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The Wayfaring of Lunnoch | Origins ( 001 )

    • 3 posts
    September 3, 2018 6:15 PM PDT

    Hia! I'm Fawn. I've been wanting to delve into posting some written work for some time now, so here is the kick-off to that!

    Below you will discover the starting place of a Halfling woman named Lunnoch, and follow her ventures into the Greater World of Terminus. 

    Please let me know what you think of the story/writing so far! I hope it provides some entertainment and piques interest. I'm really excited to see more of the flora and fauna of the world come about, as well as seeing how its applied in practical use - especially for the Halflings! 

    Thanks for reading! 


    ☆ ☆ ☆


    Soil fell, sifted through tiny fingers that already had a troubling amount of dirt beneath their scraggy ends. “Perfect,” praised a child who possessed the tonality of a full-grown woman. “This will be the most fantastic place for her to explore...without getting into more mischief with the local growth tenders.” The woman pinched the cheek of a giggling girl even smaller than herself. “I hope,” she whispered conspiratorially.

    “What was that last bit, Falith?” A boy called down, leaned over the edge of a bark-crafted bridge, wild hair a tangled knot at the base of his skull. He appeared the same as the child toting lady below; halflings, then, with audacious hair, and vibrant laughter that permanently crinkled their eyes.

    “Oh nothing, nothing.” Falith waved away Lochmor’s question and placed a shushing finger to her lips, much to the amusement of the youngster who was wiggling at her hip. “Oh, go on then.” She set the tot down and gave her a tiny nudge to encourage the girl to go and play. “Be careful of the dirt mice,” warned the Mother with all the joviality of one holding a secret.

    Dirt Mice were a fable, after all, to ward off naughty children.

    It was with this gift of her own garden patch that the young Lunnoch would come to be a remarkable apothecary - yet the smell of damp soil would relentlessly tug at the spirit of the nomadic ancestors which resided inside of her. The disappearance of Falith and Lochmor would soon become the catalyst to spur on her adventure, the memory of that day always present in the whisper of the winds and creaking of the trees.

    ☼ ☽ ☼ ☽

    “Cerna!” They had ventured farther into the Grovegrass than ever before, thickets of brush catching at her arms. “Damn deer,” she cursed to herself in agitation. It wasn’t that she was afraid [Lunnoch was never afraid, after all] it was simply that she worried her revered animal companion might be spooked to his death. A noise to the right jolted her heart. “Cerna?” It was said again with a much softer voice, hands clutched around the spry wood of a weak bow. “I have poisoned arrows!” She announced with more bravado than her trembling body seemed capable. “First creature to try and frighten me will get one straight between the eyes!” Louder, still.

    No more noise came, and courage flooded back into Lunnoch’s veins. She placed a careful, bare foot in front of her, and then another. The closer she drew to the initial source of the sound, the lower Lunnoch crouched until she was basically touching the ground with her rump. “There you are!” The silence of her ambush was totally broken by the halflings forceful leap and exclamation, birds tearing off into the sky with whistling feathers and squawks of agitation. The young buck she had been seeking was standing stock still, breath fanning cold smoke in front of his nostrils. “You can move now. I won’t shoot you. Promise.” Lunnoch slipped the bow she had been holding in threat over her head, vine-hewn bowstring caught at her throat, and wooden arc against her back. She had to strain onto her toes to hug the stag around his fluffy throat.

    “You have to stop running so far from me. How are we ever going to get out of this place if I’m too busy hunting you instead of Wraiths!” She was still young, for her kind, and fervent in her thirst to become a ranger. Lunnoch was convinced that if she returned with the essence of a wraith, that one of the local rangers would surely see her fit for apprenticeship. For years Lunnoch had been attempting to break the thought that she was only meant to huddle up with leaves and flower buds to craft tonics. “That is only a hobby,” she would insist, “and a good one for a ranger to have!” Yet most kin stubbornly insisted that she stick to her work and sate her need for exploration by crafting new elixirs.

    “Come on,” she chided, walking back through her own path of destruction. “Night is falling. Best to get back and have some supper before we try again...although I see you’ve already had your fair share of grass.” Lunnoch pushed at the plump side of her deer-like companion to encourage movement and shook her head as they walked. “You’re bound to get taken down by a hunter one of these days if you aren’t careful.” A hand-shaped vial clinked against another at her side, and the halfling frowned at her belt, a chunk of leather laying at her feet. “Woops...” She bent down to retrieve the buffer and slid it back onto the end of the bare amber, a creation of her own that cinched and helped keep down noise. She hated to carry much more than her bow with her, and that included a bag - despite its practicality. Lunnoch figured her travels didn’t take her far enough from home to warrant her hauling one.

    The aspiring ranger was adjusting the feathers ornamenting her brown hair (haphazardly dyed with purple and blue pollen) when she heard it - rasping as a wave of dread befell them. The approaching creature was "laughing", in the only way that a bet lost ages ago permitted. Every ounce of her tiny body started to buzz when her instincts flared to life, hands scrabbling to yank the bow from around her head so that she could nock a poison-tipped arrow. This was the creature that would possibly be her chance to fulfil a self-made destiny. This was a creature far too close to her home, that might cause her kind to laud her as a hero.

    This was a Wraith.
    (And she was going to laugh in its face).

    This post was edited by Fawn at September 3, 2018 6:16 PM PDT
    • 319 posts
    September 9, 2018 2:47 PM PDT

    “Be careful of the dirt mice,” warned the Mother...


    Completely loved it.

    I look forward to reading more from you Fawn.

    • 3 posts
    September 11, 2018 3:06 PM PDT

    Klumpedge said:

    “Be careful of the dirt mice,” warned the Mother...


    Completely loved it.

    I look forward to reading more from you Fawn.

    Thank you! I'm glad you loved it! I'm hoping to post more here soon, maybe a bi-weekly update (though I work a lot so it will probably just be whenever I have extra time). 

    • 641 posts
    September 16, 2018 10:16 AM PDT

    Marvelous work Fawn. I rapidly found myself enthralled by Lunnoch (and Cerna!); greatly enjoying the young ranger‘s playful adventure. Then I felt a deep concern while seeing/hearing your last paragraph. The penultimate sentence chilled me, extremely worried for my new halfling friend. Until the next line, which left me grinning, almost feeling sorry for the minion of Molsth.

    Your excellence at evoking emotions and sublime use of lore make me eager for future installments. Thank you for your creation.


    This post was edited by Kumu at September 16, 2018 10:17 AM PDT
    • Moderator
    • 8455 posts
    September 16, 2018 5:50 PM PDT

    Nice job, Fawn! Great read :)

    • 4210 posts
    September 17, 2018 6:00 PM PDT

    Good job! Glad you decided to jump into fanfic. Keep it up!