crownvetchponylover9

"Where am I?" Dronark wondered aloud as he wandered through an unfamiliar landscape. The only thing he could recall was passing out before waking up in this surreal world. The skies above were a swirling deep misty reddish orange, the earth beneath him was stony, craggy, and cracked, and the towering, twisted trees surrounding him were dead and stripped of all bark. There was not a soul to be seen in this strangely twisted world. After wandering the dry nightmareish forests for what seemed like hours, he happened upon a clearing. Within the clearing was a woman of dark elf ethnicity. Her formerly colorful and elaborately decorated gown was faded, tattered, and torn. Her silvery white hair flowed down her back like water. She sat in the middle of the clearing, hands covering her face, sobbing audibly. He carefully approached, the dry grass crunching beneath his feet. As he got closer, he recognized the pattern on the fabric. "Mother?" He cautiously whispered, "Is, is that

Dronark was milling about the kitchen while Caeweth stirred awake on the couch. Dreams of being chased by a shadowy, unknown entity danced through her mind like a horrific ballet. She bolted upright with a gasp, startling Dronark, who promptly dropped what he was doing, including the dish he was washing, and rushed over to check if she was alright. "Sweets!" He exclaimed before scooping her up into his arms, "What happened?" She leaned into his embrace, comforted by the scent of pine and woodsmoke. "I am alright," she mumbled, "It's nothing." It felt nice to be doted on, especially after a bad dream. "It didn't sound like 'nothing' to me sweets," he huffed, giving Caeweth a little squeeze, "You had another nightmare." "It wasn't that bad..." she groaned. "Judging by the gasp you emitted it's safe to say it was, indeed, 'that bad'," Dronark lightly teased, sitting down on the sofa, "You can tell old Dronark all about it." "I was being chased by some... shadowy beast thing," She mumbled,

Carlotta counted her footsteps to the Gilded Thorn, as she had done every week for the past century. It was practically a routine by now. When she entered the bar, she was crestfallen to see Grobarsh working the bar, instead of her favorite deviously handsome Dark Elf. "Welcome to the Gilded Thorn, waddya want?" Grobarsh practically spat from the bar, exhaustion in his tone. Carlotta looked around, hoping to see Dronark, but he was nowhere to be found. "If your lookin for the lazy sot Dronark, he's still not back," Grobarsh grunted, "lazy arse can't break away from that little 'vacation' Astrid gave him. I haven't had a chance really rest since he left." The disappointment in Carlotta's eyes was palpable. She sat at the bar, quietly seething. "Do you know when he will be back? The guard job cannot last too much longer," She said, taking a mug of ale offered to her, "These jobs usually don't last very long, normally a day or two." "It's been longer than two days, that's for sure,"

Caeweth awoke on the sofa, wrapped in a soft, warm blanket. She remembered laying down with her head on Dronark's lap after a particularly lovely kiss, her first ever. She rubbed her eyes, not wanting to open them yet. She groaned as she felt a hand stroking her starlight hair. "Good evening my little sweet, did you sleep well?" she heard Dronark ask, his voice a low whisper. "Mhmm," Caeweth groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around her as she rolled over. "You are certainly a heavy sleeper, sweets," he chuckled, "I wasn't expecting you to slumber through dinner." "Mmm, what time is it?" She mumbled. "Half past 9 sweetheart." "I should get working," she grumbled. "You should eat something first, sweets," Dronark said, "Astrid brought over some honeyed salmon steaks and wild rice. I saved you a plate." "Thank you." Dronark placed the plate on the kitchen table as Caeweth untangled herself from the blanket. She made it halfway to the table before Dronark pulled her into a strong

Sunlight illuminated the curtains as Dronark stirred awake. The delightful scent of lilies surrounded him, gently rousing him from his slumber. He groaned, not wanting to acknowledge the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the curtains. As if on cue, a knock rang out from the front door. "Urgh, coming," Dronark groaned, sliding out of the bed. Looking around, he noticed that Caeweth was curled up, asleep on the floor, needle still in hand. She had made quite a bit of progress on the base of the wedding dress. A hand sized, fluffy, colorful jumping spider snoozed atop the dress mannequin, strands of silk dangling from the spinnerets on her abdomen. It all looked so peaceful. Dronark removed the needle from Caeweth's hand, slipping it into the soft fabric near the seam, and picked her up off the floor, cradling her gently like a child. 'Gods, you're adorable,' he thought as he tucked her into bed, 'When you aren't throwing daggers at my head.' Another knock jostled him from his

The rest of the day passed without any love letters from Pierre, much to Dronarks heightened suspicion, and Caeweth's relief. It wasn't like Pierre to give up so easily, especially when he had his sights set so firmly on something or someone. Dronark had learned first hand how stubborn Pierre and his compatriots could be, especially with the ladies at the Gilded Thorn. "I am just ready for all of this to be over," Caeweth said at dinner, "I just want to get away from all this madness, and disappear into a forest glade somewhere." "Can't say that I blame you," Dronark replied before taking a bite of the hearty vegetable mushroom stew, "I've wanted to leave this cursed city for a long time." "What do you plan doing after this?" Caeweth asked. It was a bit of a surprise to Dronark, how talkative she was tonight. "I plan on retiring to the Silver Coast region in Southern Silenia. I have always liked ocean views and loved the sense of isolation." "That makes two of us, I suppose.

Pierre sat in the Gilded Thorn, drowning his sorrows in orcish ale. The bar was mostly empty except for Grobarsh and his wife Kragnesh. Darryn was performing at another tavern that night, leaving the Gilded Thorn devoid of customers, save for the occasional kobold, ogre, or goblin popping in for a quick drink or two. Pierre finished his first stein of ale. "Barkeep," he barked, "Another!" "Would it kill ya to say 'please'?" Grobarsh snarked, filling up the stein from a newly tapped keg. "Would it kill you to shut up and do your job? I could have this bar closed down within a day if you don't heed my demands, you filthy mountain mutt." Grobarsh reached across the bar, grabbing Pierre by the collar of his shirt, and roughly pulling the hapless fire elf halfway over the bar. "Listen here, you inbred city rat," Grobarsh snarled, "I don't give a damn about you, your money, or your family! This is a business, not a charity, and I don't need to put up with your lousy attitude!" Pierre

The clock had struck midnight, and Caeweth had not emerged from her room. The little pendulum wall clock chimed on the first floor, alerting Dronark to the time. He closed his book, stretched, yawned, and got up from the couch to head off to bed. As he passed the table, he heard a little *poof* from the table. He looked at a folded piece of paper with disgust, it was clearly one of Pierre's 'love letters'. He huffed, burning the paper to ash. He trudged up the stairs, pausing briefly at the top, looking at Caeweth's door. His pointed ears picked up a quiet conversation between Caeweth, and some chittering creature. He carefully crept closer to the door, hoping to eavesdrop on the little chat. "I still don't know what I was thinking, agreeing to leave the forest to make a dress. A damned dress for a wedding between two people i barely even know." A chittering noise followed. "I don't know. Astrid seems genuinely concerned, but how can I tell if it isn't just a ruse?" More