Chapter Two: Embark

Typothanas opened his eyes after coming out of a deep sleep. He slept in his hammock on the edge of his tree all night long. The book he was reading was laid out across his lap. He looked out and saw the towering elder trees and the houses high above the ground.

The entire village was connected by branches from adjacent trees that had intertwined with each other to create a bridge of sorts from one place to the other. The village, as always, was thriving with life and busyness. Elves were up harvesting fruit from the tops of the trees, as well as toadstools and vegetables from the ground. A system of vines and pulleys allowed them to send loads of produce from the ground to the trees.

From the corner of his eye he saw someone swinging on a vine in the direction of his tree. He watched for them to land on his ledge. He looked down as the elfmaid stood and looked at him. She was tall and slender, and perfectly shaped—like every elfmaid. Her hair was pale lavender, long, straight, and shimmered in the sun like sparkling amethyst. She had it let down and it billowed around her like a cape. Her eyes were the same splendid shade as her hair, hidden behind long, dark lashes. Her skin was creamy-white and without spot or blemish.

“Hail, Typothanas Tremiralan,” she said, looking at him with her dazzling eyes. He returned her gaze and raised his hand in greeting.

“Hail, Cæralahana Shimuin,” he replied.

“Are you having a good morning?” she asked.

“I have only just awoken,” he admitted. She laughed, and her face lit up with radiant beauty as she smiled.

“Typothanas, how can you sleep so late?” she asked.

“As I have told you before, it is because I stay up so late,” he said.

“What have you been doing to occupy your time as of late?” she inquired.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he replied.

“The chieftain wants to see you,” she said nonchalantly. She began to pick up things from his shelf and eye them with feline-like curiosity. He snatched the book end from her hands, and set it back in its proper place. She giggled and moved on to toy with something else.

“Did he say why?” he asked. He knew why the chieftain wanted to see him. The Azur’nthian ambassador must have sent a letter back to him, and the chieftain received it. He was in trouble; he hated trouble because it involved admitting that he was wrong, something he loathed. Shame, in his mind, was worse than physical pain.

“Someone said something about a letter,” she replied.

“I have to go,” he said, storming around his tree.

He had his belongings together and decided that it was time to get an audience with the chieftain. He left his tree and began walking across the branches from one tree to another, making his way to the center of the village, where the chieftain and his family resided. It was difficult to travel in the forest without running into other elves. He had a route, long as it was, that avoided the most people.

It took him several minutes to make his way through the tree city and to the chieftain’s home. He stood at the door and waited to be welcomed inside.

“Hail, Typothanas Tremiralan,” said Oraiosaman; he was the chieftain. Typothanas stepped into his home. The branches of the tree formed several tiers and rooms. For hundreds of years, Typothanas knew, Oraiosaman had his family had sang the tree to grow in a way in which they could dwell in it comfortably. Typothanas was living in a tree that his grandparents had done the same to. Lately, he had been singing to the tree to grow a second level where he could keep his books and musical instruments. He did not like only having one level and having his clutter fitted into nooks and crannies.

“Hail, Oraiosaman Gualinth,” Typothanas replied.

Oraiosaman was several hundred years older than Typothanas, but he did not appear that way. The growth process of elves was a slow thing, taking about fifty years to reach what would appear to be adulthood. A young elf or his parents could sing himself to be older and accelerate the growth process. Still, old magic that had been sung over the elven race for millennia would cause their bodies to reach a stage of development where they would practically stop aging. They had not learned the secret to real immortality yet, but elven song-mages were convinced that they were close to this development. Some disagreed, saying that if they stopped the natural process of growth and development, that it would kill the elf.

Nevertheless, elves could live to thousands upon thousands of years old, still looking and feeling as young as they did when they were only two hundred years old. Oraiosaman was in his nine hundreds, only a few decades away from a thousand. He was not the oldest elf in the commune, but he was the chieftain. He was strong and wise, having experienced several ages and eras of the world in his lifetime. He sat in a chair in his main room and was holding a letter in his hand. It had a broken, red seal on it—the seal of the king of Azur’nth.

“Please have a seat, Typothanas,” Oraiosaman said, motioning for him to sit down. Typothanas obeyed and sat, legs crossed before the chieftain. He never took his eyes off of the letter. Oraiosaman did not appear to be angry. Then again, elves were notorious for being able to hide their emotions from others. It was in their nature to keep their emotions bottled inside and not displayed outwardly.

“I received a letter from a human ambassador. The letter was addressed to you. How does she know of you, Typothanas?” Oraiosaman still had not looked away from the letter.

“I went to the crate where the humans leave messages for us. It was filled with decades of unopened letters. I took them home, read them, and wrote back to the ambassador,” he confessed.

“Why did you do that? That is not your responsibility,” Oraiosaman scolded.

“I was curious,” Typothanas replied simply.

“What did you write back to her?” Oraiosaman asked.

Typothanas recited the letter to Oraiosaman, recalling the letter to memory perfectly.

At last, Oraiosaman looked up from the letter, sat it down on the table before them, and looked at Typothanas. The two of them had met before and had conversations, but they did not have a relationship per se. Oraiosaman was very busy maintaining order in the commune. Typothanas was surprised that he had taken the time to meet with him directly over this. He was very adamant that every member of the elven community do his or her part and only his or her part. Typothanas had overstepped his boundaries by doing what he had done.

“Why are you interested in the world of men, Typothanas?” Oraiosaman asked. Typothanas thought to himself for a while, trying to best articulate his answer. That was a good thing about elves. Because of their longevity, they were usually very patient and willing to wait a long time. He took a deep breath and decided that he would be as honest as he could with his chieftain.

“I have felt for a long time that I do not belong here. You know as well as I, that I am not like other elves. I know that our forest is only a small part of the world. I want to see the rest of it. I would like to investigate other cultures, including that of men,” Typothanas explained.

“The world of men is a savage place. You had not yet been born when we were fighting the Sage Wars. The savagery of men with their hunger for power, and lust for magic is despicable. That is why the elders agreed that we would sever ties with them completely. And now you stand before me, defying that decision.

“You are a valuable asset to our commune, Typothanas. I have never seen a better archer, and the arrows you make are better than any we have. You are educated and talented. You have a pleasurable life here in the forest and I cannot understand why you would want to leave,” Oraiosaman replied.

“I plan to return someday; the forest is my home. I would like to learn more about the world outside of the forest. There might be a better life out there that I would never have knowledge of if I stay here. I would like to request permission to leave the forest indefinitely, in order to observe the world of the lesser races for myself,” Typothanas replied.

“You do not need my permission to leave, Typothanas. You are not a prisoner here. You are of age and can make your own decisions. It is only if those decisions affect the commune that I must intervene. May I request something of you?” Oraiosaman asked. Typothanas nodded.

“Please do not bring back anyone to the forest with you upon your return. Do not disclose the location of our commune, or say anything to endanger our people,” Oraiosaman said.

“You have my word of honor,” Typothanas said.

“I know that you are good for it. I am sure that you will want to prepare for your journey. Here is the letter. Their ambassador will expect a reply,” Oraiosaman said. He handed the letter to Typothanas, who took it and read it immediately.

Typothanas Tremiralan,

The invitation is still open and we would be most gracious to receive you. Would you like for us to arrange a carriage to pick you up? I anxiously await your reply and arrival.

Sincerely,

Farrina Snowchild
Ambassador of Foreign Affairs

“That is all, Typothanas,” Oraiosaman said. He waved his hand to let him know that he was dismissed. Typothanas folded the letter and put it in one of the pouches on his tunic. He had never been so ecstatic in his life—and terrified. He was about to embark on the journey of a lifetime. He would have to pack, and brush up on his Common. What would he take with him? He did not own much. He could probably take everything he owned save for the books.
When he arrived back at his tree he grabbed a piece of parchment and scribed a hasty reply to the Ambassador.

Farrina,

You may expect my arrival in late spring. It is not necessary to send a carriage. I look forward to my visit.

Sincerely,

Typothanas Tremiralan

He folded it and sealed it. He would have to take the letter to the edge of the forest as soon as possible. He would most assuredly need a map. His bow and arrows might prove to be useful. His grandfather’s rapiers that he used in the Sage War would definitely be coming along with him. They were his inheritance. His grandfathered had slain many dark wizards with those blades.

He stopped and took a look at his tree. In his hurried excitement to gather things to pack, he had only succeeded in making a mess of his room. He sat for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He took a deep breath and opened his mind and spirit to the serenity of the world around him. He could feel the life of every bird, insect and plant. He forced a rejuvenating calm through his body and opened his eyes. Now that he had calmed down a bit he had to prepare for the journey of a lifetime he would begin in just a few days.