Races of SoN ~ The Snow Elves
A hush fell over the common room of the Broken Ox as the door opened and the tall, thin figure stood silhouetted against the afternoon sun.
The scene held for several moments until the silence was broken by the burly man behind the bar. “I think you’ve come to the wrong place, Friend.”, he said in a voice accustomed to dealing with the less than cooperative, “Your kind isn’t welcome here.”
“It’s alright Horace; he’s here to see me.”
Recognizing the voice from the back room, some of the tension ebbed from Horace’s stance. “Damn it Ethos! You could have given me some warning. Now get him inside before someone sees him and calls the Watch.”
The stranger closed the door behind him and made his way through the tables, mostly empty at this time of day, to the back room. Once inside, he sat across from Ethos and pushed back the hood of his cloak. His hair, released from the confines of the hood, cascaded about his shoulders like spun silver, held back from his face by a band of simple gold. His features are long and elegant. The tribal tattoos stood prominent against the ice blue of his skin. “My name is Azumaz. I thank you for your help.”
“No need to thank me Azumaz. Despite what’s going on, we have a common enemy and can be of use to each other.”
“As you may be aware, the elves that survived the devastation of the war made their way back home to Oakhome, only to find more death and destruction waiting for them there. With their home destroyed, caught between the Shadow’s troops, they were forced to flee for their lives. It was a difficult and dangerous journey and many didn’t make it; and those that did, found themselves in a cold and brutal land.
“It hasn’t always been easy, but they did what they could to make this place their new home and ensure the survival of our race. But even that seemed to warp as the Shadow’s grasp on the land tightened.” Azumaz pauses his narrative, eyes the color of a stormy sky focusing on the past and a land far from where he currently sat.
“I am first generation of White Branch, born to the ice and the cold. Never to know the warmth and comfort of Oakhome as my parents and our ancestors did. That is something that can never be returned.
“Look at me, as if to mark us, I and the others born at our new home are different. Our skin is not the skin of our parents; our eyes are not the eyes of our parents, our hair is not that of our parents. We are but a pale copy of what once was.
“But like it or not, we are the future. If nothing else, then we will make the Shadow pay for our lose.”
Once again, silence filled the small dark room for several minutes before Ethos said, “Then come, we have much to plan and discuss.”
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