Whims of Kiraan

Mor'lavan

Ithan's eyes lit up as the outlines of houses appeared on the horizon. After months of traveling, he was nearly at the end of his journey. Finally, he could sleep in a nice pile of hay and eat some real cooked food, even if it was technically garbage. His mouth began to water as he pondered the possibilities‍—day-old roast, dried-out bread, the good half of a half-rotten apple... anything was better than poorly-scaled fish and potentially poisonous berries. It was a wonder he was still alive with how terrible he was at living in the wild.

As he approached the village, some of its inhabitants began to come into view. Many of them stood well over six feet tall, with a few reaching as tall as eight. They were all covered in red scales, shining vibrantly in the light of the setting sun. Ithan had heard that Greenreach was inhabited by dragonkin, but he had never actually seen them with his own eyes. The colors of their scales alone filled him with a sense of awe.

Since it was approaching dusk, Ithan found easy passage into the village square as most dragonkin had already retreated into their homes for the evening. The few dragonkin still walking the streets gave Ithan inquisitive looks and whispered amongst themselves as he passed them by. At the center of the square was a large fountain decorated with visages of noble dragonkin‍—one of them wore a crown upon his head. The ruler of the dragonkin empire, perhaps. The village's inn was just north of there, and Ithan breathed a sigh of relief as he began to walk toward it. The muffled shouting coming from inside as he approached concerned him, but it stopped when he opened the door. The eyes of nearly two dozen dragonkin were now on him, and he froze in place as the stench of liquor invaded his nostrils.

"What're you supposed to be?" the dragonkin behind the counter called.

"Um," Ithan stuttered. He was used to people giving him strange looks, but dragon-people added a new level of terror to the experience. "I'm, um, looking for a place to sleep."

"I don't want you in my inn," the dragonkin said. "You look like trouble."

"Oh, um, I promise I‍—"

"Get out." Two dragonkin from a table to Ithan's left stood up and began walking toward him. Before they could move far, Ithan backed up through the door behind him and closed it, his legs quaking.

Back to plan "A", then.

There was a pile of hay next to one of the nearby houses; Ithan walked over to it and settled in for the night. Just as he made himself comfortable enough to sleep, a shadow fell over him. Ithan looked up, groaning at the sight of the man now standing above him.

The man's pointed ears protruded beyond his silver hair, which he wore in a half ponytail. His pale skin was almost as white as the snow. No doubt he was an elf, and he certainly had that air of superiority about him. He had two swords, one strapped on each hip.

"Leave me be, elf," Ithan growled.

"What do you call yourself?" the elf asked, ignoring Ithan's command. He rolled his head back and forth as he spoke, following the movements of the owl perched on his shoulder. Ithan had little interest in the elf's apparent fascination.

"I am... Mor'lavan," Ithan lied. Surely something as simple as "little monster" would get the elf to leave. But no, it only seemed to spur his curiosity.

"Oh," the elf muttered as he cocked his head again, his brow furrowed.

"What?" Ithan grunted. His patience wore thin.

"Certainly your parents didn't name you something so... crude," the elf replied.

"You're right," Ithan said. "It was an elf who gave me that name." The elf's mouth hung open at Ithan's words.