ℌ𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔗𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔅𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢...

The crusade fought between the city of Omnia and kingdom of Solis Occasum was a hideous battle that spanned the length of days, one which took place at the median between both cities, at the beginning of the expansive forest known to most as the Gloamweald. Both man and elf locked one another into what ultimately concluded as a fruitless loss for the elven kingdom, state-of-the-art dwarven and manmade technology proving far more than the other side bargained for. The Omnian empire had been underestimated, blood had been shed, and the forest burned. When the time came to tend to the wounded and gather the dead, the humans, more concerned with defending their own than advancing upon the elves, allowed them to retreat and lick their wounds. The elven Archbishop known as Temeluchus Lightweaver, appointed charge of the Occasian soldiers, now helped direct the remaining able-bodied to transport the wounded to safety, a medical encampment erected within the Gloamweald, just past the edge of where the carnage had ended.

Once Temeluchus carefully dismounted his hulking, armored shire horse, he helped the wounded soldier down from the saddle, now clutching his side as crimson bloomed from around his palid fingers where the bullet had lodged itself within his cavity. Firearms were a new concept to the elves, one which costed their numbers dearly despite their advantage of a natural affinity for magic. The soldier winced and lifted his blanched face to the Archbishop in a haze, and apologized weakly. Temeluchus stooped to lift the soldier, towering above his subordinate some two feet. Old World elves like Temeluchus comprised the majority of the kingdom’s leadership and notable figures, named as such for their origination in the Old World. The majority of the population of Solis Occasum consisted of New elves, similar in stature as that of humans, save for their pointed ears, and ease in wielding magic. Reaching up to over eight feet tall, Old elves were uncannily long and willowy, possessing little body fat in place of lithe, mostly muscular bodies interwoven with the powerful magic imbued within their very cells. Temeluchus was no exception to this, as he gracefully and easily carried the soldier beneath the thick canopy of trees and into the safety of the canvas medical tents, muttered his own sullen apology to the injured, smaller New elf.

As Temeluchus ducked out of the medical tent, he caught the gaze of a leather-clad, hooded scout weaving through the encampment now littered with the wounded and recouping. “Archbishop, forgive me, while it does appear we’ve nearly finished collecting up the injured, there’s something I found,” the woman stammered as she approached him, clutching the strap of her bow strung across her torso. “I wasn’t sure what to do with it, so I thought it best to come show you.”

”Show me,” he spoke firmly, almost stiffly, and wrung his wiry, calloused hands together in relief of being able to shed his plated armor at last, alabaster waves of hair plastered to his angular cheeks and forehead with sweat. The scout nodded quickly and began to lead him away from the camp with two swordsmen in tow, for security’s sake, not that the Archbishop needed the protection with his own sword at his hip.

”It’s not far, it was by the lake,” she explained worriedly, hurrying ahead to lead the way. The party followed the edge of the lake, once fully surrounded by trees, the body of water lay half exposed to the open expanse created by battle, now a landmark for the new beginning of the Gloamweald. Along the bank, the scout stopped before one of the great willows by the water, and delicately pulled aside a portion of its great curtain of leaves. “At the base,” she spoke quietly, one hand still clutching her bow sling.

Nestled within the long grass surrounding the base of the willow tree sat a bundle of layered cloth. Buried within the folds of silk and muslin that none of these elves had ever seen before, a tiny, pale face is framed. Drawing in a thoughtful, slow breath, Temeluchus lowered himself to enter the canopy of willow sheltering the bundle, and dropped to one knee before it. “It… was alone when I discovered it; no signs of the parents at all. I couldn’t find any tracks, it’s like they completely van–”

”She,” the Archbishop corrected the scout softly, breathlessly, having bent over the bundle to carefully pull away the layers of cloth to better see what lay cocooned within. The infant was indeed biologically female, and had been fast asleep before being disturbed. She appeared perfectly healthy, but was tinier than any elven baby Temeluchus had ever seen his husband Ramiel bless, the miniscule fingers curling as she squirmed from the cool air she was now exposed to. Her face scrunched up as the beginnings of a cry shook her little body, and Temeluchus, frankly hesitant of touching her out of fear of breaking the fragile being, covered her up again with the innermost blanket. He reached his long fingers gingerly into the pile to extract the child, careful to support her head, though picking the child up in one hand would’ve been just as possible. He blinked as he lifted the baby up to nestle against his chest, having noticed her proportionally long and velvety ears wanting to dangle limply from the sides of her head like that of a rabbit. Elven infants, when newborn, also had soft aural cartilage, but not nearly as much as this.

”Sir… what is she?” one of the swordsmen asked as their superior picked up the remaining blankets in his free hand, now cradling the infant in his arm.

”A Deva, they’re people of the forest. Fae. They must have fled from the fire,” he replied, unable to pull his steel eyes away from the baby. The Devan baby opened her eyes at the sound of the voice above her and looked up in the source’s direction. “Hello,” Temeluchus greeted the infant gently, and a little awkwardly, marvelling at the haunting mist that seemed to cover her pupils and irises. Dappled light fell through the willow, shining into those sightless, moonstone eyes to no pupillary reaction. “She can’t see,” he noted, shielding her little face from the light as he stepped out completely into the sun. “Gather a couple more scouts and see if you can find any traces deeper in the forest. I’ll take her back to camp for the time being,” Temeluchus decided in a grim tone of finality as he looked out over the lake to the charred remains of the land they had decimated. He had a hand in doing this. This crusade was not his decision, he had little care that the people of Omnia wanted nothing to do with magic, but he still played a major part in it. As the scout nodded and hastily jogged to gather a small team, the Archbishop raised his hand holding the blankets to dismiss the two escorting swordsmen. “Go ahead and help back at camp. I’ll be fine by myself for a moment.”

Once alone, Temeluchus walked across the edge of the clear lake, shielding the infant from the light above them as he took his time to return back to the camp. There would be no possible way that his scouts would find other Deva in the Gloamweald, he knew this in his heart. The Devan fae people were reclusive, so closely intertwined with the elements and the most raw, natural magics, blurring the line between man, beast, and nature itself. They respected the land, and the land returned this respect in kind by bending to their will. If they wished to be hidden, then they will be. Temeluchus couldn’t trust anyone with a child so precious, knowing that the bones, blood, and hair of one such as her has been hunted by those desperate enough to harness magic. His lips pursed and jaw set, he looked down at the baby in his arms once more, and she seemed to look back at him. Or through him? Into him? He couldn’t tell, but those wide, pale eyes felt as if they were exposing the stoic man bare. He wondered if she could sense the sorrow bubbling up from his core, now threatening to escape, or feel the grief beginning to burrow into and overcome him. His shoulders shuddered, and Temeluchus collapsed to his knees in the long, vibrant grass which seemed to lean softly into the pair amidst the now quiet and peaceful breeze. He doubled over and clutched the baby close to his heart as the sobs began to wrack his body.

... 𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔴.

Over two decades had passed, and while both the Archbishop Temeluchus and his husband Ramiel hadn’t aged a day, the infant Temeluchus had discovered in the wake of the crusade certainly had. The Devan child had been adopted by the pair, much to the displeasure of the court of the church, but ultimately the act was permitted by the High Cardinal, and the remainder of the aristocracy was left to gossipmongering. Sheltered within the Archbishop and Bishop’s estate, the girl was raised as their own into the graceful young woman seated beside her fathers.

The day was young, and the renewal of life that followed spring was palpable in the warm air. For the upcoming bachelors and bachelorettes in the elven upper class of Solis Occasum, spring was a time ripe for potential suitors to be sought after amidst the numerous garden festivities hosted by varying Houses. Said festivities usually occurred in commemoration of a proposal, forming a link between two family names, and these celebrations were to be hosted on the proposing House’s grounds. The freedom of love was something highly acknowledged within the kingdom, and even amidst the upper class, arranged marriages for political performance’s sake was nearly unheard of. Despite this freedom, certain names amidst this circle of the elite did come with higher profiles than others, and proclivity towards these more esteemed names was obvious.

Ramiel and Temeluchus Lightweaver were some of the highest in political standing amongst the theocracy, and by default were invited to every notable celebration, wedding, holiday, and reception to take place within the kingdom walls. This special privilege, in addition to the pair’s own vital religious and political duties, proved to be more of an inconvenience to the pair, but social appearances were just as important to their roles.

”Uriele, my dear, is something the matter? You’ve hardly touched your tea, are you hot? It is warm out, perhaps we should see if it’s cooler inside,” Ramiel affectionately cooed to his daughter, lifting a gentle hand to sweep a lock of golden hair behind one of her overgrown ears. Amongst her kind, the growth of her ears would be considered certainly unusual, but amongst the elven population, their size was simply ridiculous. Ramiel had hypothesized this to be due to her lack of sight, and perhaps the other senses compensated where the one lacked. Temeluchus disagreed, explaining that the size of the ear didn’t necessarily correlate with her ability to hear being any better.

”No no, I’m fine, I promise,” she replied, starting lightly in her seat at the sudden acknowledgement of her. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking,” she assured her doting father with a soft smile, and reached out a delicate hand to slide across the tablecloth before her and find her cup of tea. The Lightweavers were designated their own table amongst the perfectly quaffed hedges and flowerbeds of the Dawnseeker House’s garden, away from the majority of the socialites congregating at their own tables, on the terrace, and beneath the giant stone gazebo centering the garden. Uriele was thankful for this, because the noise could easily become overwhelming, and she preferred not to be ogled at more than she knew she already was. “I’m happy the Dawnseekers and Greatkinds could have such a lovely day to celebrate and bring everyone together. I’m sure they’re grateful for such an enthusiastic turnout as well,” she said, with not too much enthusiasm herself.

”I agree, in fact, I was told the Dawnseekers were so enthusiastic to share the news, that they’d even invited every House of the aristocracy,” Ramiel smiled, looking up from his daughter to catch the gaze of his husband on her other side, to which Temeluchus raised his brow in response. Ramiel sighed softly and ran his slender fingers through his thick head of raven hair, thinking. “It’s been ages since that’s happened.”

”Oh… how nice,” Uriele supposed distantly as she placed down her cup and smoothed the finely embroidered skirt of her dress. “Father I’m sorry, I know it’s important to attend and I know we’re not terribly close to everyone, but the sound…” she trailed off, head turned up to look directly in her father’s direction. “I just need a moment to recollect myself, I’m sorry,” she apologized once more, sliding off of the too-tall garden chair without having waited for an answer. She knew they’d understand, and she knew that regardless if she were there or not, she would still be a topic to whisper over amongst the groups of would-be peers.

Uriele had been to the Dawnseeker’s home before, and was accustomed to the layout of the manor. That said, she had little need to memorize directions, despite her lack of vision, her spatial awareness was incredibly sharp. Her little heels clacked softly against the marbled floors as she hurried as politely as possible away from the sounds of the party, the invisible vice around her little chest fading with the party-goers voices. Fingers curled tightly into the skirt of her dress to ensure she wouldn't trip, she slowed as she found herself approaching the opening of a corridor leading out onto a veranda, and a smaller garden. Her hand gently brushed the arch of the doorway as she stepped lightly across the veranda, the faint chatter of the party now almost comforting. She found her way to the low stone wall edging the patio, and finally sat down upon one of the three solid benches with a long sigh. Head downturned to her lap, she idly laced her fingers together in thought, before the sound of someone shifting from their own seat off to her side caused her to nearly jump straight up.

”I’m sorry! Sorry! I didn’t think anyone would come out here,” a hesitant, but clear masculine voice blurted out from the direction of the movement. Uriele clutched at her chest as she caught her breath from the startlement, swallowing. “I can go somewhere else, I really didn’t mean to startle you,” the voice added as they stood, brushing off their trousers.

”No, no please don’t, you were here first. You were so quiet I had no idea,” she sighed out one last, deep exhale. “Is… is it alright if I sat here? I’ll try my best not to bother you, I just needed to slip away from everyone else,” she leaned forward with childlike eagerness, as getting to speak to someone outside of her home was really a treat. Remembrance of past attempted interactions with new people washed over her cherub-round face in a moment, and she blinked as her pale eyes drifted from the voice’s source. “Though, I do understand if not.”

There was a pause, and Uriele almost spoke out into the quiet to ask if they were still there, before they did finally reply, “Of course,” and stepped a few paces closer to her before sitting on the bench beside her own. “You’re the Archbishop’s daughter, correct?” he asked, leaning forward to grasp his hands together, elbows propped on his thighs in what would be considered a boorish way to sit at such a function.

”Yes. I’m Uriele,” she said with a careful little smile. He asked her name, and that was farther than she’d usually get. Small victories, but don’t slip. Remember your manners. “Ramiel and Temeluchus Lightweavers’ one and only,” she presented herself lightheartedly, and stretched out and lifted her fingers from her lap for emphasis. “I don’t think I recognize your voice, have we met before?”

”Ah… no. We haven’t met, I don’t usually get permission to attend these sorts of events,” he skirted the implication of replying with his own name, the hint of nervousness in his tone easily picked up by the girl. Her soft, vacant smile in his direction remained unwavering, and his own eyes searched in the gentle features of her face. There was no judgment in her face, no underlying scorn or disgust, and her kind innocence made his chest tighten in an unfamiliar comfort. He could easily tell that she was unable to see him, and it came as some relief to his identity, but he also found it unfair or inappropriate that he could stare into those sightless eyes and she would be none the wiser. He thought of mentioning her sight in jest, but decided against it in consideration of how many other people pried about her disability. “I’m Glyss,” he introduced himself cautiously, and waited for the look on her face to change. It didn’t– not in the way he expected. She smiled warmly to him instead, and extended a tiny, dainty hand in his direction.

”I’m so glad to make your acquaintance Glyss, thank you for allowing me to have the opportunity to sit with you,” she beamed at him, simply overjoyed at the prospect of having someone finally speak to her normally, regardless of how little had been spoken. The elf blinked at her in astonishment as his breath nearly caught in his throat. Maybe she didn’t know him, or maybe she didn’t care, but for the moment he was happy to have this exchange. Glyss lifted his pale hand to tenderly hold her own, now dwarfed within his palm. Closing his amber eyes, he craned his slender neck down to graze his lips against the back of her palm. His low ponytail holding back thick, crimson hair, fell to the side over his shoulder, and exposed the mark just below the base of his skull. The mark, a sharp, u-shaped curve slashed through with a harsh line, designated Glyss as the Everglow House’s disgraceful heir to the estranged family curse. But at this moment in time, Glyss’ plight was blissfully shoved towards the back of his mind, and as he raised his head to look back at the curious nymph before him, he genuinely smiled for the first time in what felt like forever.

𝔗𝔯𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔞

• Uriele tends to move slowly and carefully, her ears also helping in sensing the distance of objects.
• The majority of her clothing has been personally commissioned by her fathers.
• From living a fairly sheltered life, Uriele has no friends outside of her parents and staff among the estate. Glyss was her first friend.
• She has never worn actual pants.
• She's very bad at keeping secrets, and will cry if she tries to keep any. Even the most harmless. That said, she's deceptively good at lying, but hates to do so.
• Rewarding, tactile activities like knitting, cooking, and playing music are her most preferred.