#elras

Three talbuk calmly grazed in the afternoon sun among the tall emerald grasses of the broken plains of Nagrand. Their blue and grey fur ruffling softly in the breeze coming down from the southern mountains, the wind doing always what it pleased more than following the general order of the world here. Mighty antlers sat high back on the buck as it lifted itself from the grass to peer out around him, his mate and young continuing to graze with their protector’s watchful guard on high alert. He was large, having grown for many seasons and survived through the times of plenty and scarcity to the beast the bore the air of warrior or lord in this land of green and plenty. He could feel the wind in his fur and through his horns, ears pricking this way and that while nostrils flared to pick up foreign scents. Caution was the key, and it had served him well to this point in his life. Snorting softly he would lower his head once more to pull at the green grass and chew, ignoring the growing sense that golden eyes would be trailing him.

Elras would crouch low into her hiding place, her aged eyes locked to that same plains lord she had stalked for a better part of the afternoon. Old handmade leathers clothed her while her bare feet sat in the earth of this plentiful land she had called home. A long grey braid sat tight and rolled into a bun near the base of her neck, a dark clefthoof strap lead to the old quiver at her waist. Brown callused hands held loosely to a bone bow and pinched the end of her handcrafted arrow as she paced her breathing and waited. It was always the key to the hunt, though in her youth it was hard for her practice.

The scent of wolf and oil, the howls of her party as they charged at a group of ogres or gronn or whatever was found for the hunt and the clan. There were mouths to feed and trophies to be gained. Glory and valor for the Thunderlords! Elras had laughed and howled with her clan mates as they would stalk the ridges and valleys of their world hunting for trophies and game to return to the home fires. Such a fine helm she had worn with those mighty eelk horns. Now it was all gone and she was alone, she was mag’har and nothing more.

The talbuk were beginning to move again as they wandered away from their grass toward a fresher grouping of food, their heavy hooves thumping on the soft earth. Elras grimaced as she felt her knees pop and begin to creak, it seemed with patience gained natural ability was traded. She was old and she knew it, but she didn’t know what else to do. She was no weaver or farmer. She was a hunter and a warrior, the only way a hut would hold her would be as she lay dying. Dying was beginning to fill her thoughts more now, just as the clouds above passed a shade over her and her prey so did the one in her mind.

Elras was one of the last of her once mighty clan, now most of them consumed by the fel blood of the Legion and laying waste to every living being as slavering monsters beyond Shattrah. She shuddered remembering when her brothers had joined her father to drink from that horrors pit. The green consuming their once vibrate brown skin and eyes that held strength and honor now filled with hatred and bloodlust. At first it had been a boon in their hunts, beasts fell with greater ease ad enemies fled at the warcries and weapons of the hunting clan. But as the bloodlust consumed them more and more, the glory and valor began to run thin and dry. The hunt had lost its honor, death had become life.

Elras squinted her eyes, the crow feet clearly growing, as she came to halt again watching the talbuk continue to graze. The mother, the child, and the father. It was almost fitting for her to find this trio as they had once been so many years ago. Sevlaz had been the first orc she met who had looked beyond the natural life they had always led. She didn’t know much of him, but his words were quick and his voice was gentle despite his camping with the Blackrock. He had been attentive to her needs and she his, she smiled wryly to herself remembering how much attention her mate knew to give. The gathering of the tribes had been as much a warbanding as it had been a massive festival, each bringing their flare to the gathering and never being out done by the other. And then he left. But she wasn’t alone. Fenrag her strong and handsome boy, green as moss, strong as a prowler, and the one thing that had mattered most to her. He was her gift.

Elras smiled softly thinking of her precious son and the days when they would stalk such prey as this, showing him as she had learned but with calmer hand then her father ever had. Thunderlords were not what some would consider the best in teaching with words, the hand being the far quicker and lasting instructor. Open, closed, empty, or full that hand would be quick or gone if not taken seriously. Her brother Orlan had learned that lesson, his nephew following that same heartbreaking trail. A trail that had sadly led him beyond that same dark portal as his father had been drawn.

The clouds shuffled across the sky and sunlight shone down on her and the pasture once again, Elras looking to where the talbuk were. Or rather had been. Cursing under her breathe she would rise with a groan as her knees creaked loudly, a grimace now smothering her smiles and happy thoughts. She had gotten distracted by her daydreaming and nostalgia, stupid. Reaching up she would give her grey braid an absent sharp tug and wince, a reminder to when her father would drag her in front of him for a word lesson at her failures. Harsh people with harsh methods, but effective back then to keep them alive and fed. She’d be alive today, but hardly fed.

Giving a huff followed by a sharp whistle Zarv and Ard would rise from their positions across from her where they had awaited Elras instruction. The pair of wolves would tilt their heads at her before lopping along to her with golden eyes and lolling tongues, awaiting the next orders from their mistress. Grim faced still she would reward the pups with bits of leftover clefthoof jerky she’d kept, they’d done their jobs at least.

1. For most minor characters, the plot is pretty touch-and-go. A lot of them will have the realization "Oh, the Corrupted Arcane are back," go about their business, then say "Oh, there go the Chosen," and that will be it.

For the High Mage, though, who we'll assume is scrying on the Chosen, this all unfolds very tensely. He's watching his Chosen slowly turn from the morals of the City of Spires, and keeps hoping she'll return to the light, but instead she strays further and further. He has to wonder what he's going to do about that when she gets back, so while he's happy about the success of the Chosen, he's not so thrilled with the method.

7. I'll choose Lifrai and Elras! Not because I think their relationship itself is interesting, but the fallout from that relationship. For one, since Elras is a god of travelers, that means Lifrai has probably actually left his City. So he and Airathron are going to bond much faster. More importantly, there's not going to be the same venom between him and Kaylin. There's uneasiness, but if they're both followers of Elras, then they're going to be automatically closer to each other as they're literally the only two followers. Instant friends!