Here's a story. Thanks for the compliments in advance, society has taught you well. Really, I'm doing it for practice, as that is the only way to improve.
Listen up, boys and girls. I'm going to tell you the sad story of an elf who lives in a far away land. Now, there is this great big cavern, and inside this cavern, there is this great big stalactite. This stalactite is mostly hollow, and inside it is the land of Yliakum.
Yliakum is divided into several levels. The top level is the largest, and has numerous cities and villages. In one small village was born a tiny elf, a dermorian as they are called in this land. He was given the name of Kavalar, and as he grew he remained small. Ho, not so much in stature as in significance.
But all that was to change, yes! And, as I'm sure you realize, not for the better. The dermorian, you see, is a mix of traits that combine in a sentience with very little willpower. He is terribly shy and quiet. He was sheltered by his parents in their safe village. And, he had few interests, save magic.
Oh, but he was a good dermorian, and would help his mother in her apothecary, foraging for medicinal herbs and formulating extracts. On odd days he would run errands to obtain unusual items for the local prestidigitator. It was the simple life of a common folk, and he'd fit in quite well.
As with all things, his time in that village grew to an end. He was fully grown, and his parents thought it best for him to go out into Yliakum and make a name for himself. Kavalar was terrified, really, but he didn't want to disappoint his parents. Admittedly, they too had some trepidation in their hearts.
No one can pinpoint when his mind snapped. The young dermorian's path towards dementia is a long, but steady one. But we can all agree on the cause.
The quiet elf arrived in the city of Hydlaa, and at first he was running small errands for Levrus, finding comfort in the familiarity of another magician. He started mining to provide additional income to pay for his training in Red Way, but it wasn't an interest of his. The tedious and back-breaking work left him restless and tired.
Well, as it turns out, Kavalar fell into the wrong crowd. Its easy to do, when you're as gullible as he, to say nothing of his lack of experience with seedy individuals. They seemed friendly enough, if a bit harsh with their words, and he so wanted to make friends.
At first his tasks were small, a little lie here, petty theft there, but the requests of him grew with his new friends' growing trust in him. He knew it was wrong, in the back of his mind, but could not summon the willpower to break off these relationships.
And, therein lies his road to madness. A poor dermorian, torn between trying to maintain his new found friends, and retain the values instilled in him at birth. Like stalactites falling from the dome, his reality started caving in.
It began directly with his sense of right and wrong. He grew suspicious of those who were friendly to him. While resting at Kada-El's, he would gather snippets of conversation. Not enough to understand what is going on, but enough for his slowly degenerating mind to make something up.
And he did. Maybe it was the brutal attack on Thidin, or perhaps Travosh's comment about Red Way and enkis. Whatever the cause, the final outcome was an unhealthy dislike for the Adani Order. Minor suspicions grew into an off-the-wall idea that this guild sought to destroy Hydlaa! Ho Hoo, clearly the ideas of a touched dermorian.
The lunatic writes a notice proclaiming his discovery of the Adani Order's true cause. It is not well received. While resting his feet at the Red Crystal Den, he is confronted about the libel.
*
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*
The Red Crystal Den is a friendly establishment set up to provide a stage for local and traveling entertainers alike. Singers, storytellers, poets and comedians have graced its stage. A selection of beverages line its shelves, and a courteous barmaid greets guests with a smile.
This night, we find Kavalar sitting quietly in a corner, as he is wont to do. Shadow, a gruff menki with a collar on his neck is standing at the bar listening to the fenki Aramara relate a tail. In the opposite corner to Kavalar is Mishka, performing the typically uneventful task of guard duty. Various patrons mill about, and the sound of banter and clunking beer mugs fills the room.
Aramara relates to Shadow the ravings of Kavalar from some nights past. Armed with this information, and the notice he posted on the north Hydlaa entrance, Shadow approaches the dermorian.
"I'd like to talk to you about something, you weren't nailing warnings about my guild to doors, were you?" Shadow says as he pulls out the note.
Kavalar denies the accusation, but his nervous emotions belie the truth.
Mishka, the guard at the den approaches the two to find out what the commotion is about. Kavalar's nervous behavior intensifies with all of these eyes on him. It is far more than his weak mind can take. The very ones he fears to destroy the city, right there in front of him. Surely he is a dead dermorian, he thinks.
Kavalar laughs maniacally, and admits to the accusations. "You've found me out already! Haha!", he raves.
Ever the astute guard, Mishka readies her sword at the dermorian, "Okay boy, easy now!", but it is too late. Kavalar starts ranting about the atrocities that the Adani Order have wrought.
"Look what they did to that fenki, Thidin." he says, "I told her they beat her up and she doesn't believe me. I think they brainwashed her too."
Attempts to clear up poor Kavalar's misunderstandings fall on deaf ears. He's too far gone by now to separate fact from fiction. He expects that he will inevitably die at the hands of Mishka, and tries to claim a martyr position.
Kavalar thrusts himself onto Mishka's sword, but she'll have none of that. With her quick reflexes, the fenki twirls her sword around and smacks the demented dermorian on the back of the head with the pommel.
Down goes the lunatic, but not for long. Mishka sheaths her sword and in a typical display of her strength, lifts the dermorian by his neck. Kavalar writhes futilely in her iron grip.
"He didn't do anything to deserve this Mishka." says the gruff menki.
"Oh, he did."
Aramara had been watching from behind the bar, her concern for the safety of the poor elf was growing. By this time it had shown itself as a grim expression across her face.
"Let me go you power-hungry fenki." Kavalar chokes.
"Appologize for your lies." commands Mishka, loosening the grip on Kavalar's throat a little.
"Lies? I've not lied at all!" Kavalar claims, "Travosh was right about you."
Mishka pushes Kavalar against the back wall. Any other would have stumbled slightly, but this weakling fell back into the corner in which he was sitting.
"Travosh is simply an enki-hater klyros." retorts Mishka
Aramara can take no more of it. She turns to the proprietor Dannae, "We need to stop this. I...I need to stop this." Guilt from relaying the story to Shadow is motivating her now.
Masaro sighs, "enough is enough."
"You're a liar. You've picked on the Adani Order for a reason I don't understand." accuses Mishka.
Aramara makes her way around the bar and over to the scene. "Mishka, please step away."
Mishka frowns, taking her helmet off to get a better look at the poor dermorian slumped in the corner.
Aramara offers a paw to the dermorian, "come, let's get you out of here."
"Aramara, please stop, I simply want to talk to him."
"Mishka, he doesn't know any better."
"I don't care. I want him to realize what he just did."
Kavalar looks at Aramara, and back at Mishka and the others. He slowly picks himself up.
Aramara provides a considerate response, "He needs help. Not punishment."
The weak elf edges away from Mishka, and takes Aramara's paw.
"We're leaving," Aramara says sternly.
*
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*
Outside the den, Kavalar's sanity waxes for a moment, but he is confused about this Aramara. Just the other night he determined that she is a member of the Adani Cult, but now, she's helped him. What's going on? What has happened to his feeble mind?
The caring Aramara tries to rationalize with the mad elf, but his sanity slips away once again. The Red Crystal Den closes shortly after, and those he was in confrontation with are now filing out the door. Fearing a second round of violence, Aramara tells Kavalar what she thinks is best for him, "Run!"
So he does. He runs as much out of fear as one whose will is easily commanded. He runs north out of Hydlaa. He runs through the forest. He runs over the hills. Kavalar runs until he is out of breath, lost, tired and alone. So very alone.
Ah, but he is not alone. There is another nearby, who hears his raspy wheezing. A cloaked figure slowly approaches the elf, by now slumped on the ground, too weak to stand. He is hooded and his face is obscured in the dim light of the crystal. "You..." he begins, "are lucky I found you. You'll catch your death of cold, and there is nothing to eat for kilometers around." The cloaked figure's voice is deep but somehow assuring.
"Come with me, and tell me your name." the mysterious man commands.
"Kavalar." he obeys.
"Kavalar...you will call me the Dark Wanderer".
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