#ofrashemen.

confusion. dizzy and disoriented. up is down, left is right, friend is foe ..

dark lashes flutter open as hazel irises quickly dart around in a desperate attempt to bring everything into focus. deafening ringing was in tandem with a splitting headache stemming from the right side of his forehead, now raw and sticky from an open gash.

the assault on his senses was utterly nauseating, thoughts now a muddle of incomprehensible words. once his vision was less dizzying, he maneuvers his aching body to be sitting upright, leaning onto his palms to maintain balance.

where am i . . ? how did i get here . . ?

were the first comprehensive questions that came to freyja's mind. his eyes frantically move about, taking in the scenery of crumbling ruins that were lit from a hole above. looking down at his hands, he realizes that he was sitting amongst a massive pile of rubble.

last thing i remember was running . . . why was i running . . ?

attempts of remembering what happened were rather futile, aggravating the existing headache. it was plain as day that he had fallen through a crumbling stone floor and into the ruins below, gaining a nasty concussion amidst it all.

GREENGRASS — a celebration marking the first day of spring on the harptos calendar. traditionally, said festivals were dedicated to ushering in the new season, focusing on the celebration of life and receiving bountiful harvests.

prior to entering the village, it was apparent that a bustling festival was taking place. musicians were avidly playing their instruments as dancers gracefully swirled around. storytellers acting out their most bizarre tales with youthful vigor. stalls were decorated with baskets of vibrant flowers, their petals haphazardly strewn about common pathways. many citizens wore flower wreaths of their own as they flitted around to partake in the activities and food.         

elowyn couldn’t help but stand there beside vyshka, amber colored eyes wide and mouth agape in awe. the festival of greengrass was truly a sight to behold and one that he never got to experience first hand due to his noble background. the bustling energy of the town itself was purely electrifying —   

an intimate silence befell the duo, figures made out by the dim light emanating from the candles found within the room. tender yet affectionate touches were felt upon elowyns exposed body, feathers raising like ones skin would when experiencing goosebumps.

a blouse slips onto his much smaller figure, backside open and vulnerable to the elements. it was the sensation of thick, calloused fingers carefully manipulating the buttons into place that causes a content sigh to escape his nose. a lingering touch could be felt through linen fabric when it came to the final button, but he craves more.

mild scents of herbs and spices gently wafted through the apothecary, intoxicating aromatics barely contained within their glass jars, each meticulously donning handwritten labels. bundles of dried herbs were carefully hung from drying racks and shelves were littered with dust covered books, seemingly untouched for decades.    

elowyn steps toward the front desk with vyshka in tow, amber eyes skimming over their surroundings. thankfully, the jingle of the doors bell alerted whomever was present in the shop, a voice calling out from the back room.

 ❝ i'm coming! just give me one moment. ❞

the shopkeeper eventually came into view, brushing past a privacy curtain and settling himself behind the counter with a bright smile. ❝ welcome to my humble shop, what can i help — ❞ he stops mid sentence, expression quickly morphing into awe.

❝ deities above have blessed me on this fine day . . . a lagomorph and columbidae standing in my very own shop. my, what fine specimens you both are. ❞ a once inviting atmosphere quickly became tense, awkward even, as the shopkeeper leans over the counter to marvel at them. a hand was now outstretched, as if reaching out to pet elowyns feathers, before quickly pausing mid-air upon noticing the protective presence of vyshka.

what a peculiar comment. was the first thought that ran through freyja’s mind, thin brows furrowing together in a questioning manner at the remark. in his own hands was a tattered hard-cover book that had seen better days, the pages now yellow and worn through constant use. every other page revealed meticulously drawn illustrations regarding the careful use of magic within. 

carefully closing the book, freyja glances up at the fox-like man before following his gaze over to the librarian, who was sitting behind a desk littered with various scrolls and books. perhaps it was a coincidence that she was in fact an elder, whose face was adorned in wrinkles and a kind shimmer within her eye.

❛❛ while it’s not uncommon to live to the age of a hundred, especially for non-human races, i find it hard to fathom that she has been alive that long . . . might i inquire how a book ages backwards? ❜❜