Whisperwood

Ermic Longleaf

'Whisperwood', 'Lehtoh' in the halfling dialect, was born under the watchful eye of a midwinter's moon into a world which knew little mercy for little people. His parents, two forest gnomes, were troubadours who travelled from village to town and from town to city to eke out a living. They found themselves accompanied by two humans, a half-elf child and that child's elven mother – whose human lover had died of a stroke at the age of forty-two, in the midst of a performance.

'Aldra' and 'Nalme', thus the two most ephemeral members of the group were called, at least until the claws of time tore them from this world and from their friends. Two women they were, and lovers at that. Their early lives had been spent as the closest of friends; playing the same pranks, dancing the same dances and furrowing the same fields. When they grew up, they had grown to be lovers. Their home had treated their love unkindly, and when given the choice to travel with a party that would respect them for what they were, their decision had come easily: gladly they had left their spiteful homes behind without ever turning their eyes back. Amongst their new friends, they grew to be appreciated most of all for their humour, and they were apt to leave their audiences in fits of laughter.

The bright-eyed half-elven youngster was called Ildia, and she would come to survive to the present day, living the life her mother had lived; that of a wandering entertainer. Ever on her travels did and does she hold a faint hope to find what became of the gnomish babe for whose loss she has blamed herself ever since a particular fateful night.

Alas, before that forsaken moment in history may be discussed, before we can delve into Ildia's unresolved guilt, three more names ought to be read. First, there was 'Alnalay', the elf whose voice was so pure that those who heard it could not resist but be brought to enamoured tears. Her story had been that of most elves who fell for a human: the life of an outcast, fallen for a lesser race and subsequently ostracized. Full of adventurous spirit that would come to equally possess her daughter, she had joined her two gnomish companions and closest friends; Gerdt and Leáli.

Gerdt and Leáli shared that typical love story present in every self-respecting bard's oeuvre, a story told through song, pen and speech, a story told whenever the possibility arose, a story told whenever a damsel could be impressed; a story of a handsome fellow passing through town, a fellow who comes to be smitten with one of his womanly admirers, who in turn fancies him and his music. Two lovers elope, leaving a furious family and vengeful betrothed behind. Such was the story that Gerdt and Leáli shared, a story they happily divulged to many an enamoured audience. From this couple a baby was born, one who would come to first crawl, then walk, down a rather different path. They named him 'Ermic Longleaf', a name which time would devour, leaving only Ildia to remember it to present days.

Under the shut eye of a moon one fortnight after midwinter the company halted, so as to celebrate young Ildia's fourth nameday. Their travels were to take them to a small Halfling village, 'Sleepyhollow', and had already taken them along the edge of a great forest; a wild expanse of trees that stretched for miles on end. By these woods they had stopped, intent on teaching Ildia her first proper dance – 'Fateful Night', to a cheerful melody - and on drinking late into the night.

Though both of these activities turned into a proper success, one might come to remark that it was exactly their fortunes in dancing and merrymaking that had brought about the misfortune that would follow it. 'Drunk men tend no fires', so the Orcish warlords often say of their enemies' watchmen, and rightfully so.

.. for that night, with wolves on the prowl, the fires went out.

A startling scream tore men and women from slumber, and though barely a moment passed before the party realized its peril, that moment had still been far too long for them to prevent the ensuing disaster. Howls accompanied the pack as it set on its prey in a hunting frenzy, and Aldra's screams turned to blooded grunts when the beasts tore out her throat. The survivors desperately took to their arms, and with what remained of the embers, lit a new fire to huddle by. Within the span of a single breath, the fight was over and the wolves returned to the cover of the woods, leaving a woman dead in their wake.

Three screams broke the silence that had enveloped the camp, carrying grief, fury and desperation into the night: not only had Aldra passed away in a brutal instant, but Ildia and the baby gnome had vanished: the cruel dark had not been satisfied claiming but a single life. Nalme remained in mournful embrace with her fallen lover. The others, denial still driving their desperate feet, carried torchlight into the woods so as to shed light on what had become of their children.

So they trekked between the trees, stumbling clumsily into the night. Darkness still upon their terrified hearts, they came upon Ildia, whose bright hazel hair had turned muck with dirt, no longer reflecting the dazzling firelight. Though indeed her hair had lost its shine, her face glistened against the light of their torches, sorrow's water trailing across her cheeks. There she stood, motionless, her arms crossed tight over the blanket that had held the gnomish baby. "I lost him, I lost him.." So she continued muttering without stop.

"I lost him.."

Into her mother's arms.

"I lost him.."

So the gnomish couple averted their broken eyes.

"I lost him.."

So they returned to their encampment with hearts heavier than the world.

"I lost him.."

"I lost him.."