The Journal of Calamar Eldanil:

Chapter 15: Epilogue

The elven bard Alishya sat at the hearth of the fire in her parent’s inn, the White Swan.

As was their wont after a hard day’s work about the town, many townsfolk had come and sat at the stout tables and eaten their fill of meat pies, roast fowl, and good hearty soup or stew. Now, as most had finished their fare, many gathered about the pretty young elf maid and sat back to relax and hear a tale or two. Or perhaps a song.

Winter was just short of a month away and they had completed the basis of the new wall just a few days ago. Assistance from the dwerfolk of the region had helped them in setting up sturdy new stone walls, replacing the old timber palisade and earthen berm that had served them during the recent invasion by the Lordship of the Isles. The new wall stood a couple of hundred yards further out from the original wall; this to allow for the new houses and shops being built to hold the swelling population.

Wardlow had seen a small boom in the aftermath of the battle, with many of the refugees from nearby deciding to settle in or very near the town. Craftsmen of all the goodly races, human, elf, dwarf, gnome, had begun to set up shop in the town, and the elves of the Highland Forest in particular began to set up a more regular trade with the townsfolk. With the Wardlow spreading out, it had become necessary to extend the walls of the town and thus the new stonework was laid out and built over the late summer and autumn months, financed by ransoms from the captured nobles of the Isles.

In general, it was a good time for the people of Wardlow.

In the common area of the White Swan, pipes were drawn from pockets and soon the aromatic swirl of grey-blue pipeweed smoke twirled and danced in the air of the warm and cosy taproom. The aroma of roasting meat and sweet smelling herbs reached out from the kitchen area to further tantalize people whose bellies were full and content with their dinner. Those who had brought their families seeking the entertainment provided by the tavern sat warmly on the benches set about, their children and others of the town’s families kneeling, sitting cross-legged, or sprawled out on the floor. Some nursed mugs of ale, strongly favoured by the two dwarven engineers staying at the inn while work went on about the walls of the town, both seated at the table to the right of the hearth; others swirled tankards of mead. Those elves amongst the gathering quaffed a fine, rich, red wine from carved wooden cups.

A group of these fair woodfolk sat to one side, a few on benches, some in finely carved wooden chairs. Two young barmaids perched beside one of the elves between their turns at serving the customers of the inn. Another group of elves still sat at table behind the dwarves, finishing the evening meal and calling out friendly greetings to many of the townsfolk as they went by. Three gnomes dealing in beer from the southern town of Birzoon japed and gambolled about the room poking fun at many of the patrons, but mostly at each other.

All were keen to hear the tales of the bard. Many of the young folk hoped that tonight might even be a story from the great battle the town had fought the previous year. They had all been present for the dedication of Heroes’ Gate, what was formerly known as the West Gate, just outside the inn. It was one of Alishya’s more popular stories on how the statues to the two elf-blooded heroes had come to stand on either side of the gate, and how reverently the names of the town’s fallen had been engraved in the foundation surrounding the gate. The elves and dwarves that visited the inn also enjoyed this tale, for it was one on how all the goodly peoples had stood to hold back the tide from crushing the now bustling town.

Alishya’s father, Ivorean, came out of the kitchen followed by his wife Quillana. He bore a tray of tankards, glasses, mugs, and horns; each holding some form of liquid for the guests to partake of. His lovely wife, who more than a few still compared favourably to her daughter in looks and manner, bore a tray of small cakes and treats which she set about doling out to the children about the fire. Wiping her hands with her apron from the doorway to the kitchen, Jerinni the halfling baker beamed a broad smile as the younglings gathered up the fruit pies and small choco cakes that she had brought to the inn from her shop.

Ivorean called out to the patrons of the tavern, even to those who still occupied tables or booths far from the gathering about the hearth, “Tonight, my friends, is a good night. While my daughter spins her magic and you relax in the bosom of the White Swan, all drinks shall be on the house.” A rousing cheer went up amongst the crowd and the barkeep and serving wenches started their bustling activity of answering the calls as they came ringing out.

“Beer!” “Ale!” “More wine!” “Mead here, lass!” “A couple of black bottles please!” “A pickled cow’s head!”

This last brought a hush to the crowd as they all, including Ivorean, turned and gazed at the small roguishly grinning gnomish beer trader from Birzoon who had voiced it. At which point the little man promptly burped outrageously and then collapsed, banging his beer-reddened nose on the floor with a loud “squish” and settling into a horrendous snoring as he fell into the sleep of the drunk. The entire taproom burst into laughter at this as his two fellows, also giggling at the scene, hauled the sot up to his room to sleep off the effects of his boozing.

Ivorean chuckled and, shaking his head at the madness that is gnome, handed two flutes of deep red wine to a couple of the elves seated in the elf-crafted chairs.

The taproom returned to its bustling and the eyes and ears of the folk gathered at the hearthfire turned their attention to Alishya.

“A tale then?” she rhetorically inquired of the gathered patrons. “My father has said this is a good night. And it is indeed special. For tonight the tale will be not of my telling…” A small wondering murmur came out of the crowd. “Tonight the tale is one that needs no telling, but needs an ending.”

Her gaze wandered out over the gathered people and was met by curious and perplexed looks. A small girl child, a foundling who had been brought in by Coreb the stableboy and now lived at the inn doing minor household chores, rocked back and forth where she sat cross-legged in front of the hearth. The girl asked, “But if the story tonight is an ending, what is the beginning?”

The pretty bard smiled and said, “The beginning is one you all well know. How a group of elven adventurers came to this town and, in its time of need, helped save the people from the predations of the Lordship of the Isles and the foul Scarlet Brotherhood.”

“But we know that tale,” said one of the merchants of the town, who sat with one arm draped around his wife of many years, even as his eye wandered ever so slightly to catch the comely local maid Gweana settle beside one of the party of elves. “And we know how it ends.”

Alishya smiled, “Ah. You do? Well, then I guess there is no need for me tonight. I am off to bed then…” and she rose, gathering her lute in her hands as if to make for the upper story. The crowd reacted as expected. Cries of “No!” “Tell us!” arose and, laughing, she sat back down again. “Yes, I tease,” she said. “There will be a tale spun tonight, but it is not for me to tell. Bards relate those tales as they have been told and I have only learned of this one this very day.” She leaned forward, engaging the people around her by briefly fixing her gaze on each. “This is the tale of what happened to the elven companions after the end of the war and after they had taken their two fallen comrades away to the High Forest. I guarantee that it will hold something old and something new in it,” she added cryptically.

Her words brought the room to quiet; even those who sat far from the fire turned their attention to the bard. The two returning gnomes coming back down the stairs perked up and dashed over to insinuate themselves at the side of the circle, sitting amongst the children.

One of the dwarven engineers asked, “If you are not to tell the tale of these brave heroes, then who else?”

Alishya turned, leaning one arm over the back of the chair to wink boldly at the man. “Who better than those who shared the journey?”

A gasp filled the room.

Ivorean laughed and interjected, “I said this was a good night, my friends. And I did not lie. For returned to this town today is someone who can tell the tale for true.”

He turned and beckoned to one of the elves, the one seated by the girl Gweana, “Care you not to tell the tale of your travels, good Narion?”

The elf looked up, briefly startled, while the girl sought to surreptitiously close the bodice of her dress, “I? You know I am not a man of words, Ivorean. I am a man of action!” And then he turned, swept the girl up in his arms and made for the stairway leading up to the rooms.

“Narion!” shouted one of the townsfolk, a young man who served in the town’s militia. “I knew that some day you’d return. Can you not tell us your tale then?” And all the people laughed at the lack of response that came from the two lovers rapidly making their way heavenward – in more ways than one. The hero Narion had returned. Amazing as it was, everyone respected him enough to let him come to this in his own time.

The innkeeper chuckled. “Well, I guess that leaves you then, my friend…” he said, indicating the tall elf that had been seated to the other side of the girl now enjoying his friend’s embrace. The man looked up, eyes wide in stark raving terror, as he began to stammer … something … “Me? I – uh – You mean … What? Um…”

An elven maid seated in one of the chairs issued forth a gay laugh. “Come now, Rackhe. Surely you can tell our tale.”

Rackhe? Many of the townsfolk were confused. It was common knowledge that, while his companions were full-blooded elves, Rackhe was a half-blood; born of elf and human parent. But now, looking at this man as he sat there, flabbergasted …

The elf woman stood and patted him on his shoulder. “There, now. I didn’t mean to startle you into silence.”

As she stood up, one of the children looking up at her brightened and exclaimed, “You’re the pretty sorceress, Kiri!”

Kiri laughed, and turned to address the child. “Yes, I am. And would you like to know about how Rackhe came to return to your town as a full-blooded elf?” The children all clamoured for more of the story. “It is all about choices. You see, children, he was given a choice to either remain in his people’s heaven, or return to earth and act as a guide for me when I made my choice.”

The mention of the heavens and the involvement of gods had drawn not only the attention of the children, but also of all those in the taproom, who had now clustered about the group at the hearth. The elf sorceress continued, “He made his choice, to return to this world and aid me, in hopes that he could one day return to this town that had shown him such warmth and kindness. You had not judged him by his blood as a half-breed, but by his heart.” She turned to her blushing ranger friend and smiled. “And his heart is one of the finest I shall ever know. He gave up his chance at sitting at the side of Kord the Brawler in his Hall of Heroes for an attempt to truly feel his elf-blood in his veins and, after aiding me, return here to you.”

A few people now clapped him on the shoulder, and welcomed him even as they thanked him for his sacrifice. Others pushed goblets of ale and wine upon him, while one little boy, brushing crumbs from his face, sheepishly handed the big elf a piece of what remained of his choco cake. Rackhe smiled and looked down at the boy and, taking a small bite of the offered treat, handed it back to the lad and encouraged him to sit in the vacated spot beside him on the bench. The lad clamoured up and sat beside the big ranger, bursting with pride that of all the people gathered he had made such an impression on the once-dead hero.

“You mentioned your choice, milady,” said one of the goodwives. “And I imagine it has something to do with that bright new bauble adorning your hand. Are you now wed?”

Kiri glanced at the woman and slowly brought a graceful feminine hand out in front of her. The flickering light of candles and oil lamps reflected glitteringly from a platinum ring set with numerous diamonds and sapphires. ‘Ooohs’ and ‘Aaahs’ circulated through the crowd. A warm smile came over her face and she quietly replied, “Wed? Yes, I am now bonded.”

At the warmth of her response, an old couple seated on a bench to one side smiled at each other and nodded knowingly, entwining their own wrinkled and weathered hands to feel the warmth of a lifetime shared in love and friendship. Catching sight of the old folks, Kiri blushed and continued, “I, too, was given a choice. I could leave Calamar, my love, to his place in Arvandor; or I could set out on a grand quest to retrieve his soul to this plane of existence where his work may not yet be done.”

As she looked up at the crowd, she saw that even Alishya and her parents were attentively listening to her.

It had only been a few weeks since she had been bonded with her lover in a glorious ceremony in the Highland Forest. She thought back on the forested glade and the gathering that had blessed their union. It was like a ray of sunshine after travelling through the long dark tunnel through the Nine Hells and back that she and most of her fellows had travelled. She remembered how her breath had caught and her heart had sailed when he had asked for her hand. “So, it was an easy choice. Almost no choice at all. With my companions and the aid of the elven paladin Lodorin, I set off through many adventures to regain Calamar’s soul from the heaven of the elves.”

The silence was almost palpable. Each stared wonderingly at the violet-eyed sorceress; most with curiosity as to what wondrous direction this tale would next take, one with a warm feeling of love and respect. This one, the elf that had been seated beside her, asked, “And was it worth it, my dearheart?”

He smiled and a soft glow emerged from around his head, his golden hair streaming about his shoulders to clasp him in a gentle caress. Calamar Eldanil, now sainted priest of the Seldarine, newly returned to the world from Arvandor by the grace of his now wife and her elven companions, Rackhe, Narion and Lodorin, smiled at her, his very countenance graceful and calming those about him as he gazed into Kiri’s laughing dancing eyes. “Was it a choice well made?”

As the crowd broke into astonished exclamations, ranging from amazed shouts to rousing cheers to happy laughter, the elf sorceress turned to her now husband and, cupping his face in both hands as she had done so many months ago in almost this very spot, kissed him warmly and lovingly on his lips. “It was well worth it, my husband. I made the only choice I could make. And a wise man once said that our destiny is guided by the choices we make.”

THE END