  out... while at the same time, common sense dictates he'd better get some 
  rest now that night is full on, and he's already pulled two shifts of watch 
  duty. He stretches his head one way and then the other, successfully 
  fighting off the urge to yawn... but aware it's there, nonetheless. "We'll 
  look up then," he promises. And he pauses, before reaching once more to 
  clasp the she-elf's shoulder and adding, "Dinnae leave on me, without sayin' 
  goodbye, hey? But I've got t' sleep, or else I'll be useless come th' dawn."

Shay'la nods her head, "Alright my friend. You go and rest.... I think I shall 
  enjoy the night and then watch the sun rise." She doesn't seem to sleep a 
  whole lot... or eat a whole lot... not from what you can see. "I will miss 
  you when you go."

"And I, ye." Vardeus inclines his head, with that smooth graciousness he can 
  produce every so often, a courtliness that runs counter to his usual rough 
  seafarer's manner. Maybe it's the proximity of a she-elf who, to him, looks 
  queenly compared to the smaller maidens of her people that he's met; then 
  again, maybe it's a lingering awe that the impossibly lovely maiden who's 
  lurked on the fringes of her people within this camp is incomprehensibly 
  oldre than he. And maybe, just maybe, it's because he is _Vardeus_. He steps 
  away, then, saying gruffly, "Let's hope th' sun rises on peace an' quiet. 
  Good night, Shay'la."
And with that earnest farewell, he's off to the shelter he shares with 
  Tiana... and slumber.

[End log.]