Yomeniampa, the shining tree-city, the hidden fortress of the elves; its trees had seen Culufin’s childhood, from babe to boy to man, though it was unlikely that they would see him again. It had been two weeks since his mind had been set and as he saw it, he had been given little choice.

Culufin was of the Paredhel, the half-elves. His father had been a human captive of the elves, whom during his incarceration had gained the trust of the elves and the love of a particular elf, Culufin’s mother. For a year, their love was as the spring flower, nourished by the shining rays of their triumphs and pouring rains of their defeats. The joy they had for each other was great and the end of this season saw their marriage. For a time afterwards, their love was wrapped in summer’s warmth, which saw the conception and birth of Culufin. The child was celebrated as any elven child was, despite his human heritage, for he was the embodiment of his parent’s love and the elves rejoiced in such a union. As with all good things however, the light that Culufin’s parents beheld each other with soon died. The winter of their love was swift to come, riding the autumn gales hard. The cold that engulfed their hearts was strong and deadening so that even the vitality of the infant Culufin could not stoke the fires of passion that had once blazed. And then without warning, the child’s father disappeared in the night, longing for his own and shunning the cold, dark halls of the elves that had once been vibrant and warm. It stained the human’s legacy a shade too dark for the taste of the elves and struck a dissonant chord in the life of Culufin. It was a dissonance that transcended to every event of his childhood, ringing across the skies where he might walk, a beacon that would deny him of his aspirations and tell of his father’s shame.

Oh how, he hated that man for the love he had denied his son, for the pain he had filled his heart with. And yet, did the apple fall so very far from the tree? Was Culufin not also abandoning his people? The half-elf quickly dismissed the notion with a scoff and soothed himself with thoughts of how the Quendi had wronged him. A slight sense of guilt still lingered in the back of his mind.

It was with such thoughts in his heart that Culufin turned his back in the ancestral home of the elves, to embark on whatever journey his confused heart would lead him to. Beneath the shining trees of Yomeniampa, he abandoned his people and potentially, his identity, with hopes to rediscover himself.

Linwë reread these last bits of text with a sense of completion, her imagination still buzzing as she exhaled a stretched breath for the book resting in her long fingers. It was when she was folding the tomb to a close that she realized a smile of satisfaction had transformed her lips, prettily curving her smooth, pale cheeks; morsels of plum against a powdered canvas. Yet she could not feel silly, it had long come to pass that reading was her most pleasured pass time, and instead she was left with wonder for the fiction. Every tomb she had thusly completed in the past fortnight, had been immersed in the possibility of the wisdom of Lómëdor and Linwë had begun to be rapt in the opportunity of such a learning. She embarked upon numbering the days in which she might chance a venture. She started to spend more time in the study of her family abode, viewing texts and maps of the bustling town, its culture, and its library.

And each day her longing waxed into an obsession for escape, while the exceeding talents of her siblings condescended her into the solitude of her studies. It was when she verbalized her yearnings and sadness for her surroundings to her parents, did her dream start to become defiantly stronger. They bade their daughter that, for her to leave the coop, would be too dangerous; that she wasn’t ready, that it'd be better for her to continue growing around her own people - that she wouldn’t survive. And even with all the warnings, the world around her sounded too wonderful for her hunger to ignore, and so, at last, it gripped her swiftly into the night. Before she could doubt, Linwë was stuffing her sack with clothes and books, and even managed to stow away a bow before parting through the window of her mansion’s room balcony. By tugs of fine woven silk, strong and durable, she repelled clumsily from the terrifying height and blessed herself thrice once she had made it safely to the garden path below. Her lissome limbs stung as she heaved herself over the lofted surrounding walls, and her feet - now only carried hastily by adrenaline - began to tire of all the steps that led down from the tree haven that was Yomenïampa.

And so Linwë was ashamed of her quickness to fatigue as her thin legs bumbled her through the thick underbrush under the towering, ancient oaks. The thin leather strap on her bag, weighted with tombs amany, cut viciously into her shoulder, but she gritted back the tears- reminding herself that she was journeying for herself, that it wouldn’t all be glory and adventure at first. Even if the characters of fiction made it seem so easy. Around the bend, and tripping over roots in excitement, there the elf came upon another, one whom stared so boldly up into the wide shafts of surrounding wood. She stopped and peered at him meekly, her memoirs conjuring up sights for the man that stood before her in the night.

In her mind she was affixed by her familiarity, of the local who always seemed yet an outcast, was brought to the forest floor with her. The young townsman who always pledged to one day leave himself, when his family no longer sufficed. Before now they had only exchanged brief glances as her caravan passed him in the market, or as brief Eledhwen stops led to eavesdropping sensations. And now she came face-to-face with the difference of their town, the one who had always eluded her, but never quite captured her interest until that moment.

Long neck listing, Linwë budged from the undergrowth, and timidly cleared her throat. “Fair Paredhel, if thou leave, do they mind if I accompany them?”

Yomeniampa! Alas, Yomeniampa! The golden winds in my mind still doth blow.
Yomeniampa! Whither, Yomeniampa! Only my death will make me forget thee.

Menhir hummed the soft strains of an old Elven song as he jumped from bough to bough , trailing through the mallorn trees. He had been in Yomeniampa fifteen weeks now, had seen a section of the forest burn to the ground, fought with drow, and had finally found a measure of the peace he had been sure he would find there. But therein was the problem. Peace was not Menhir's heart's desire at this time. He had been fondling his throwing knives increasingly, remembering their aid on the road when he had been a caravan guard.

He had finally made his mind up to leave that morning when the sound of the chirping birds gew annoying, when the soft sunlight streaming through the leaves irked him. His life was not here for now. Perhaps he would return one day when he grew old, but for now, his steps were elsewhere.

As he neared the edge of the forest, he caught sight of another Paredhel such as himself below him. He had spoken with this one from time to time. A wistful follow, but with a pleasant demeanor. Curufin, Curulin? Before he could react to this sight, another Elf emerged from a bush nearby and addressed him. They were clearly both leaving the city. Menhir reflected for a second. It might be agreeable to have some companions. He leapt down from his branch and landed lightly ten feet away from the m and walked towards them, giving a small bow.

'Forgive my intrusion, Culufin,' said Menhir, finally remembering the fellow's name, 'and you, fair lady of the Kin. I could not help noticing you both seemed to be leaving Yomeniampa for outside. I know not whither you are bound or what errand guides you, but I would be very happy if you would allow me to accompany you.'

And so it seemed to be the way things for were going for Culufin of late, his peace was quick to be disturbed by the likes of his kin. Aroused from his reflection, the half-elf was inspired to turn about and capture sight of the offender. At first glance, he was entitled to anger, an apparent high doom brooding behind a creamy facade and beneath a shock of hair that matched the darkest mahogany tree. Such was quick to fade however, as he beheld the target of such terrible wrath. Her face was familiar, though he could not put a name to it. They'd happened upon one another in the market a few times. Sadly, Culufin knew little of her besides what he could observe. Consequently what he could deduce from appearance was what killed his anger. She was slight of build and awkward, not yet a woman by the standards of elves and rightfully so. The girl struggled against the weight of her pack and seemed to have hard enough time just trying to leave the city.

The portrait that the elf painted was of ineptness, a palette of her futility burnishing her canvas in a spectacular portrayal of failure, and the foreground was a sight of true comedy.

"Fair Paredhel, if thou leave, do they mind if I accompany them?"

A vision of the child bumbling through the wilderness filled the mind of Culufin; the girl complaining that the underbrush clawed at her dress, tripping over her too heavy pack, pleading constantly for relief from travel, crying out at the first eery noise she heard. She would be quite the burden. Then again, if she set out from Yomeniampa, Culufin could only imagine where her fate would lie. He was left with little a choice.

"Don't you think it'd be best if you returned home, dear child?"

If she refused, he'd have to escort her, for he knew the minds of his kin; if she was set to do something, she would indeed do it. If he listened to his advice however, she'd be all the more safe and Culufin all the wiser for it.

It seemed as if the girl was already doing her share of distracting him. In the moment he had taken to to advise her, another person had managed to approach. His hand slid to the hilt of his sword, though he tried hard to give not the impression of threatening the man, but rather than he was leaning against his sword, strapped to his belt as it might be. As the intruder approached, Culufin recognized him. His guard eased up.

"Whether you join me or not hinges on the lady here's decision."

Simple enough... Culufin was not fond of the idea of having another tagalong, but it couldn't hurt to have an extra set of eyes and ears if the girl did decide to go.

Her delicate features dropped in a frown, steadily his words damaged her more than she could believe. Was it plain in her sloppily packed bag, her hastily strewn wear, or even her naive expression that made her seem so unprepared for her journey? She had hoped that she would have gotten further before consequence started budging her back, or maybe the trail would have been more open to her prints before it dug holes for them to step in. But there it was, plain as text; the half-elf’s rejection written across his doubting countenance. A lifetime of living down to the gifts of her siblings did not help the self-loathing wipe from her face, but remain insecurely sticking to it. So she closed her eyes tight to conjure up any strength that still yet remained, from her rush of adrenaline, to leave. Awkward teeth bit the insides of her lips pink, hidden by a quivering jaw as she stomped around the Paredhel.

Linwë gave the newest half-race arrival a quick glance of recognition, with rebuff still in her icy irises. Age-old roots cracked beneath her stomping movements in the brush, her bursting bag swinging swollen after her.
“I am no child,” insisted Linwë as she trudged by, difficultly lacing her movements through the thick undergrowth. Then the pledge came to her, as the strength -that still carried her newly sore form forward- seemed to find her, to lift her chin high and nobly in the air. The elf continued, moving away from the men between two of the thick poles, “And happen you know, I shalt well journey myself into these wood! For the course to Lómëdor is stricken in my heart!”

With the proclamation ringing through the grove, disturbing night birds and more of the creeping brush, Linwë shoved herself through the trees only to be halted, mere beats later. Rough hands seemed to grab her arms in every feasible bend, almost lifting her off the ground as they sprang from the shadows. Defensively Linwë struggled, spinning back into the copse where she intended to abandon her acquaintances and, instead, met them again with her swollen bag. The thing burst open from the top, vomiting its contents out in a boisterous plunking of manuscripts. Her soft face lit up in horror, more for her breaking books than for now being wrapped forcefully in the arms of her midnight attackers. Only when she had enough sense to look away from her treasured tombs, did she realize that the men who had her, were her family’s guards.

“Linwë, it’s time to return home,” one said as her struggling began to lessen with fatigue.
The other chimed in, out of breath as he wrapped his stout limbs between Linwë‘s. “You’re father wished you not to leave.”
“Okay! But I must gather my belongings first.” Came Linwë’s heated response as she shrugged away to tend to her fallen luggage. It surprised her how much they slackened and allowed her to fish up her prized tombs, and how they failed to notice her baiting looks to her companions. Her eyes widened towards them as she attempted to inconspicuously package up a novel while still silently calling for the aid of both half-elves.

Help me, she mouthed desperately to the man called Culufin and the nameless one. Then with her doe-like eyes, she motioned in the direction of the guards. She loathed that she required the help of the men she was just trying to display her independence to, yet her options were running slim and her desire to escape heightened.

In her rushing, she was required to duck her head back into her work, for the first guard urged swiftly from behind: “You must hurry Linwë, these forests carry dangers at this hour."

As Linwë moved off from them defiantly, Menhir rounded on Culufin. 'For someone who knows full well the rejection we Paredhel experience here from some Elves, you show yourself no better than them, Culufin. I know now what grieves you this day, but I would offer my friendship to you regardless of kin or of race, as would Linwë. Yet you reject her for no crime other than for what...her being a woman...an Elf...or being anyone other than Culufin the Selfish!' Struck with anger, Menhir's hand even hovered above his belt-knife but he snatched it back up. Never had he been able to stand racism, or intolerance motivated by sheer callousness.

A flicker of doubt seemed to creep into Culufin's eyes as Menhir glared at him. Maybe he was not utterly as selfish as he seemed, certainly some deep wound lurked inside the Paredhel, and in that moment, Menhir felt his anger diminish towards sympathy.

Sounds from behind him made him pivot. Linwë was being surrounded by two men, one of whom was holding firmly onto her. Friends playing a prank on the Elf-maiden? Hardly. Menhir caught her desperate glance back at them and he nodded to Culufin. 'Whatever your feelings, will you let a maiden be molested against her will and do nothing?' he asked. If Culufin answered, it would be to his back since Menhir was already racing away towards Linwë and the two strangers.

Stopping short, Menhir was spotted by one of the guards, muscular for Elves and a mean disposition about them.

'What is your business, Paredhel?' said the first guard, his tone dripping with contempt at what he deemed to be an inferior race. Menhir knew the tone intimately, in fact, it was one of the reasons driving him away from Yomeniampa. The second guard turned to face Menhir, dropping his hand to the hilt of his sword.

'I desire to know only since when freedoms in this forest were so curbed as to prevent maidens going about at their own will,' Menhir replied with a smile.

'This is none of your concern. This girl has no right to escape from her family and her father asked us to bring her back. What more is there to be said, if only to ask why you interrupt two pure-breds going about their work.' The gruff tone of voice warned Menhir he would not go out of this one with diplomacy alone. The look in Linwë's eyes confirmed what Menhir thought.

Without waiting further, he flicked his left arm down to his belt as if to throw a knife. The eyes of both men followed his gesture, giving him a split-second opening. He jumped straight up and forwards in between them, and kicked out, each boot meeting the chest of a guard and sending them sprawling into the sod. He landed next to Linwë, grabbed her and began to run as she clutched her bag. As they turned, Menhir yelled out: 'Culufin, help us!' Behind him, he heard the two guards rise and grunt in anger. Menhir sent a prayer to the gods that the half-Elf had not deserted them or they would be in trouble very quickly.

Linwe acted just as Culufin expected, dejected and upset by his remark. A proclamation of her maturity was soon to follow, though it was hardly directed towards him. It appeared as if she was trying to curry the support of their new companion and of course, she would succeed. The scene was overwhelmingly typical. A half-assed amused grin filled the half-elf’s face.

”Have it your way then, Linwe, we make for Lomedor.”

Culufin pivoted to shoulder his pack only to be met by Jaded’s tirade, laden with guilt-inspiring prose and personal shots at ‘Culufin the Selfish.’

”For someone who knows full well the rejection we Paredhel experience here from some Elves, you show yourself no better than them, Culufin. I know now what grieves you this day, but I would offer my friendship to you regardless of kin or of race, as would Linwë. Yet you reject her for no crime other than for what...her being a woman...an Elf...or being anyone other than Culufin the Selfish!”

Any other time, the paredhel would have written the rant off as an attempt to sway his opinion; today, however, anger moved the word-smithing fool.

”So that is the card you will play, is it? I would have your head before your knife before your hand would find it’s hilt…”

Culufin spoke coolly, though a steely bite laced his words. His eyes followed his arm down to the hilt of his sword, where his hand had rested all along.

”Assumption is a fool’s tool.”

The last statement was obviously directed towards Jaded and specifically towards his scathing evaluation of Culufin.

”Now let’s…

Before those words even left his lips, it appeared as if the half-elf had even more to contend with than a pampered elven brat and a fool of a paredhel. How could he be so blind as not to notice all these fools traipsing through the woods? His knuckles whitened as his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. This was all ludicrous.

”Point made, you are a child.”

Though the girl had been shocked by her apprehension at the hands of her parent’s henchman, Culufin was not so surprised, for whom else could it have been in the well-guarded woods of Yomeniampa? It was not often than someone slipped by the march-wardens of the elven wood unnoticed.

As the girl calmed, her guards eased their watch over her. Her resolve to leave outmatched theirs to keep her stayed-put. They allowed her to collect her things and as she did so, she mouthed her silent plea for escape. In Culufin it inspired naught but a lilting sigh, though, he supposed, it did warrant some course of action. Jaded however, appeared much more moved by the girl, lashing out at the guards as he approached them. With respect to the levity of the situation, Culufin followed. It was no quicker that he stood shoulder by shoulder with his mush-headed companion that the action started. Jaded made a move for his knife, thought he action was a ploy for the guards as he took to the air with his boots. They found their mark in the guards’ chest and appropriately, the tumbled backwards. Accompanying the thud of the double kick was the ring of steel as Culufin unsheathed his sword.

”What’d you do that for you bloody idiot?! Leave now!”

The half-elf cursed Jaded’s stupidity as he ordered him away. The fool was lucky a march-warden hadn’t been watching mused Culufin with a touch of pride, before redirecting his attention to Linwe’s unsuccessful captors. Towering above them menacingly, he pointed the tip of his blade at one of their throats, and spoke.

”If I were you, I’d stay down there for a few moments.”

They would undoubtedly listen, even if for just a moment. Both guards were familiar with Culufin and a certain prestigious organization of elven rangers he had once belonged to. The march-wardens were among the most elite of Elf-Warriors.

With slender fingers of beige, she gripped energetically to the bindings of the only book she managed to snatch from the forest floor. It was with slender haste that she wasn’t able to spy the title of the book or catch even a glimpse of the one tomb she managed to salvage before she was uprooted by the arm, and led along by the leash that was her protruding limb. The undergrowth was even more harsh beneath her, jumping out with looping fingers, daring to ensnare her in their harsh comfort; but even with her feet bumbling uselessly beneath her, she could not succumb to their tricky wishes but be carried, haphazardly, through the length of Yomenïampa forest.

As the archaic poles passed bountifully before her, her breath was found harsh in her throat; a slight rasp to her outward breathing, the fatigued frog announcing its croaking melody in every break of her plum lips, every difficult exhale, every forced step. Yet she could only think of the thrill of escape that still welled within her, as her stumbles took her farther and farther away from her home. And of the new smells ripe with the lush verdure of her nightly surroundings, novel and different. It left her with a sense of what might be even farther beyond her perceptions, what new treasure awaited her mind to unfold. Soon the trees spaced themselves wide, reaching out into a clearing that was beyond the forest and into the quiet planes. Before Linwë had only read about the sights outside Yomenïampa, and now she was experiencing them for the first time, cast in a veil of nightly wonder.

Eyes beaming childlike, she stopped herself from the rough gallop at the edge of the wood, staring off over the lazy tufts of breezing grasslands with wonder. Thereat the stars were winking down from a clear sky, with no moon to lantern the space. An unknown hesitance found Linwë at the edge of the forest, at the realization that she’d be plunging into a new world that was very unlike the place she called home for the whole of her fifty, elven years. Her eyes found her companions, freely marching down the incline and through the thick grass. After their valiant escape, she couldn‘t hold up the party now. Protect me, Lothlómendil . Was her last thought before she lifted her first, sore foot into the unknown.

It greeted her with a gopher hole. Which ate her appendage, foot sinking uncontrollably into the earth, and with a shifted momentum already arranged to continue downward, her body obliged, throwing her from her uneasy feet and downward. The grass was surprisingly soft as she bounced against it, unable to stop her tripping self against the laws of nature. And so her body rolled, log-like, tearing up fingers of the long prairie and somehow missing the hidden sharp rocks that jutted from the dirt beneath it. Strangely the only noise to escape her was the first yelp of surprise, before her body was twisting and was the first to make it down the incline. Dizzied and disheveled, little Linwë sat upright and cast a bemused expression to the world above, limbs still entwined in the foliage.

And, when it seemed like an explosion of pain would wreak the air, the giddy sounds of laughter cut through it, sending tingling waves through unused muscles. For even a noble elf had humility.

Culufin's arrival was not a moment too soon, as Menhir took off with Linwe dragged along behind him. He might have been a bit rough with the young girl, as she tripped over and fell a few times during their flight. She must have been from one of the very highest of Elven houses, to have such elements of the guard after her. Menhir had not recognised the livery of the guards, but their haughty demeanor, rich clothing and sharp tongues had been enough to mark them as high-born.

They would no doubt soon report the rescue by Menhir and Culufin, as well as their descriptions. Menhir would now have to avoid Yomeniampa for the foresseable future, out of necessity as much as out of desire. He scoffed. In any case, he would rather face banishment than let a lady be taken into captivity against her will.

Here, at the edge between mighty forest and rolling plains, troubles soon lifted. The air was fresher than in the woods, somehow tingling with mysteries of unfettered freedom, of adventures to come and friends to meet. Weird companions he'd have with him. Menhir, the great loner, turned to observe Culufin standing still across the plain not too far from him.

He was certainly a character, that one. But Menhir didn't buy his tough-guy act. He could have let Linwe and he in the clutches of those guards but he had not hesitated long before drawing his weapon to protect them. He walked over to the warrior who turned to regard him broodily. Menhir put a big smile on his face which was entirely genuine. 'Perhaps it was too harsh to call you Culufin the Selfish. Thank you for your aid. Now, if you will have us, to Lomedor, I believe you said?'

A dull thump behind them indicated Linwe's plummet into a gopher hole. Menhir turned to see Linwe laughing as she picked herself up. 'Linwe, it seems that creatures of the wood bid you a reluctant farewell. Your skill in communicating them must be great indeed if a mere gopher cannot bear to watch you depart.' he called out as a joke.

Yes, these two would be just fine as companions. Just fine indeed.

And so it was that they left the day's transgressions behind them in favor for escape from the Elven Wood. Dusk would find them at it's borders.

A smile cracked through Culufin's hardened facade, mimicking the curved moon that was only beginning to peak above the horizon, at the sight of Linwe tumbling through the field. The child, it seemed, had never left Yomeniampa in her few years. Culufin hadn't either, though he had been to its edge. The particular realization stirred his thoughts. Was he really so much more experienced in the ways of the world than this girl? Perhaps not, but he dispelled that doubt as quickly as it came. He was better equipped to protect himself and she needed his guidance. Or did she? Mayhaps there was more to Linwe Eledhwen than what met the eye.

Culufin was roused from his thoughts by the other half-elf, Jaded.

"Perhaps it was too harsh to call you Culufin the Selfish..."

So it would appear that the brash paredhel was moved to apologize. Was it worthy of redemption?

" And maybe you aren't the fool I took you for."

Though his words were not heartfelt, the ranger spoke for the good of the party. Jaded was yet a fool in the mind of Culufin, but they would never make it to Lomedor if they were to quarrel the whole way. The false conviction in the half-elf's voice did well to deceive, however.

"...thank you for your aid. Now, if you will have us, to Lomedor, I believe you said?

Satisfaction belied his thoughts as Jaded spoke. The man truly was a fool. Night was descending upon them and he still wished to travel? Danger came with darkness and weariness with the travel of the day. They would need to make camp.

"I would see us to Lomedor but for the moon. I fear it is time we rest for the night. We've made good time and our pursuers won't dare to brave the wood by night"

And with that, he beckoned to Linwe. They would need to stop.

(Ok, we should make a new topic now since we've left Yomeniampa. Sorry for how long it takes me to post and the lesser quality of them, but all in due time shall be remedied.)

OOC: How about we post here for the night we're about to spend? And then move it straight to Lomedor, we can create a topic over there. Culufin, no worries, your posts are great!

Culufin seemed to regard Menhir slightly askew as he intimated his desire to rest for the night. Menhir replied: 'My admirable Culufin, you praise me too greatly, I was not suggesting that we travel through the hours of darkness although I am certain that under your great leadership, we would be guided most perfectly. I simply asked about our destination over the next few days.'

Where Culufin had hid his disdain, Menhir made his irony perfectly dripping with honey, so much so a deaf gnome would have grasped it. Menhir then walked back to the edge of the forest, picking up a few branches and setting them in a tripod position before striking flint and tinder and soon having a roaring fire going.

'So now, my friends, what now for food and travel?'