[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/mkFbcLS.png[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/c5i0HyX.png[/img][/center][sub][color=silver]T I M E :[/color]   One Week After Human Arrival
[color=silver]L O C A T I O N :[/color] Somewhere in the Forest, Port10
[color=silver]I N T E R A C T I O N S :[/color]
T A G S :    [@JJ Doe] ,   [@Conscripts][/sub]
[color=silver][sub]E Q U I P M E N T :[/sub][/color][hider=][sub]N/A[/sub][/hider]
 

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/DkWjPqa.png?1[/img]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/0hgKymt.png[/img][/center]



	 [color=silver]Dew pressed through Rowan’s sleeves onto the skin of his arm, carrying the weight of his sister. He needed to get her help quickly. But where was he supposed to find that?

      The Syndicate could be anywhere. Any notably suitable place would be too obvious for shelter. He needed to be creative, but all he could think of was the forest brush surrounding the perimeter of Port10. 

        It was not ideal for Aurora, but he was not about to take any other chances. Not on her. He had already lost Vasco — mistakenly, and he was not going to let his sister slip through his grasp. He had chosen to save her, after all.

       [i][color=gray] “Hold out your palm, Aurora,” their father spoke. His voice was deep and clear, like a freshwater lake. It had a life of its own, with mysteries ready to be discovered.

     Meekly, Aurora held out her hand. Thin, nimble fingers uncurled to reveal her palm. 

      “These have been made just for you,” their father spoke once more. He placed a pair of golden earrings into her palm. Her blind eyes glittered from the cool sensation, and a smile brightened her face.

     Rowan watched intently. His mouth was hiding a quiver of anticipation.  They were beautiful. The light shined on them just so.

       “They’re made from the same gold that forged the wedding bands of your mother and me,” the older elf said. “It’s a rare gold. This color is unique.” His silver eyes looked at Rowan. Aurora would never know the color, but her brother was destined to always notice it. “Not just the color is unique but the properties surrounding this gold. Try them on.”

     Rowan could not help but feel how gentle yet strong his father was. His every movement caused a peaceful ease marked by a tremendous historical power. He wanted to be just like him. He drew in a breath and puffed up his chest. 

     “These will help you hear. You may not have eyes to see, but your other senses will always be willing to help.” His large hands clasped the earrings around her lobes. He brushed a hand over her hair, moving stray strands from her bashful face. 

       A calm look of adoration fell over their father’s face. It was an admiration that Rowan knew all too well. It was a look that once stung him but had now taught him. For, his own face often mirrored his exact look for Aurora when no one else was looking.

     “Rowan,” their father’s voice was stern. “Your mother and I will not always be here to protect Aurora.” His eyes went downcast and then turned back to his son. “Her life rest on your shoulders. Never let any harm come to her.” The silver in his eyes were sharp and unwavering. 

    [color=93d8f1] “Yes, Father,” [/color]Rowan replied. He surprised himself with how low and respectful his voice sounded. And then, he finally wondered, when did he begin to care about the sound of his voice and the sound of the voice of others? Was it after Aurora began understanding speech?

      “Now,” the older elf cupped Aurora’s face. “You look beautiful — just like your mother.” [/color][/i] 

      There was a small stream. It trickled through the small port and into the forest. Patiently, it continued through the forest and beyond. 

      Rowan placed Aurora near the stream. The grass was green and soft. Her body draped onto the ground. Her head rolled carelessly to the side. Pale with only faint breaths.

    His body kneeled over his sister. His own silver hair was sweaty with fight and fear, while hers was damp with blood and determination. As he tried to catch his breath, he thought about Vasco. His fists grabbed the grass and pulled at the roots. 

      He knew Aurora would had preferred sacrificing her own life to ensure the safety of Vasco — or any human for that matter. But, he couldn’t let himself make the same decision. Not in place of Aurora.  She was too precious to him. 

      And yet, he knew he made the wrong decision.

      Shaking the feelings he had, he began assessing Aurora’s wounds. He thanked the gods and goddesses that he was the one to do it and not someone else, like Vasco. 

      The name stung him. The situation for what it was, he guiltily preferred. Did this make him weak? Was he tricky loyal to the salvation of Avalia? What would his father have done?

      Tearing a piece of Aurora’s robe, he pressed it against a wound close to her chest. Her skin was still warm. He could feel her pulse. It was light and comforting.

     [color=b2beb5] “Ahoy!” [/color]

      Rowan looked up. His reaction was more of a jolt.  His body hunched over his sister. All the weakness he had been feeling quickly fled. He was ready to fight, again.

      [color=b2beb5]“I said, ‘Ahoy!’” [/color] An elder man stepped forward. He was on the larger size in strength and a bushy face. Although he was intimidating (was he carrying an axe?) he was friendly looking.

     His name was another Light Elf known as none other than Timothy Babadil. It took almost no time for Timothy to break the ice and listen to Rowan’s story. There were two others — one being a human and the other an orc. Both somebodies came as a surprise, in a good way to Timothy. 

      First off, he had heard about the humans being summoned. He wasn’t dumb about not wanting to be a helping hand. He had been around for a longtime, and while he generally stayed out of meddling with powers, this seemed like a cause he did not mind bending a few of his own personal rules in the name of good.

     Secondly, an orc with such an illogical temperament for an everyday orc meant something to good ole Timothy Babadil. He thought it was a sign of good fortune or the gods and goddesses trying to say there was more to this mission. Quite possibly, everyone already knew — just look how the Dark Elves were broadcasting, but for Timothy, these here was a tell tale sign that the Light Elves were going to be victorious.

      Timothy mended the two younger elves gently and brought them back to his cottage in the woods. It was not much, but at the same time, it was everything the old elf had, which meant, it was enough. 

      The cottage looked like part of the woods. A mixture of rock, cave, trunks, roots, and leaves. Inside, the cottage was a wooden common cottage, complete with a bedroom or two, a loft above the kitchen, a living area, and a bathing place to rest and wash clothes. It was cozy in all the right ways, as if the owner had spent centuries planning how to make a perfect nest for weary travelers. 

      Timothy tended more to their wounds since he had all his resources with him now, and while they rested, he left a note. It read: 
      
     [i]Gone to find our friend. There shouldn’t be too many orcs around here, especially one that’s injured. Be back when when he is. In the meantime, don’t go anywhere, as you both need your rest, and please, do make yourself at home. Your friend, Timothy Babadil[/i] [/color]