The Tales Of Lasvannon Tol'Quiss

[Lasvannon]

Lasvannon is a deeply troubled creature. As you guys have got to know him in various ways, some of his back history might have slipped out to you! Well, here is a more concise history for you all to get to know, and maybe you might just appreciate the antics of the dark bard a little more... :3 (Its a little long....sorry)

[Lasvannon]

History of Las'van'non Tol'Quiss

Creation:

Some fey just pop into the world, created by the whim of nature or just chance. They are normally formed to fulfil a certain role. Las'van'non was born to a young family with regards to the average age of Killoren. He was the eldest of two siblings, himself and his sister who was a few years younger. In youth he was like any other Killoren but erred towards social interaction and not violence that dictates so much of his kins reputation. On the coming of his tenth birthday, and his naming ceremony, he realised that his view point was not to kill, but to understand.

Killoren manifest a certain aspect over others in preference and rarely stray, their mindset becoming locked as sorts to a certain world view. Las'van'non was rare in that he chose wisdom and understanding, which was very different to the normal viewpoint of his newly created kind.  He was never good at fighting other Killoren in the villages of trees (though he didn’t mind getting close to the others in a grapple) and neither was he very good at hiding and learning the trade of the hunter. That said, he could out talk most situations and outsmart all his fellows. The Killoren did not find this weird, no stigma was attached. Different animals have different skills to hunt and Las'van'non had chosen his. He was honey tongued and was blessed with the wit of the most cunning fey-born fox (who are very cunning...). His life changed however on his naming ceremony, and things would never be the same...

The Growing Up:

On his naming ceremony, it is traditional for all Killoren to consider their view point on life, the achievements they have worked for and what their elders had to say about them. Las'van'non could not think of a valid name for himself. He had lots of ideas, but none really fit him at all, they just didn’t really give credit to his personality. Annoyed, somewhat disappointed and aware that everyone else around him had chosen theirs he was depressed. After a few days of wandering around, secluding himself from all others he decided to leave the village until he could bare to find himself his name. With sad heart, he said good bye to his family and friends and headed off into the deep forest to find himself.

Every hero requires an epic back story. Sometimes they need a spark to ignite the passion and skills that distance them from everyone else. Las'van'non likes to think his beginning was far more mundane. No spark, no great event. In the deep forest, he spent days musing over his position in the large world. As he walked he penned some verses about his travels, taking note of the different animals and people he saw. Surely information is far more powerful than any weapon, and he set himself the task of making sure he was never unprepared. It was when he came across a fallen tree that had, by his judge, been hit by lightning his life changed. He was far from home, he had no idea where he was and he was hungry and tired. Upon the floor lay some large broken eggs, and trapped under the branches was body of a large eagle. Las'van'non found himself distraught at this image, that in one act of violence two generations of life had been lost. Levering the branches off the fallen bird he cradled it for a while, unsure as to why he was feeling such powerful emotions towards a dead creature. He had hunted and killed with regularity, but this was different. It was unneeded and callous (an experience Las'van'non was to feel a lot more of in the future). He created a small fire, blessed the creature as he knew and then with the eggs cremated the bird. What he didn’t know was the entire time he was being watched by two sets of eyes...

Las'van'non slept badly, his body starving and cold. Many nights before he had lost his blankets in fast stream. He had a choice to grab his writing materials or the blankets and he chose, what he thought stupidly, to grab the knowledge and not the key to surviving the cold nights. He had a dreamless meditation, void of anything except pain of his body slowly failing him. Life was ending, and he could do barely anything about it. He had little to hunt with, and as far as he could tell most of the things around him were dangerous or poisonous to eat. It was a grim time for such a young fey.

When he awoke he was sure that he had died? The fallen tree that he had slept next to was gone, and in its place a small cloth had been laid out on the floor. The sun was shining bright and warm, the tree tops letting more light through than he had expected possible. Weekly he sat upright, the smell of spiced cooking in the air. His belly grumbled and he almost fainted at the divine smell. On the other side of the cloth sat a dryad, bedecked in a gown of gossamer. With no words passed he took the offered bowl and drank the lovely broth. For a few days he stayed there, sometimes seeing the dryad, and sometimes not. Every morning he found food on the cloth and water in a bowl. Never did they speak, but he realised that mutual respect had been formed as dryads do not show themselves unless they want to. Soon his quizzical nature made him long for adventure and get ready to leave as he could not stay here forever. With a smile to the forest in general he said his thanks and turned to go. As he did so he ran straight into another individual dressed entirely in garments of leaves. She was another Killoren, white as he was and considerably older. He turned to run but then he realised he was blocked in. The dryad was behind him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Welcome Las'van'non" he was told in the gentle female voice. His training had begun...

Las'van'non failed at being a hunter or warrior. He even failed the next few years at being a druid. He was just to whimsical to hold down to an area and maintain it. On his first day of unofficial training however he was accosted, flayed, and generally harassed by the eagle he now loves as much as a sibling. It turned out that as he was being watched by the dryad and Killoren druid, he had made a bond with the mate of the fallen eagle. It was to be a difficult friendship to start. The eagle was very head strong, and Las'van'non very carefree. It hadn’t occurred to him that all the time he was fighting the idea of being a druid, looking over the plants and animals around him that he was slowly becoming more accustomed to the idea. He was not very good at communicating with the animals but his appetite for knowledge was overwhelming. He was told several times to stop writing it down and instead remember it. He did both, but sometimes took a little liberty in the documenting of creatures and plants. Inside every account was the truth and he knew what that was, but he loved to create stories of behaviour that sometimes were a little hard to believe. His bond grew stronger with the eagle every day and soon bypassed anything that even the older druid could teach him about how to handle the creature. By instinct alone they became the same, as much a part of each other as themselves. His dedication alone to his companion hindered his other studies, and soon his mentor realised this free spirit could not be tamed. Taking him to a roaming band of satyr musicians and performers of various fey races she introduced him and formally passed him to the greater world. They were deeply impressed about his stories, his writings and his wit and within a few weeks he had realised that home meant only where you were happy, and he was home. He took the new name of Las'van'non Tol'Quiss (Of which the surname add on is rare for fey. It was the name of the satyr musicians band that he played with). In its own Las'van'non is a bastardisation of elven and sylvan, consisting of three suffix's and no prefix. It translates to wild forest keeper or as close as possible.

He wandered and played with the satyr for many years, fame coming to the group with his compositions of flute, violin, song and dance. Many courts he visited, the Seelie leaders seeking the newest craze of music or dance with furious passion. With the satyr’s they made such a name for themselves that it had started to cause trouble for them all. They simply could not keep up with commitments. The missing of one such commitment would have dire consequences for the entire troupe.

They were due to play at the most prestigious court of the Lost Prince. Legends surround this dark figure abound. He was said to be melancholy and prone to fits of outburst. With a perfect song repertoire and dance routine practised and prepared, the troupe were on their way when they encountered an aggressive group of red caps. They tried to go around, but were hounded for the entire time they travelled, severely slowing down the group and making them miss the court. When they finally arrived, haggard and injured from the journey they were in no shape to perform immediately as the Prince requested. The Prince had the red caps found and captured, setting them to infinite labour in his mines, forced to dig cold iron from the pits. This was a grievous fate for any fey...

For the troupe, he had other plans. Chaining the satyr's to his walls he made them complete endless repetitions of their tunes. One by one they died, only to be reborn again. It is said they still play to this day, tunes filled with utter loathing and contempt for the Prince and themselves. The dancers were nailed with cold iron by the feet to the tables of the dining rooms, forced to dance on the spot permanently. Many tales of new static dancing have been spun from the captured fey, and new trends have been set. For Las'van'non, however the punishment was to be very individual. Las'van'non had risen to control the troupe for the last few months, and he was held responsible for the whole thing. Upon being questioned by the omnipotent being he had said something harmless and nearly completely true. “Sorry my lord I am tired and simply not prepared” was his response to questioning. The individual sitting next to the Price was his Troubadour of Truth,  a well-trained slave that was tasked by the lords and ladies of the courts the to take messages to each other and deliver them in person in exactly the same manner and wording as given (as though the lords and ladies had spoken the messages  themselves). Las'van'non was picked up on his wording, stating although it was true that he was tired it was not true that he was unprepared. The Troubadour took apart his wording exactly and informed the Prince of the falsehood. In respect for his prowess as a musician and word-smith the Prince had Las'van'non cursed with barbs into his soul, forcing him to servitude for a year equal to the number of syllables in his lie and then his freedom would be assessed. For thirteen years he was chained by a thin gold encrusted cold iron chain to a podium inside a well furnished room. He was attached to the chain by his tail, of which a solid yet well made bracelet apparition had been placed. Daily he had to write new music and plays, finding time for musing in-between. His only companion was the eagle, who he could not reach out of the tall window. The eagle sat on the branches outside day and night, year after year, making nest after nest and waiting for his companion.

Las'van'non had heights of madness, inspiration and self loathing in this time. He was never rescued, though he wished a dashing hero would. He was loved by those he could not see, the music he had created he could hear played and the applause given yet he was never able to take the ovation. He had reached the lowest place in his short life, and he made a vow that he would live through this trial and come out the other end with his head held high.

Thirteen years passed, the same endless repetition. Upon the eve of the thirteenth year, the scribbles of sylvan script that he had scrawled over the walls telling him of the passing of time, he was released to see his Prince. Alone in the antechamber except for him, the Prince and the Troubadour of Truth things were discussed between them with no witness. It is said a single short scream was heard deep into the forest for leagues. When guards rushed into the chamber they found the corpse of the fallen Troubadour of Truth and Las'van'non now wearing his garments, the Prince's great hand upon his tiny shoulder. Forever more and to this day Las'van'non has been tasked upon pain of death to never speak a lie and if given a message by a lord of the fey wilds he would deliver it with speed and accuracy. He had become the Princes new Troubadour of Truth.  The bracelet upon his tail has been cursed to hold him to account, delivering crippling pain upon him if he ever faltered in his oath. Las'van'non can lie, but if he does then he is filled with utter hatred for himself and such dread that he is incapacitated for a long time. Fittingly, however, the Prince banished the unappreciated former Troubadour of Truth before placing the Geas upon Las'van'non, and in doing so left a small window in the wording of his Geas for Las'van'non to tell falsehood. He tasked Las'van'non never to speak a lie in conversation. This allowed him, and still does to this day, to sing tales or even write them down with little or no truth and be unaffected. He had found a way out, and this meant that his vast repertoire of over the top epics could still be told, even if they required a little more work to be sang as songs. For over a hundred years he held this position until the Prince, aware of his excellent services and knowledge, sent him to Golarion to see the dream for himself and bring back information. Its inhabitants call the real world the Material plane. Like most fey, Las'van'non had no experience of the world and viewed it (as most do) as a dream.  And with it a capricious fey like him had little to stop himself indulging in what ever he wanted to do. With no soul the gods ignored him, and he found that his looks and wits plus his exotic appearance got him what he wanted nearly every time.

If you look back into the near history of Golarion and you really dig deep you will find tales of a white cat like creature in many different cultures. It was said a being like him worked in tandem with a young adult white dragon in the north, luring adventurers to their death's from cities and reaping rewards with the dragon from the chaos caused and trophies won.

It is documented that a creature like him was the personal love servant of a Effreet sultan in the east, and was as a lover of mermaids in the south. In the west a creature like him was documented in sleeping with a banshee. And even up in the clouds, a creature such as him was said to have been the consort to a cloud giant Empress. As with all tales, they must at least, somewhere, hold a grain of truth...or, worryingly, when composed for a Troubadour of Truth, they may all be very, very real... 

[Lasvannon]

World View:

Simply, its a dream. No fey has morals that can be easily understood, if they indeed have them at all. To Las'van'non the world simply is a giant mutable play thing, his reward for good service to his Prince. Its simply not real, or at best an illusion. He's as likely to push you down the stairs to make you cry in pain as to heal your wounds. The longer he spends in Golarion, the more his views change but he is still utterly alien in viewpoint to any mortal race. Love is just lust, want is just lust and lust is a very, very close ally. Surely you cannot love something that does not exist? He will break down and cry at signs of his mothers presence (by which he means Mother Nature. All fey are born from her whims and not other means they believe). He fiercely protects animals if he can, but is far more protective of trees and long living vegetation. Animals grow and die, quickly and with regularity. Trees live for a long time and it is a heresy for them to be culled. They hold collective knowledge too great to lose. Fey are extremely emotional, driven to one emotion or the other at any time. They can be utter cowards, steadfastly resolute or even aggressive to a fault depending on a whim. They are as likely to be stirred to tears at the site of the sun setting as to be angry at a work of fiction. Its been said they cannot feel more than one emotion at once and its yet to have been proven wrong. In summary, he cannot and will not be able to understand most other people views or morality...

Later Life in the First World:

Installed as the new Troubadour of Truth he was given considerable status among the minor nobles of the courts. There are several of his status in service, each lord or lady of the courts having the right to own one troubadour. He still is a glorified well looked after slave held in regard by his masters but it suited him well. He got to travel the endless warrens and tracks of the first world in comfort, he was always well guarded and well furnished with provisions and maintained in the most lavish, up to date clothing. Over this time he created many works of art, and tended to spend as long as possible in the courts learning to play new instruments as well as crafting new art styles from other willing fey who were seeking favour. It’s true that during these hundred years or so he developed a selfish urge and towards the end started to adopt rather diva like requirements off his retainers. This still is a personal trait of Las'van'non who sometimes makes quite unreasonable demands of his servants and employees. There were many days and nights of drunken revelry, never caring with who or what he ended in the arms of. With the financial backing of his Prince, and under orders to deliver    plays and music scripts to his court, Las'van'non paid for his excess with sheer musical output. He would in his moments of clarity produce vast quantities of tunes and epics, writing them down and creating stockpiles ready to send on to the Prince when he was in a less than capable state. Over the years his skills became such that his talents were actively sought by courts everywhere, from the seelie to unseelie. Many a day was spent in madness, his imprisonment sometimes haunting him and making him wake in a less than sane state. Soon though, he would return to relative normality with a cup of spiced tea or the occasional hot fey wine...

Many incidents are recorded in the history of the first world in which a creature of Las'van'non's features is blamed or praised. He was said to be at the infamous three gruff's and one dryad incident (A gruff is playful name for the satyr's) and also at the battle of deep gorge hollow, of which he is said to have been inspiring the warriors on both sides to fight on and butcher each other with abandon. The word battles of Sha-Tol-Tor were a one sided affair, composing of the most heinous yet wordy put downs against a timer of screaming captives death throws. All in all, Las'van'non could hardly complain at his life in the years of servitude. He was however, in every respect, still a slave. Never being tied down to one court or the other, never really calling anywhere home he really learned the art of survival and adaptation. It’s when he was tasked to deliver a message completely in Auran to the Feathered Lord of the first world that things started to get very interesting for him and his life took yet another strange turn of events.

The Totem Taking:

Las’van’non’s affinity for birds and especially eagles gave him substantial power when he entered the courts of the Feathered Lord. It is said in his diary entries of the date that the entire court was of pure white marble, birds of all kinds perched upon the trellised roofs and  vast swathes of feathers blanketed the floors in a riot of colours. He conversed with decorum the message from the Price, and was flattered by the response of the Lord. He was asked why he was in the servitude of one such as the Prince, and Las’van’non, who was tasked never to tell a lie was obliged to tell his tale of woe and then privilege to the Lord. The Feathered Lords court, the druids and nobles wild shaped as birds listened to the recounting and were fixated on one small part, asking questions again and again. They had wanted to know why the eagle had stayed with him for so long, for all those years of solitude and imprisonment. Las’van’non explained his troubled naming ceremony and all that occurred. Taken aback by this close bond with his companion, the Lord named the eagle Cal'eb Tho'ron (Literally translated as silver heart or bolt of silver) and he was gifted by the Lord and his nobles with a single pure mithril feather of curious but stunning workmanship as well as the freedom of the Lord’s sky wherever he may roam. He stayed for the next few weeks until he was called to service once again by his master. As he turned to leave the open halls of feather's he heard words of utter power, creating a surge of emotion and instant understanding inside him. The druids of the court had given him one more gift. Now he felt accepted as one of them, a druid, a defender of nature of a far different sort. He knew from that point that as water flows down stream and around rocks, there is more than one path to any outcome. Becoming a totem druid was his path, and his affinity for birds became an unending passion.

The Feelings:

Las'van'non was known as a furious playboy and terrible flirt. It has always been just one of his weapons in getting what he wants, eventually. Love never really touched his heart, the only real passion he felt was for his companion, Cal'eb Tho'ron. He didn’t care for it, it was too much of a powerful tool to hold him to one place, to capture him. Las'van'non is deathly afraid of being once again held against his will, to crush his spirit. For his entire first century he never felt a twinge of feelings of any sort towards anyone else. That's when he met the one person to ever break his willpower, the one person to steal his heart, Il'wyn. It was a troubled beginning. The two could not have been more different. Il'wyn was tall and strong, handsome and wise. Las'van'non was nothing to him in stature, just small and petite. They met while Las'van'non was being escorted to a place long forgotten in time. On the road, travelling in a caravan he realised that he and the others were being followed by a band of Killoren, intrigued as it were by the spectacle and pageantry. Most of them were young and just curious, yet some of them were much older and far more interested in the idea of a performance from Las'van'non. As night fell and the tents were unpacked and camp-fire’s made the Killoren were, after a little dispute, let into the camp and were told to sit by the large fire. Las'van'non treated them to a great performance, learning their names one by one and playing them tunes as if to them all personally. The young fey squealed with delight, images of monster's, hero's and dragons inspiring them. The older fey loved it all the same but for other reasons, female and male Killoren dancing and laughing to each other in revelry. The guards took no notice, they had already seen such sights a hundred times before. As Las'van'non moved along the group, giving each a small bit of his attention he stopped and for the first time in his existence he misplayed his fiddle. The dancing ended, Killoren confused. Staring at Il'wyn, as he was found to be called, Las'van'non was made weak. His emotions we laid bare before him. Soon the playing continued, but with a far more important and focused reason.

Il'wyn spurned all Las'van'non's advances, more interested in the music than the player. Las'van'non had never dealt with someone not interested in himself. Rage burned inside him, aggression fuelling his playing and the music became more and more savage. The more he tried, the more Il'wyn just ignored him, simply walking away into the trees when Las'van'non became annoying. With the night becoming late, most of the dancers taken to sleep or drunken revelry by the large quantities of wine freely given, Las'van'non's emotions changed from anger to despair. He had failed in the chase, and felt like a total fool. What had he done wrong?. Soon a plan formed in his mind that might just work. In the morning, Las'van'non composed himself and ignored Il'wyn completely. He instead invited who he thought was the oldest Killoren to gather the others around and ask them if they would like to journey with him until they decided to leave. They Killoren unanimously accepted, realising that the free wine and music would last a few days longer at least. It's true to say that many new Killoren were conceived in these crazy nights. Night after night, Il'wyn would not join in the celebrations, sitting there just enjoying the music and not the performance or performer. When the final night came, Las'van'non withheld the music and wine unless he could be promised that all of the fey would be enjoying themselves. When he started, Il'wyn was peer pressured into dance and revelry by all the other fey. After many hours, inebriated and tired from the dance, Il'wyn soon began to loose focus. That’s when Las'van'non pounced.

For the next few years, after the argument and accusations, Il'wyn followed Las'van'non on his journeys and they became inseparable. Il'wyn and Cal'eb never got on and still don’t. The eagle in its animal intellect views him as a threat and Il'wyn views him as a nuisance (and a smelly one at that). Il'wyn was allowed to stay outside the court of the Dark Prince, given a small patch of forest to himself and when Las'van'non stayed at his masters court Il'wyn would provide respite and healing to weary travellers on the roadside. Las'van'non was told to go to Golarion in order to asses if it was feasible for the Lost Prince to push his boundaries into another realm. As the Lost Price could count on whatever Las'van'non told him he was the perfect individual to go. Las'van'non was also very well travelled and he knew if anyone could survive in the foreign lands it would be him. When Las'van'non was sent to Golarion, Il'wyn volunteered to follow his companion. In one last act of uncaring whim the Dark Prince made sure that when they entered the portal, Las'van'non went first. As he passed through, the Prince changed the location of the exit and sent Il'wyn through second. So began the great search, neither knowing the location of the other but both determined on this new world to find each other again...

[Lasvannon]

The Golarion Early Years:

When Las'van'non came into Golarion, the false world or the dream as he calls it, he was surprised at how similar it was to his own. Sure, the animals and plants were less vivid colours and it seemed to him that wherever he looked there was a haze of drabness on everything. The entire world he found was just not as grand. Plants did not grow as high, creatures he new from his own world were just a shadow of themselves and everything seemed so downbeat. He hated it entirely, it was just so utterly droll.

The strangest thing to him was the people he met. To start with the reaction to his race and demeanour was extreme. People thought he was some sort of daemon, or in some cases a heavenly being. Little did he know that he had spawned into the world near Arthfell Forest, in some back water township. The Andoran people had dealt with all sorts coming across the border from Cheliax for many years, devils and fiends or worse. Las'van'non was captured and held in the town prison, his only charge the fact that people did not know what he was and were scared. His first few days of the new world consisted of being once again imprisoned, for his own safety. He spent many of the nights trying to talk to the local watch officers behind bars that were, for security, closed. Though he had come prepared and he was very good at survival, Las'van'non had no gold or coin and never needed such things in the First World. With great difficulty he communicated his needs to the guard captain, as they did not share a common language. He gifted the guard captain with his expensive emerald ring of elven design, and in return the guard captain promised to speak to the local clerics  in the morning and find someone that spoke Las'van'non's language. At a loss, unable to communicate, Las'van'non laid down and just waited. 

It never happened. In the middle of the night an angry mob stormed the prison and took Las'van'non by force. They had blamed him for the death of some local cattle that coincided with his arrival. Attaching chains found in the prison to his wrists, regardless of his protests, the mob took him and dragged him to the nearest tall tree, a rope already thrown over the branches. Las'van'non shrieked when he saw this, and shouted at the top of his voice, repeating his cries of innocence in sylvan and elven. As the noose was placed around his neck he lashed out, trying to grasp at nothing. Just in time the mob was silenced by a loud, booming clerical voice wading into the midst. Dispersing the angry fools, newly awoken guards moved in with clubs and laid onto the horde. Las'van'non, afraid and shaking with emotion's, fainted.

When he awoke he was no longer in the prison, but comfortable on a bed of furs. The cleric he last saw shouting at the mob was near him, pondering over some book on a table. When he realised that Las'van'non had awoken, he gestured that he meant no harm. In clipped elven he conversed with Las'van'non, explaining the fears of the people and the reasons for his capture. For the next few weeks Las'van'non stayed with him, this old yet gentle man and a servant of good. Under the protection of the church, Las'van'non quickly learnt the common tongue of the world and soon was free to leave. He was told to head to Absalom, the world city in the south, a few hundred leagues away. Las'van'non sold his last few remaining rings and had enough gold for the journey. Everyone was accepted in Absalom, and if anywhere was a good place to start looking for Il'wyn and also learn about the world it would be there.

Las'van'non noticed that the closer he got to the city the less people seemed to care about his appearance. He took to staying at inn's along the way to the city. He wasn.t in any rush, sometimes taking a few nights at each inn and plying his trade at music and dance for good coin. People hadn’t heard his style of music before, the enchanting beauty and any one of worldly nature, such as elves and halflings, were his greatest patrons. His music created a stirring of the wild inside them, and they all were to the last individual fixated night after night. On the last leg of his journey to Absalom he played at a large inn on the outskirts of Almas, the capital city of the Andorans and found situated on the south coast. An Avenstar noble of Absalom heard him play, and he was enthralled. The House of Avenstar were the senior elven house of Absalom and patrons of the arts. Las'van'non was not only, in his eyes, unique but also very special. He asked Las'van'non to stay in Almas until his business was concluded, and then he would personally deliver Las'van'non to the Lord of the Avenstar's in Absalom. Las'van'non had made his entrance into the world stage and he would never be the same again...

In Absalom Las'van'non was really at home. There was simply nothing on the First World that was of the same grandeur. You could walk round the corner and find amazing music and the next corner find an aggressive mugger. Literally anything could be achieved by simply pushing yourself and your boundaries. Nothing could not be bought or bartered for, any pleasure in any way could be found. It worked in a way Las'van'non could just not understand. For the first few weeks Las'van'non was sheltered in the halls of the Avenstar's, hoarded by them jealously and he gave them exclusive access to his music and time. He was playing or composing, even taking it upon himself to sculpt a beautiful statue of the Lord of the Household. His spirit however could not be kept to them alone, and many days he just sat looking out from the tallest windows of the mansion, taking in all the details of the city around him, and how it worked. Realising he could play this musical instrument better than any he knew already with a few strums there, some songs and a little droll drone and he could get whatever he wanted. After a little petitioning, some sly smiles and flirty passes he was given two guards and allowed into the city after being furnished with some gold.

His first stop, Greenridge was a way of him reconnecting with nature. There was no better place in the city to do it, plants and vegetation kept in order by the constant attention of the local druids. He sat in the parks for some time, just feeling the sun on his face and being able just to relax. He was aware of the moving in the area of curious people but didn’t care. He knew sooner or later that he would be approached and was very much counting on it. His presence in the city, walking the streets had caused a little fuss, more curiosity that anything. Mostly he had just be stared at and even more so been consciously ignored. As he had seen before, people just choose to ignore you in places like this as then they are not in any way getting involved with you, for good or for worse.

A gentle elven lady approached him after some time. “Good day child of the First World, what brings you here?” was the opening line and Las'van'non smiled and coerced for some time with her in druidic, explaining his recent travels and the fact he was here to reconnect with his mother. They both sat there, under a glorious old yew tree and said nothing. She stared at him, smiling for most of the time but Las'van'non said little, just happy to spend the time in complete, not uncomfortable, silence. The other druid maintained the silence, and soon the day passed with early morning changing to late afternoon lazily. Towards the end of the day Las'van'non thanked her for the company, placed his hand on hers and smiled. She asked if he would return again, and he nodded. “For every week I will spend in this marvellous city, I will spend a day here, sitting beneath this marvellous tree and next to the gentle stream. I shall use the time to write the greatest ballads I have ever produced and you may be privy to them if you wish”. With that he left, a slight spring to his step and very large cheeky smile plastered across his face. Soon he knew people would know of him being here, and his name and reputation would grow.

Next he headed to the Ivy District. Its large population of Elves was appealing to him and his guard's knew the area well. In his time at the House of the Avenstar's Las'van'non had heard stories about guild's and licenses to play music. He thought this absurd and wished to test the system. The Avenstar's had sent messages to the music guild in order to get a licence for him. He was told to perform for them in the guild hall some nights into the future but Las'van'non chose not to wait. He was determined to be an inspiration in his own time and he was quite happy and ready to perform now. Heading over to the guild halls he passed through the thronging mass of street performers, simply getting his guards to make him some space. At the guild door he was stopped and the Elves's guarding it were shocked at his appearance. Speaking to them in fluid elven, one went inside and fetched the guild lieutenant running the place at the time. Las'van'non explained who he was and what he had come for and was admitted to the building, forcing some of the other vagabonds out of the way. The lieutenant led him into a musical study and Las'van'non performed a small set for him to gain his license. It is said the man ran from the room in tears shouting for his guild master who was out in a restaurant and he was weeping in excitement.  Las'van'non left the room and silently headed off out of a side passage, eager to find some food to eat and take part in some serious carousing with these foolish people before being accosted again.
 
The years of Absalom:

Las'van'non spent just over twelve years in Absalom. He received his guild membership from the bards with a standing ovation. He never taught them, preferring for anyone interested to watch him play and try learn his music style that way. Rarely he would give performances to packed halls but mostly he just followed the trail of expensive places to stay and eat in the city, giving impromptu musical renditions to the eager masses. He formally announced his alliance to the House of Avenstar and lived in luxury from his earnings as a bard and the occasional cash flow from wealthy patrons for rather more intimate sessions. He spent many of his hours either buying even more scandalous outfits and jewellery, or sitting as promised in the park's of the Greenridge. All in all, he was appreciated and well known. The problems was that wanderlust was taking him and he had seen all the maps of the world in the various nobles houses he had visited. He wanted to see more of the foreign lands around him and also he wanted to desperately find Il'wyn. Avenstar's agents had been searching, though not very diligently, for Il'wyn on behalf of Las'van'non for some years. It took rather low priority, but word eventually filtered down to Las'van'non of a sighting in the far north. That same night, Las'van'non packed, left most of his belonging's to the House of Avenstar and after informing them of his plans he secured passage on a emissaries mission to the northern lands. His great journey had begun with a full purse and a unstoppable thirst for the great unknown.

[Lasvannon]

The Travelling Years:

Las'van'non's journey to the far north of the realm's was uneventful. It was long, tiring and incredible boring. He had just about talked to death the emissary and his servants and was growing quite frustrated, almost depressed by the time he reached his destination. He had arrived at Nerosyan in Mendev, passing through Andoran, Kyonin, The River Kingdoms and Numeria to get there. Granted he had stopped along the way but the two-month journey was sapping his reserves of patience. Nerosyan turned out to be the polar opposite of Absalom. He was at best tolerated, sometimes viewed with aggression and hatred by the xenophobic people around him. He made good coin performing in the taverns and halls of the city but he never felt welcome. It was to be a short stop. The rumours of Il'wyn being close had proved to be untrue or at least not able to be verified. Las'van'non set it upon himself to head further north still and identify the whispered conversation's he had overheard about concentrations of fey in the northern forest's and maybe even portals to the First World. If he was going to get back to his real home then maybe he would require some courage and a little bit of desperation. This journey, through the blistering cold and all alone save the ever presence of Cal'eb, his eagle companion was the most exhilarating in his life. Every footfall was difficult, every breath sharp. Every movement threatened to be his last, but onward he pushed through the blistering colds and Las'van'non loved the sensation, having never been this close to exhaustion. Two week's passed before he saw any sign of civilisation, a small town on the horizon. Deciding to lay low for a few days and observe, his pure white fur blending seamlessly with the surroundings, he watched. The townsfolk were hardy and large, little culture and very barbaric. Not the type of people that Las'van'non would opt to spend any time with. He remembered the noose around his neck all those years ago and considered that these people would be a least like those other fools, but probably wouldn’t rely on the rope. A quick axe blow would be all he received.

He watched and waited for many more days, wondering if he should approach the strange village. It was inevitable that he would be found by someone or something. It was, however, a shock when Las'van'non was startled by a rustling through the trees behind him and a beautiful long limbed naked female approached him, her skin icy blue. Her hair moved of its own accord, whipping around her slowly. Las'van'non smiled at the other fey being and growled a stark and bitter warning. “I know of your kind Rusalka. Do you intend to take me to your waters and have me drowned or worse? You will find me not so easy a mark”. The female leant against a tree and looked at him interestingly. “I have not seen one of your kind here on this world, Killoren. Nor has my master. You do not want to go into the human village as they do not take happily to our kind. Why not join me in an interesting evening?”. Las'van'non laughed and chided her “You shall not have my flesh with your parlour tricks. Who is your master river whore?”. The Rusalka rolled her eyes and gestured for Las'van'non to follow before disappearing into the dense cold and snow-ridden undergrowth. Las'van'non, not caring and very interested decided he had nothing better to do than take a look.

Las'van'non was led, badly, and barley managed to follow the winding fey as he was blinded by the heavy snowfall. The creature took him around what he had previously thought was a snow plain, and only realised that in fact was a frozen lake when he broke the surface with a misplaced foot. As he pulled it back out he heard a tutting click from next to him. The Rusalka was again beside him, drawing her long talons across his arm and smiling. “Do not fall in, I cant tell you of the pleasurable yet somewhat short and painful experience you would feel if you did” she purred into his ear and moved away again into the distance. Las'van'non plodded along after her with a little more haste than was really required.

For leagues they skirted the large frozen lake until they came to a small hillock at the water edge, completely covered in deep snow. In the hillock was a large opening, heading deep into the ground at a steep angle. She pointed, motioning for Las'van'non to proceed. “Remember that he loves nothing more than to hear anything about himself. And don’t upset him or you may not live to regret it. What gold you have will be needed, he does so like to increase his wealth. Go now plane jumper, see what I have seen”. Las'van'non looked around smiled into the gloom “Surely I have found someone of my own heart” he muttered and with a bad feeling in his stomach he headed into the dark...

Many paragraphs could be wrote about the next few minutes. To summarise it seems that Las'van'non had stumbled right into the middle of a turf war between the rather evil aligned humanoids in the west, the uncaring and quite frankly victimised fey of the cold norths and their rather unexpected ally, the great wurm gem dragon. Las'van'non had no chance of sneaking into the cave, instead being attacked quickly by some large constructs, possibly golems, guarding the lair. He was in no way any match for them and though he tried to flee, he had barely made it a few steps before his rather short sortie into the lair came to a painful end.  When he awoke, it was not on the floor or in chains, but rather resting naked on a lavish purple velvet bedecked bed. Inside the small room was full of neatly placed books, all lined up in perfect rows and in alphabetical order. Getting up and looking into the closest draws he was amazed to see quill sets and inks, paper and wax all placed almost surgically into the draws, grooves having been cut for them to all fit in without moving. Las'van'non baulked at this idea. This place was governed by a sick mind that had an extremely lawful tendency. Best proceed carefully he summarised. Snatching the purple velvet throw off the bed, tying it around himself with some golden curtain cord and grabbing a small letter knife from the desk, he covered his nudity up (not that he cared, he had realised however that people sometimes have a negative reaction to a naked fey walking up to them. Except dryads, that never got a bad reputation he mused. What whores) and went looking for his belongings.

His meeting with the gem dragon was intense. Las'van'non had walked into a well laid out and comfortable study where a man was deep in thought pondering over a book. The male was dashing and lithe, tall and handsome and young. Las'van'non noticed that all the walls had mirrors on them, and he judged that the person on the comfy chair could with little effort admire himself from each angle. This must be the one who loves himself he thought as he waited at the door, deciding on his next course of action. He didn’t get the chance to dictate that however...

“Come in fey, have a seat on the chairs they are ever so comfy. And tell me about yourself and I will illuminate you as to what you may have stumbled into, with or without intent”

Las'van'non was ever the optimist. He wasn’t dead, he had no wounds and a comfy chair seemed like a very good idea. Plus the man was very attractive and Las'van'non valued the fact it was warm and near an open fire. And, if he ever wanted to see his belongings again then he would have to play this one out.

Las'van'non plodded over to the chair and with no effort snuggled right into the grooves of the very fluffy seat. The man stared at him and nodded, a gesture of his hand telling Las'van'non to start. Las'van'non told him everything. He told him about his past, present and what he wanted from the future. The man did not change his stance, ever looking interested. He rarely spoke, just sometimes asking a question to flesh out a section that Las'van'non may have glossed over. It must have been hours before Las'van'non finished. Never before had he willingly talked about himself as much. It seemed almost impossible to not tell all in this person's presence. He was parched.

The man rang a bell next to him. It's sound brought two elves into the room. It took Las'van'non a few moment's to realise that they had a rim of scales on their foreheads and also tails running free. Both were attractive with piercing green eyes. One was male, the other female. The similarities did not end there and Las'van'non was very attracted to them both.

“A product of earlier dalliances?” Las'van'non asked to the man in the chair.

The man simply smiled and looked at his offspring.

“My children, bring us some fine wine and a few light refreshments, my guest is parched and no doubt in need of food. My story will tire him out entirely unless he has the energy”. The two elves looked at him, then Las'van'non before leaving the room, closing the door behind them gently.

 “They are as perfect as I am, and they know it. They both love themselves as much as I do myself and are difficult sometimes. I am sure you will get time to realise all of this yourself however. They pulled you from the golem's and cleaned you up, healing you as well. My daughter has taken quite a fancy to how very individual you are. You may be questioned to death by her later, she doesn’t know when to stop. It can get so very lonely this far north. And, with that I think I need to get to my story...”

Las'van'non was entirely entranced at the story that stretched back hundreds of years. At one point he had asked to be given a quill and parchment in order to write it all down. He was given back his possessions and fervently scribed every detail. For hours he was talked to, only stopping to sample the food and wine provided. The time seemed to fly buy, heroes and villains, fantastic settings and noble deeds. The last and latest chapter however proved to be a dark and unforgiving place...

“So, now we have reached the latest point of my life. It must be fate to have you arrived in such a timely fashion, Las'van'non. You may be of immense use to us. You have the most experience with the humans. When you sat watching them, in their fort of wood, did you feel safe?”

Las'van'non shook his head.

“I thought not, and nor should you have. I have been here a long time, and they have encroached upon my territory. The fey and animals here long ago agreed to aid me, and in doing so I would protect them against the outside world. A few months ago they moved here, lots of different settlements and started to rape the wilderness. Then, when your kin fought back, they were slaughtered. Your kin have been used as trophies and rugs, proudly displayed to the world. They have killed Treants and Dryads, good and evil fey. Animals have died by the score to feed their parasitic nature. My children have approached them to seek parley, but were attacked and fled. I have seen these people before, hard men and women from the Linorm Kingdom's and they are not civilised nice human's. Everyone is a killer with no regret and I look at them in disgust. I think you might be able to help me.”

Las'van'non nodded, he hated the idea of the trees being cut down and his people slaughtered. He didn’t know why he had accepted so readily, just that he had.  It sounded dangerous but for some reason he didn’t care. The dragon just made you feel at ease, and that you would do what he said regardless.

“Good, I want you to go in disguise to them. Make them believe that there is a dragon’s lair north of here a few leagues away. I will make a map for you. When they believe you, and I feel that they will as I do, get their best warriors and lead them to it. I will have an ambush set with my followers. When they get there, you will flee in the harsh blizzard that will occur out of nowhere. We will teach them all a lesson from that point onwards. Then, after they are dispatched, we will remove the stain of them from my territory. And if anyone dares to attack or come again, we will keep repeating it until they finally get the message or they are all dead...”

A few drinks later and the deal was done. Lasvannon for some reason had no fear of what was to come. He knew he couldn’t live in such a place as this for very long, though it did serve up some light refreshments in the way of half dragon play things. Lasvannnon was well aware he might be getting out of practice in this area and quickly so he spent no time in seeking out his next partner (he so hated to call them victims). He cared not which of the siblings he got to first, though he was aware the female was going to be an easier score. That’s never as much fun as the reluctant target though, he mused.

Many new experiences with variety of new races happened over the next few days. Lasvannon spent many long hours with the male half elf dragon. Their escapades were far  more intimate and could fill several volumes.