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Tuesday, February 19, 2019

Legends of Voraniss: Othorion Elderheart, King of Calandia (Part I)

by Renee "Kindrianna" Booke


There is another old legend in Voraniss; one that predates the reign of Mon’ghora or the selfless sacrifice of Riel’iefyr. It takes place in the years prior to the golden age of the Elves documented a mere four hundred years in the past. This was a time before Human settlers had ever set foot within the forest, and the Animal-kin were less organized and wilder. Calandia became the seat of Elvish power during this historic period, making it the oldest city in our beloved country. What many outsiders do not know was how Calandia came to be built, or how the Elves managed to flourish in such a hostile and untamed wilderness.
Before Othorion Elderheart was a King, he was a Ranger. In the early days when the Elves had just begun to lightly settle the lands and worship in the groves, he could be found walking the forests with a bow in his hand. He tried not to eat meat, so the bow was mostly for protection. He was content to scavenge for nuts, berries, edible plants, and greens to sustain himself when he could. When he really wanted a treat, he’d find a way to boil the rootstocks of Purple Avens, adding a little milk or dried fruit for sweetness. This made a tasty beverage that had some resemblance to what we now know as the flavor of chocolate. Othorion had a plethora of knowledge like this, and if a plant had both edible and medicinal properties to it, even better.
He put himself to use, stockpiling the food and herbs that he found like a squirrel preparing for the winter. People grew hungry during the hard times so it didn’t hurt to prepare. Sometimes he was even called upon for medicines to treat livestock, for you see…Elves do not get sick in the same ways that other peoples do, but their animals certainly did. Othorion loved animals and always hoped he would be able to help when he was asked to come and make an assessment. Beyond the fact that livestock were a valuable community resource for food and livelihood, the Elves believed that the animals were blessed by the Goddess Gaia and to celebrate them was to know her love.
One day, Othorion was out in the forest, as he usually was, when he ran into a problem. His favorite tree for acorns had a pack of wild pigs rooting about the bottom. He ducked into the brush nearby and watched them, waiting. Wild pigs in other parts of the world stood about four feet high off the ground if they were on the higher end of height range. Wild pigs in Voraniss stood four feet high off the ground minimum. Everything was bigger here, and scarier. It was like nature had never imposed her limits on the wildlife and they had grown beyond what was typical or customary. It was the same with the plants too. This place just had its own magic and the flora and fauna reacted to it.
Othorion didn’t want to make any loud noises and startle the pigs, so he couldn’t leave to go find another oak tree, and he certainly didn’t want to attack them for no reason. Patience seemed like the best course of action. He would wait them out. Unfortunately for Othorion, he had no idea that this pack of pigs was home to one particularly ornery old boar who didn’t take kindly to his watching.
This boar was not a solitary creature despite his age and maturity, but he certainly showed some hermitlike behavior. He didn’t get into the fray with the other pigs or stand next to them. He kept mostly to himself on the outskirts of their foraging area and would grab at any rogue acorn that found its way to his feet, chasing off any pig that came too close with an angry squeal or grunt. Othorion assumed that all the pigs were content with their snacks and had no idea that the boar was watching him as much as he was watching it.
At some point, he lost track of that particular pig and shrugged his shoulders thinking that it must have wandered off for a nap. That was a mistake, and he soon realized it when he heard the rushed plodding of cloven feet from behind him. The old boar had circled around Othorion in order to attack him from his vulnerable side. How was such a creature so remarkably intelligent? Othorion didn’t have time to ponder such mysteries with his life in danger.
As the boar charged, Othorion attempted to dive to the side and roll out of the way. It wasn’t enough, for the angry creature would come at him again and again, giving frenzied chase. He sustained several wounds as the wild pig gored him with its tusks, biting and snapping at him. Othorion knew his best bet was to climb a tree and get up where the boar could not follow, but his legs were quickly filling with lacerations and stinging wounds. Being charged didn’t give him a good shot of the creature’s broadside or shoulder area where he knew he stood the best chance of piercing the vitals or lungs. No, the only way out was to climb like his life depended on it or pray that the creature would tire of the chase. Othorion decided to put his faith in the trees.
He scrambled to a nearby Elm and started to pull himself up, relying on his fear and the strength of his arms to get him to safety. His fingers worked their way into the deep furrows of the grayish bark as he climbed, hoping to get hold of one of the lower branches or the break in the trunk before he lost his momentum. The flat ridges that separated the furrows in the bark had a strangely corky texture to them that he felt every time his thumbs pushed hard against the tree. His legs ached so badly that he didn’t dare look at them. He knew he was losing blood and he didn’t need to know how much until he was in a position to do something about it. Othorion had underestimated his wounds, however, and mid climb his hand slipped when he paused to wince and fight through the pain.
Down, down, down, he fell; closing his eyes as visions of the end of his life flashed through his mind. He kept waiting for his back to hit the ground and for it all to be over, but he never felt the impact. Maybe he was already dead and Gaia had been merciful enough to spare him the extended pain of a violent and embarrassing death. He finally cracked his eyes open, daring to see what might have happened when his curiosity got the better of his dread.
Much to his surprise, one of the branches of the tree had moved and reached out to catch him by the cloak as he dropped. He was dangling there in the air now, the ends of his cloak pinched between what looked like branchy fingers. He blinked a few times, hesitating before he reached up with his hands to grab hold of the branch and pull himself up to safety.
“You should be more careful, little one,” came a low and rumbly voice. It was friendly and calm but appeared out of nowhere causing Othorion quite a scare.
The Elf fell back onto his butt, reaching for an arrow in his quiver with trembling hands as he collapsed upon the branch. “Wh-who said that?” he gasped.
“I did,” came the voice again.
“I don’t see anyone!” Othorion insisted, looking around the trunk of the tree back towards the ground. His eyes also scanned the branches looking for other Elves that might have been hiding there too.
“How can you not see me? You are sitting right on me.”
The tree began to shake a little, and the leaves rustled all at once like a playful breeze was tickling them. That was when Othorion finally figured it out. The voice was coming from the tree.