|
[16 Sep 2009|01:09pm] |
Arandorion came from a world where things were beautiful. He and his fellow elves had made a life for themselves in England, a life where even the most insane of their illusions could be part of their reality. He thrived there, learning how to fence and handle a bow with precision and grace, always hitting their intended target without anyone else falling harm. It was the world he knew and the world he loved. Granted, having Claudia as their ruler wasn't the best thing for them, their world needed a King, not a Queen. And that's when their beautiful world became ugly.
When he went through the portal with his people, he ended up in the middle of what is now Texas. The only way he could survive was to rely on the gifts that had made him one of the four men chosen by Tomas for the journey. When the Native Americans of the time saw him and swore he was either a deity or a curse, he helped them improve their hunting techniques so they could feed their ever-growing families without being gone for days on end. They, in turn, revered him, giving him their best available place to live and first pick of the meat when it was cooked over the fire. It stroked Arandorion's ego and gave him a place to belong, which he was grateful for. Although he would never admit it to anyone, he missed his life back at the Holt, the other Elves he knew and the camaraderie that existed even if no true friendship had been forged. Being with your own kind brings that kind of bond, and he often wondered what had happened to the other ones that had gone through the portal before and after him.
As time went on Arandorion grew restless, knowing there had to be more out there to see and do. He bid farewell to the tribe, promising that his leaving would not be detrimental to their future, reminding them that he had taught them enough that they would continue to be fruitful hunters long after his departure. He headed east, following the banks of the Red River into Louisiana. It was there that the river flowed into another, stronger river and the power of it seemed to call to him, saying he was to follow. It was the Mississippi River and it is what brought him to the city of New Orleans. It was a place unlike anything he'd ever known, and although it wasn't as beautiful as his Holt, it had a style and grace all its own.
He had heard rumors of there being others, more descendants of his Holt that had somehow made their way to the city. His eyes were always scanning the crowds now for familiar faces, even as he played music in some of the local bars and coffee houses. If they were there, Arandorion was going to find them. It was a new kind of hunt, this time not the kind that brought death. This hunt was going to bring new life, both to himself and the ones he found. He was sure of it.
|
|