Of Mice and Elves
OF MICE AND ELVES
She looked up into the Sky, shading her eyes from the glaring reflection of new fallen snow. Something had changed in the air. The acrid smell of ozone and burnt pitch, the drop in pressure. The unusual stark silence rang out across the landscape of the far western wastes of Velious. Not a single of the winged lizards could be heard roaring, no howl of wolf, even the wind itself seemed to have come to a pause.
Suddenly a crack like thunder above, and her eyes found what she had been looking for. The shadowy moon of Luclin pulsed in the sky, the sound of cracking and tearing growing in pitch, reverberating through the claw scar valleys of the wastelands.
The moon began to split down fault lines, cracking from within; light rays shooting from the breaches like beams of energy in all directions. The sundering had begun.
All of Norrath stood and watched in shock and horror as the high magiks that connected Luclin to Norrath and made it the powerful home of the Ssra-kind began to tear it self to pieces. In that day, and the days that followed the world as we knew it then would end. The sky literally fell down upon us, and smote the ruins and kingdoms of all alike. The great races and alliances of ages past crumbled in a heartbeat of destruction and cataclysm.
Savia’nie Orchaleum, Ul’Veldriss of the tier’dal race fled the falling sky. The snows of the far reaches of Velious turned a sickening red and the ground was rent in violent explosion as piece after piece of the moon smashed down upon the land. She made her flight down through the valley of the necropolis, seeking the ancient home and burial chambers of dragon kind hidden at the far end. Perhaps there, shelter for the time would be found.
It was here, in the depths of the necropolis that the story of the young Ratonga began. Vasai was but a kit, with eyes barely opened when Savia came upon him. His family and siblings crushed just half a dozen feet away where a chunk of the overhanging rock had fallen. Even now, who knows the dark lasses motivation? She hailed from a breed of elf notorious for an uncaring and dire heart. Yet as the baby Ratonga mewled and cried, thrown from his mothers embrace in a last act as rock and stone crushed down, perhaps a spark of pity was birthed. Or perhaps there was simply more to this Tier’dal than any but the closest would know.
Often it is that one of great title and deed live in peoples memory by the nature of the station served, when the person they are is often lost behind shields lest personal beliefs become a weakness used against ones self. So it was, that despite Savia’s station in life serving the dark cause of the alliance of Tier’dal, Ogres, Trolls & Iksar against all other races as the highest tier of assassin. Singular in position as Ul’Veldriss to her people, she would in that instance find pity in her heart for such a small creature.
It was that not many remember the aged days of her youth, when as a rebel child she fled the duties of her house and home to adventure as a scallywag and pirate, without much care for the darker deeds of her people, and more for the enjoyment of life and a good prank and booty to be had. Bristlebane had been the deity she worshiped in secret. The times of that were near forgotten by the end; war called her away from her personal joys instead to serve loyally the darkness of her people. The ages and tide of battles had hardened her, until the Savia people knew as a bleak shadow of retribution; the plague of the enemy races even was hardly the Savia of her own youth.
Yet here it was. She knew in her hearts eye, the nations and allegiances of old were called off. In the cataclysm and dark days to come there were no more loyalties. The world had come to an end. She saw this, and looked hard at the baby kit crying for a mother it would never have. She scooped the Ratonga into protective arms, and tucked him ready to make haste. Savia looked back over her shoulder as she climbed out of the valley tomb, looked back at the destruction of its collapse. Shaking her head at the sight of it. ‘Where now’ she wondered quietly. She slipped away, chasing the horizon. After all, she still had her own skin to save.
In the time that came after the sundering, Savia raised the young kit as her own. At first, always traveling. The young rat always at her side, afraid of everything watched and learned. His new mother looked upon the world of the ancients and turned her back instead taking them deep into the jungles of Kunark. They lived a hermit’s life, one of quiet solitude and reflection. She took to teaching him of the old ways. She spoke often of the houses of the Tier’dal nation, and of the political machinations. Of war and gods. Yet, most of all spoke lovingly of her youth, of the days before responsibility and duty.
It was such talk that finally inspired the young Ratonga, now growing to manhood to beg Savia’s blessing that he might walk the world as she once had. At first she denied the request, but in the passing days saw the need of his heart. Now she came to regret having not taught him more earnestly the skills of battle, nor imparted to him the darker side of the histories. He was so inquisitive and trusting. Surely he would be gobbled up by the first scallywag to make an easy mark of him.
It was this thought that sealed it. Savia grinned. Wasn’t she herself an ‘easy mark’ when first adventure struck her. And it was those very same ‘scallywags’ that she turned the tables on, and ended up leading their ship. Scourge of the seas for a time she had become. She laughed then and finally agreed to allow him to go.
In order to make things proper, she explained to the young Ratonga that he would have to take a name. Until then, she had never really called him anything but pet names and endearments. At first the innocent little rat suggested he take Savia’s name. This of course caused quiet a good laugh at his expense. He was a bit hurt, until Savia explained that males and females do not use each others names as such. That it would not due to be a male using a females name. This did however spark an idea.
So it was that the young Ratonga took the name of Vasai, a male version of the name Savia. She thought it appropriate that he bear something of hers away with him. It was not long after this, that the journey was made to one of the small tribal outposts. Savia bargained hard, and purchased a small dingy of questionable quality. This being the only quality of boat to be had, it was made to do.
On the final day of departure, Vasai was all smiles and glee though Savia her self was lost in reticence. He stated he would bring fame and fortune to her name to please her. This almost made her smile. She left then, quietly and without much fuss, avoiding spoiling the moment of her young protégé. She hoped he would fair well. Perhaps the world had been rebuilt some. Perhaps he would find a good hearth and hall to serve.
Vasai sailed then into the northern waters. Thoughts of adventure and camaraderie buoying his spirit as the long journey ahead began to take hold. Things went well for the first few days. It was on the third day however, as he was approaching the outer islands off the keys off where the old world was supposed to be, that things went amiss.
A great cloud bank rolled in and the waters began to turn to chop. The dingy not made for such high seas took on water and became sluggish to maneuver. Things began to turn grim when the small boat was finally tossed on the crest of a swell and capsized.
It was a soaked and unhappy rat that was found drifting half conscious clinging to a clutter of wreckage the next day. Rescued by a passing refugee ship. Shivering and wet, Vasai gladly parleyed with the captain for lodging until landfall. And so the beginnings of an adventure unfold.