Of The Line Of Estelondo: Percival's Tale.

Chapter Five: Elorean and Centuries That Pass

It had been three days since they had reached the borders of the woods, and they had gotten lost twice, but eventually, they had found a wood trail, that they believed led to the Elorean Druid Camp.

"Are we almost there?" Faramaurea questioned, after they had walked for nearly an hour.

"I hope so, Faramaurea. This is a long journey, and I am growing impatient."

Faramaurea thought for a moment, her mind racing ahead. Although her social skills left her in a state bordering on naivete, Faramaurea was probably the most intelligent living member of the line of Estelondo. "Maybe that is the point, Percival. Maybe patience is what they are testing, in order to see if the person being tested is worthy to be entered into their fold."

Percival considered her words with a grimace, although he was thankful for the distraction from the monotonous nature of the journey. "You are probably correct, having had more experience with the Druids than I have. " He sprinted ahead, and forced Faramaurea to run with him, so that he could see what lay before then.

Around the bend, the road continued on for an indefinite amount of time, with no end in sight. Faramaurea handed Percival the reins of the horse that she had been leading on the narrow road in the woods, and began to listen to the sounds of the woods.

She stopped abruptly, and hailed Percival, her voice tight in alarm. "There is no noise."

Percival turned around, just in time for a white blur, to strike him down onto the ground. Without seeming to settle, the blur dove off of his chest, and Faramaurea felt the sharp crack of wood across her face as she fell to the ground.

Moaning as she tried to arise, she felt the touch of cold stone against her chin, and opened her eyes.

Before her stood a human male, dressed in white robes. He was tall, and neatly dressed, but he had some dirt around the golden trimmed hems of his white robes, that showed he had been living in the woods for a long time. He held a wooden staff, topped with a large sculpted piece of holly blue agate, which he currently held under her chin. His tall humanoid form was topped by a face with green eyes, that had smile lines around them, but even that was not enough to counter his fearful visage. "Mannasilcë?" He demanded, his rage at their intrusion evident in his baritone voice. "Mananasë induinencca mielorean?"

Faramaurea gazed into the human male's eyes, while Percival struggled to get out from under the magic-user. After a moment of terse silence, Faramaurea decided to trust him. "We are the Heirs of Meneltarma, Faramaurea, and Percival," The Man stepped off of Percival, and away from her slightly, so she pushed herself up into a half sitting, half reclined position. "and our purpose here, is to seek refuge, from Gary Gygax, False King of Meneltarma."

The man did not kneel, as was customary to do before royalty, instead gesturing for them to rise, which they quickly did. "My name is Simon, and I have met you before, and you have met me, though you were both much younger at the time. That was back before the death of your mother, my dear friend, many years ago. I am the current leader of Elorean, or rather, I am the Senior Council Member, of the Council that was created, after the death of your mother. I apologize for the unfortunate welcome you received, but we are on high alert, due to a troll that has been terrorizing our village, for the past week. Come with me, I will take you to safety, at least for a time."

Faramaurea grinned, and teased, "That welcome was a little more than 'unfortunate,' Simon. In fact, I would say that it was quite painful, if I am being completely honest." She rubbed the bruise appearing  on her jaw, while Percival spat out a globule of blood.

"Vou put Vour Voot Vin Vy Vouff." Percival remarked in irritation, his words barely comprehensible underneath his growing fat lip. 

Simon spared him a glance, before returning his attention to Faramaurea, and replied with a slightly eccentric smiled, "Yes, and for that I apologise. I may have been slightly overzealous in my protection of these woods, but I suppose no permanent harm will come of it." While they walked, he took a sharp left turn, off of the dirt road. When the siblings looked at him questioningly, he laughed. "We are druids, and therefore prefer the natural road. You would never have reached us if you continued on the tri-part route that we installed as a labyrinthine deterrent." Resting his hand against the nearest tree, a tall, thick, redwood, he whispered, "Transport Us, Oroalda, to the City in the Woods, and under stars." All at once, the Weave around the tree began to swirl and thicken, condensing in a whirling vortex that resembled water draining from a funnel, and before Percival, and Faramaurea's eyes, a portal opened, that they were quickly ushered through.