Thorain Toradur: Roots and Leaves, Kings and Friends

When Thorain first beheld the old Sycamore, he had found it beautiful, the far extending branches reaching out over the hilly grassland like forks of lightning arcing across the sky. The branches were bare and the ancient tree it seemed, was close to death. The mites who had made their home in the nest of the trees great roots no doubt had something to do with the wondrous tree's demise. Now, the den lay empty, it's mischievous inhabitants all perished by his companion's swords or fled.

Being a wood elf, Thorain had a soft spot for trees, and an especially soft spot for ancient trees. Were it up to him, the kingdom which his friends were hard at work creating would be built around this tree, or constructed within the forest, like the great city of Kyonin, but they were not elven and their hearts did not reside within the bark and old wood of forests. So, he had spent much of the past weeks at this tree, meditating upon the events of the recent past.

Not long ago he had been a novice in the great halls of the Kyonin school of magic, his days largely spent transcribing scrolls and ancient tomes for the venerable masters of the college. Life moved so slowly then; it was the elven way, the way he had grown up and lived his entire life. Now, life was spitfire and rapid. No wonder humans accomplished so much in their short lives, they never stopped. Thorain was considered impetuous by elven standards, but seeing life as humans lived it, he felt wise and slow to act or react. Escaping his people who he thought shunned him had reinforced just how elven he truly was. And being in the presence of this beautiful tree had helped put it all into perspective. It was the only living thing in miles that was older and wiser than himself, and a reminder that one day he would be older than the ancient tree, that when this kingdom he helped found finally fell into destruction, with any luck, Thorain would still be alive. That was a sobering thought, but he knew he would have to accept it.

Thorain looked up to the few leaves growing on the tree; they looked greener, and the tree younger. He hoped that by killing the mite infestation and with the proper application of magic, he could bring the old sycamore back to life, that it could live a few more hundred years. He hoped this kingdom could at least last as long as the tree. There was hesitancy within his heart, elves never made friends easily, and being friends with these mortals made him fear for the time which they would die and he would live on to see their children and grand children fall to sickness, sword, and old age. Yet there was no avoiding it, the kingdom must be constructed and he must have his friends, their hopes and dreams lived in the Greenbelt and for the time being so must his.

Thorain's queen, the queen of all elves, Telandia had implored her people to go forth into Golarion and adapt to human culture. If his kind were to survive, having a presence in this budding nation would greatly benefit his queen and his kin. Although he had resented them, he now longed to see other elves, the scar on his face was barely seen by others in this land, perhaps if he wore it with pride, as Queen Telandia wore her own, his people would look at him with respect.

Thorain looked out across the hills toward the scaffolds and cranes rebuilding the staglord's keep. Their keep, won with blood steel and magic. His friends had worked constantly, yet none knew what Thorain was doing, he had disappeared and practically become a tree. Leaving Kyziem to plan a nation alone, Gren to find it's inhabitants and Horrace to keep it safe. What role was there for him? Things of stone mattered little to Thorain, the commerce and politics of humans were foreign and frankly of little interest. However, woven into the fabric of these last months was the essence of magic. Thorain could feel it, a different magic, the magic of people coming together, putting vision against dream and fabricating their hopes into reality. Thorain would be here to help with that. To help his friends achieve their dreams before they passed into history. He owed it to them for the gift of friendship. Perhaps if he was lucky he might find what he was looking for along the way.