Summer Growing, Shader’s Day 1, Year of the Lion number 427; July 20, 1738 Agathon
Today I make good on a promise.
Dyfar Firebush is a half-elf who hails from a country called Avensaria. He is married to Gwenore. Their children are grown, married, and have children of their own.
Dyfar told me a bit about his story, and it seems quite tragic, though I can’t help but to wonder if this could all have been avoided somehow. But then, had the events gone differently, the wonderful man that is Dyfar Firebush would never have existed.
The day before his wedding, Chalavar Peneon was returning to his home in the city of Hiltmar, from another city called Norrod. Along the road he was met by a woman who invited him to dance. “There is no music,” he said. The woman, who was obviously an elf, said, “We will make the music. Dance with me, sir knight. For if you do, I will give you a wonderful gift.”
Chalavar had heard of this strange elf woman. “I do not wish to dance with you. I am to be married tomorrow,” he explained. The woman became angry and said, “If you do not dance with me, there will be no wedding, for you will be dead.”
There must have been magic involved. Chalavar spent the evening with the elf woman. One thing led to another, and, well, we need not go into detail. The gift she gave him was a branch from a special bush. In the fall, the leaves turned bright red. It was known as a burning bush. The branch was enchanted so that when it touched someone, their true nature would be revealed.
The next day, when Chalavar arrived in Hiltmar, he felt compelled to tell his bride what had happened the night before. She grew angry, called him a cheater and liar, and cancelled the wedding.
For many months, Chalavar searched the roads for the elf woman but could not find her. He heard stories about her and learned what he could. Apparently, her name was Aurore, and she was the daughter of the Elf Queen in faraway Melanthia. And she was true to her word – if the man she chose refused, she killed him.
On the anniversary of that fateful night, Chalavar awoke in the morning to find a basket on his doorstep. A note, written in a strange style, proclaimed that this was Dyfar, his son. The three-month-old baby boy had slightly pointy ears and purple eyes. Chalavar raised the boy, and even though he was ostracized by the other children for being different, he did his best to teach him properly. Perhaps, someday, the elf woman will be found and she can be made to answer for her deeds.
When Dyfar was old enough, he left Hiltmar. After spending a few years in Norrod, Antarrow, he chartered passage on a ship and crossed the Raubian sea to Portville, Rausula. There he met Gwenore and settled down. They ran a carpentry shop for twenty-six years and raised their four children. While the ravishes of age have been hard on Gwenore, Dyfar’s elven blood has kept him in better health and appearance. Despite this, they joined Lena’s caravan four years ago so that they can travel around, visiting their kids. They pay for their passage by keeping the wagons in good repair and carving trinkets, toys, and gadgets which they sell.
The branch from the burning bush is in the possession of their oldest son, Klaven, who lives in Wailee. He promised to let me see it so I can record it in my book when we get there. He also carved a figurine of me striking one of my dancing poses. I’m amazed at the detail. He said it was for me, but I told him, “I could never keep something so delicate! I would certainly get broken. But I appreciate what you’ve done and what this represents, more than you know.” He insisted I take it and went so far as to create a special box to carry it in safely.
My first dance tomorrow will be dedicated to him and his wife. Alani and I have been practicing some more songs. Instead of four songs, we’ll be performing seven. The instrumental interludes will be longer, and the entire set should take close to an hour. If we are well received, we may even go through the performance twice. I hope I’m up to it!
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