Pilfering The Past

[FennWenn]

Scampering over gnarled roots, grass tufts, and ruinic rubble, a foreign fae sought shelter from the muggy storm sailing overhead.

Fenn braced himself against the cascade of water battering against him. His wings, his soft and wriggly antennae, both drooped and recoiled strongly from the sky’s rage. Fenn didn’t well remember his time without them. And yet, he knew that they were foreign to his body; his muscle-memory did not account for them in the slightest. They didn’t know how to respond to the water. To the ice that started to build up around him, his magics feeding off of the emotionally excited state that came with being plastered by rain.

But Fenn himself knew.

Fenn fled.

No adequate shelter presented itself in his aimless dash through the downpour, furthering his agitation. Off he went through close corridors of crumbled stone, by doors closed to him, out to the edge of Donnalaich. He remembered faintly, seeking shelter from the weather at the city’s boundary and finding it. But that was earlier; a muddled memory. That had been during the time he was sleepless…

Tree roots greeted his feet. Fenn kneeled in to his exhaustion the moment the rain’s pressure lightened on him. His thoroughly green eyes glanced up at the roof of vast leaves spread above. His ears twitched towards the buzz of conversation.

Fae huddled around the warm glow of any with an affinity for fire. Supple wings were held carefully to the crackle of heat, steam hissing and wafting through the lowlying boughs. Here among these jungle-dwelling creatures, the majority of them (like he) being winged and sharp-eared and roughly humanoid to the outside eye, Fenn stood out mostly for his pale, pale skin, muted colors, and offbeat eyes. He marveled at the others he passed. They were more mortal in sensibility than the fae of the west. More empathetic, really. More… visible with their emotions. Warmth, heat and the tingly ‘brightness’ of magic, was shared through friendly touches. Even Drakari, proud muzzles aloft, were embraced as needed. Shivering cold-bloods that they were, they needed it more than most.

An orange-haired woman sauntered past, facial markings and vivid wings (much like that of a lacewing) aglow. Fire danced over her palms. A swarm of other fae folk leaned in to the aura of heat around her.

Eagerly, Fenn scampered over. He didn’t need warmth, but he did need a bit of drying. Comfort… might be nice too.

His somewhat uncontrollable icy presence brought with it a swath of cold air. As soon as he plunked himself down on a loam-crusted root beside them, the fae startled, twittering in their language. Plaintively, he scooted in toward the center fae. The orange faerie leaned away from him, glancing down at his drab wings as she did so, at the water rolling off of them and collecting in jagged crystals of ice. Mistrust curled her segmented antennae. She and the others gathered around her flitted off without a word.

She must have recognized him. From... earlier.

Antennae drooping in the face of this rebuttal, the boy shyly set about scraping the thin film of built-up ice off of himself.

As he did so, he couldn’t help but cast a hopeful eye into the mist around him; couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone here who wouldn’t find his company wanting. Two others caught his gaze. They stood proudly a ways off from the scattered Dheathainians. One, he recognized; Yvonne! Fenn’s ears twitch gleefully. The dark dwarven-drow stared at the exchanges of heat and magic with a certain distrust. And yet, her presence was far more welcoming than anyone else’s to him. It was… inviting, yes. That was the word. He didn’t know who the other lady was, but she looked confident and she radiated her own heat (if not magic-brightness).

Well, well. A sly half-smile struck the boy. With a bit of a skip in his step, he skittered over toward them. Time to introduce himself to the party of two and make it three.