The Realm of Eärwa

Fireside Chats

Dredging up the painful past...

E’mryk sat staring into the fire. His hands sat in his lap and the silence was deafening. Normally he would attempt to engage in conversation or discuss something he’d read recently, but tonight was different. For some reason the last few days had deeply disturbed him, jarring loose memories of his childhood he’d thought lost to time. Yet here they were. Coming back into focus with a clarity that both stunned and overwhelmed. Perhaps the Bleakstorm had more of an effect than he’d realized.
His mother’s face haunted him.
Everyone seemed more subdued, lost in thoughts. Each appeared to be on the verge of speaking…


E’mryk took a deep breath coming out of his reverie to see Rowen staring at him as he munched on something, then nervously acting like he was observing the stone interior of the catacombs. When looking back, he seemed to take a moment to consider then let out a sigh. Mustering the courage, he rose and walked over to sit down next to the sorcerer. Holding out his hand in an uncharacteristically friendly gesture, he was holding a cloth sack full of some oats and dried fruits then asked “Quith’Pa? It is… uhm… Like a trail ration we make. It is good.” Holding the bag politely for E’mryk to help himself. He then leaned back and asked “You are usually full of words to share whether the moment is appropriate or not, but you appear as though a sabrecat has taken hold of it and rendered you speechless. Tell me Gnome, what is halting your vocabulary?”

Fireside Chats

Without lifting his gaze from the fire, the gnome replied, "Magic, wild and untamed, courses through my being. The spirit of my race is comprised of magic. It is part of all we do, all we are. My father was a craftsman of some renown. Gifted with creation and invention, he shared his gift freely. My mother was a sorcerer as well. She was new to the arts when they met, barely a graduate of the Outer Circle. She was responsible, for a time, for imbuing the creations of my father. They worked very well together – “lockstep, as if thinking from the same mind.” Together they created a Fey device called the ‘faebinder.’ It stored fae magic and could infuse it into other items. Intended for harmless purposes, its fame soon spread. Brand wanted the power for the Empire and its twisted purposes and straight away sent emissaries to “negotiate” for the item."

Rowan sat with his sack of trail mix untouched, wrapped up in the story and pondering the implications of where the gnome had left off in the story.

His eyes twinkling in the firelight, moisture welling in his eyes, E’mryk gazed at the elf. “You have memories beyond your age, little one.” Rowan whispered softly. “This is rare. Among the elves we call this na’onalialiat. This word can have a double meaning: ‘maddened’ or quite literally ‘mind-stretched.’ And though you are overly curious and even irrational at times – no offense – you are not crazy.”

“Thank you, Rowan. That is comforting to hear. Since that Bleak Storm I’ve been plagued with memories. Some I recognize and some I do not.”

Eyes in the fire, they sat quietly. E’mryk could see a place in his mind’s eye. A place unknown to him. He could feel anxiety and fear among other emotions as if he were there in person. He could see the faebinder, wrapped in a fine cloth being hidden in a stone cubby. The stone melted into place around it and the vision vanished.

The emotions held on for some time before finally dissipating with the sunrise.

Fireside Chats

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