If there was one thing I missed about Ettrail throughout my life, it would be that I've never found a place so community prioritized than my hometown. Some nights Ettraillians would gather in the vast space between houses in the middle of town for dinner. Sometimes the druids would prepare entertainment for the citizens after night fell. Nights of entertainment took place on holidays where major events had taken place, like Atlas' birthday. Other nights we'd take the ingredients we needed for meals back home to eat and cook there. I liked eating under golden sunsets. It was an experience like no other.
That was one of the nights we ate outside as a community. My parents and I stood in the longest line imaginable between three sets of long stone tables with benches and the assembly line that would serve us food. We were handed wooden bowls and what the Outside World calls chopsticks for meals. I have no idea who cooked for the whole town or whose job it was to organize our large community meals. There were a few adults in the village who hadn't been assigned a place by the druids and just lingered, so maybe that was theirs.
It was easily a while before we were at the front of the line. Somehow we didn't mind waiting forever for meals. Things took time. It was a part of daily life in Ettrail.
"How's it going, Ciel?" one of the men serving portions asked my mother. I think his name was Dorian. Dorian was one of the druids. Why he ever bothered helping out with insignificant rituals like meals was beyond me.
"It's going fine," Mum replied out of politeness. I don't know if my parents knew half of Ettrail well. Regardless, everyone knew the druids and the druids knew everybody else. Some of them, like Dorian, made it their mission to socially interact and get to know the common folk.
"How's the harvest?" Dorian had his druid's mask pulled underneath his chin, showing off his face—something he wasn't supposed to do. For whatever reason, the druids and the assassins considered it taboo to show someone your face. I guess it was something sacred, reserved for the highest order or just to keep the Outside World from knowing who we are.
Mum closely watched as Dorian dropped a large spoonful of noodles into her bowl. "We'll have food through the winter, don't worry." He didn't seem to give her any response and when he was finished serving her, she nodded politely in thanks and moved along.
Finally, Dorian seemed to have a reaction. He returned the gesture and nodded to my mother in acknowledgment as she and the line moved on. He posed the same question to me, who came right after her. "How's it going, Elbereth?"
I winced, quickly becoming irritated but I knew he was going to speak to me. He tried to initiate chit-chat with everyone who came through the line. It was almost like he didn't want anyone to go feeling like they weren't part of the community. I could only nod in response, unable to utter the words for good, okay or fine.
I recall easily wondering why couldn't he just give me the food while holding my bowl out. Dorian understood that I was a bit vexed that he was attempting to force me into an unwanted conversation. My parents had a talk with Dorian and the other druids, making sure they understood that I wasn't much for talking and probably never would be, but Dorian was always trying to initiate some sort of conversation with me, even if it was just pointless banter. I thanked the gods that he was at least friendly.
"Not a day for talking is it, boy?" Dorian grinned at my lack of reply, almost as if he were making fun of my condition. I got less noodles than Mum as I was a kid and ate less.
"It's never a day for speaking on his terms," my dad said, pushing the conversation away from Dorian attempting to talk to me.
"Well, I hear your education's gonna take a turn tomorrow. Congratulations and good luck." Dorian quickly pulled his mask over his mouth and nose once he noticed other druids fast approaching him. They would begin arguing loudly for the entirety of Ettrail to hear if he let them catch him defying their rules; the rules he helped enforce.
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FantasyEveryone's heard stories of how a rogue assassin came to be. Dead parents, a fight for survival, perhaps someone who takes pity on the teenaged child and nudges them towards leaving the past behind. This isn't that story. Elbereth Eukanova's parents...