Becoming Legend - Chapter 377: Elf: Faeranduhl

Faeranduhl was half-human and half-elf, Semsmir as what the other elves called his kind, an abomination, the undesirable. Unlike her mother with golden-brown hair, and eyes; he’s got raven hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin, a testament of him being a half-elf.

But unlike his other kin, the ones that were slaves to humans, Faeranduhl chose to be with the elves and served them. Hoping that one day they will accept him and let him into the Great Tree of Pin-Tu, the only haven for elves, the only place where real elves get to practice their craft of magic and gather more knowledge about the humans.

Under Pin’Tu was a network of roots, so complex and massive that it created a city where Semsmir, and those who choose to live under it, stayed.

For decades, Faeranduhl worked hard on his magic and ways of the sword. His mother was a Smir, full elf, and once a slave. Although her story of how she got away from her human captive seemed presumptuous even for elves, Faeranduhl chose to believe his mother. Of course, only a fool elf would believe her mother’s story that once a few decades ago, her mother was saved by a human from her captors. Giving her the chance of another life, and a chance to give birth to Faeranduhl.

He loved his mother, he believed his mother, but he was not a fool. And so, as soon as the King of Elves, King Ascathan, recruited Semsmir to journey outside Pin’Tu, out the Dark continent, he no doubt, and without a second thought, joined the regiment. It has been decades since he passed the Hunt. And he had proven his skills to the elves, but he understood that skills alone were not enough for him to be recognized by the three superior elvian races: the Absmir or High-elf, Wood-elf or Kahsmir, and Carsmir for Dark-elf. Perhaps, even if only a Smir would recognize him, it would be a dream come true for him.

Joined in the regiment, Faeranduhl will prove to the elves that humans were not all bad (he had never seen one, but he believed his mother). But of course, it was an idea yet to bloom from his head. For now, his other kind must first recognize him.

Under the guidance of the Lower Seed, Dark-elf Elder Madras, the expedition was carried out. Of the 120 elves: smir and semsmir, half was left.

“But it was to be expected,” their seed lead had said to them hours before they succeeded in leaving the mazes of the dark continent. The dark continent does not choose who to devour, humans, elves, or weres, the dark continent will consume until it is full. But ‘it’ protects them. The dark continent was, after all, their last defense against the humans.

A team of seeds was equaled to a dozen smir and semsmir combined. In a seed, three-fourths of it was smirs, the rest were semsmirs. Sometimes, there could be only one semsmirs in a seed. And before the expedition, Faeranduhl heard that discrimination was tougher between smirs and semsmirs.

It was one of those seeds that Faeranduhl was the only semsmir in the seed. Of the five or six seeds left, he was the unlucky one.

Faeranduhl was setting terra- and wood-made shelter for his seed to rest when he overheard the smirs’ conversion. “The first regiment’s job is to reach the island so that Elder Calanye could open a portal from and to Pin’Tu.” It was the leader of the first seed who spoke. Around him were dozens of elves in a circle. He stood on an elevated platform made of wood magic. Behind him sat the first dark- and wood-elf he had seen for his life.

“Wood and Dark elf,” his mother had once told him while teaching their history, “could live for centuries. Especially the Elders.”

That was the moment that Faeranduhl had a vague idea about the expedition not going to be a simple setting of a portal. Behind the Elder for Dark elves, which Faeranduhl assumed to be none other than Elder Madras, were flitting shadows. Under the bars of the moonlight, these shadows seemed to grow translucent, but sometimes obscuring.

“Scariis,” Faeranduhl murmured under his cold breath. Snowflakes flutter around him while standing stunned looking at the shadows behind the Elder for Dark elves. Assassins as what her mother told him. Assassins were for the human tongue. It was deeply hidden that Faeranduhl could speak the human tongue even though it was forbidden to be thought.

Smirs were elves with higher stature than half-elves, but lower than the three great elves. Their expedition gave them the chance to wear armors crafted of pure iron and barks from the Great Tree of Pin’Tu. It wasn’t pure silver, so the shimmer was not as bright as its counterpart. But it does the job to protect them from harm’s way. Especially against the magic of humans. Human magic, as Faeranduhl learned, could never be as pure as elves. However, a human born with the blood of an elf will have to absorb mana only that of pure nature. But a non-bred human will have the most tainted form of mana. They could never have the magic the elves do since there were certain types of magic that only elves, even half-elves, can do that humans cannot.

And so, wearing armor crafted by elves will most likely negate most of the human’s magic. Unless powerful enough.

Under the falling snowflakes, Faeranduhl squinted his eyes, trying to look past the darkness the forest lamented under them to visibly determine what the dark elves were wearing. But no matter how he tried, the shadows were heaving, as though they had a life of their own.

And so he did not bother. He continued setting the shelters until he felt exhausted and walked to another group where the other semsmir made a circle around a wood fire.

“Sit, sit,” a semsmir of the right age, around 150 or so, waved a hand to Faeranduhl and pointed at the vacant log. There were at least 20, not counting the others who did not finish setting the other shelter, semsmir eating and chanting songs he recognized as a hymn of peace after the war.

The same semsmir offered Faeranduhl a bowl of porridge. Semsmir wore the locally made clothes of leaves from Pin’Tu padded with wood to the chest and pure iron for extra protection. His group, the semsmir, were after all not going to fight but work for the expedition.

Faeranduhl’s eyes darted the seeds of elvian soldiers as they kept on discussing the plan. They were on an island, a day or two away from O’rriadt, the remote island of their destination.

A lady semsmir elbowed him, pulling his thoughts away from the soldiers back to the bowl of porridge now cold.

“Let them be,” she eventually said, after a quick pause. She got a pair of amber eyes looking at Faeranduhl. “They will save us from this damned world, so even if they seem ominous at best, I will serve them.” Her words never broke. How proud she might be.

She was right, however, humans killing and raping elves, it sure was a damn world.

Faeranduhl remained quiet. He looked up seeing his fellow half-elves nodding in agreement, he could not say more. He finished his bowl of porridge and left the group walking to the forest. Trying to scout the place they were in.

Before the Second Race War, her mother was with the other elves in a settlement called Alalone. She was one of their warriors protecting the place. After she was freed and went back to Pin’Tu, some of her un-forgotten knowledge about surviving (by surviving means fighting) was taught to him. It was just a touch, some scouting, bow shooting, and sword fighting. To his surprise, he was proficient with swords rather than swords. “Just like your father,” her mother had said to him.

But semsmirs cannot have swords. They were forbidden to learn and touch the ways of the swords. Faeranduhl had a vague idea as to why, but he assumed that humans use them a lot.

Faeranduhl picked a wooden stick he chose carefully. It was hidden under the snow, but Faeranduhl soon found it, checked its length, and gave a satisfied smile. A length little longer than his arms was right for him.

Faeranduhl circled their encampment, snow barely touching below his knees. He smiled thinking how lucky they were without a snowstorm coming. The snowdrops were light, enough for him to see past a distance of a hundred meters. And enough for the cold to be tolerable. He was wearing the same armor as other semsmirs. Although not enchanted by a master craftsman to ward off too much cold, the thickness of Pin’Tu’s leaf, its bark, and a couple of pure iron paddings was enough to make him feel comfortable and warm.

He let the murmurs quiet and circled the encampment once again. This time, the snow stopped falling and he could now clearly see the Arrays encircling the encampment, available only to his keen eyes.

Faeranduhl sighed, clearly he wanted to impress the elves, especially now that two Elders were joining the expedition. He sighed once more, his fruits of labor did not bore fruit after all.

Resigned, he walked back to the encampment when suddenly he heard snapping twigs. His training with his mother, although insufficient, made his muscles react on their own. He held the stick and pointed it straight to the source of the noise. His body was tense, yet straight and firm. “Who goes there?” he said after a long moment.

Silence was the only response and so he walked, slow, and steady, and affirming. Behind the tree, he noticed a fading blue light. He leaped to the light (surprised to himself why he did it) and held the stick like a real sword to the person hiding behind it. It was a female dark-elf, but not for long. A shimmering light was blanketing the Carsmir’s face. He was now an entirely different elf. She was still an elf, but her dark and tanned skin was now gone, her deep golden eyes, and heavy golden hair were replaced by that of a semsmir: dark eyes and hair, with some hints of brown, perhaps gold. Too vague under the moonlight.

The tip of Faeranduhl’s stick was pointed under the elvian impostor’s chin.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” the dark-elf turned half-elf said.