Dhurandal
06-19-2006, 11:40 PM
From the author,
Salutations! I’m new to the Twisted Nether Gazette and I can tell you that it has single-handedly won me over since the presence of a roleplaying community on the realm seems to resonate amongst you all. I’d like to thank you for that! What follows is a character history piece for my priest, Dhurandal, and it explores something about the Night Elf culture that I find intriguing. What happens to a race when they suddenly lose their immortality? There’s some medicine and probably lots of lore issues that can be contested throughout my writing, but I’m hoping that leads to some interesting debate that will help me improve my character’s philosophy on Azeroth. The isolation of the Night Elves speaks of a vast culture shock beyond just language and writing. There’s very little drama or action, thus it might bore quite a number of you and for that I apologize ahead of time. Still, I do hope that some of you enjoy!
The Threads of Life
“Dhurandal? Can I come in?” A light knock upon the door had it opening slightly to allow firelight to escape into the hallway from the numerous lanterns set up around the bedroom. The occupant that was staying within the room had transformed it from a simple bedroom into something almost akin to what an alchemist would be comfortable with. There were potions and used vials laying around, cloth piled in a corner, numerous linen bags filled with herbs of all kinds, and a stack of books on the nighstand next to the bedside.
The source of the soft-spoken voice was young human female adorned in monastic vestments that covered her in an earthen brown. Ebon locks atop her head were swept back and tugged into a ponytail whilst the piercing blue of her eyes provided one of the only sources of vivid color aside from the crimson of lips for her skin tone was quite pale. Hesitantly, her hand pushed the door open to reveal an occupant that was visually quite different from her. “Dhurandal?”
“How is his fever, Kayah?” Those were the words that greeted the girl as she stepped into the room. The person she was referring to was closing up a book he had been transcribing his thoughts into moments before she had knocked and after setting it down atop many others, he turned to walk towards his bounty of herbs. Even as he was awaiting her reply, he was muttering to himself as he pushed containers aside looking for the right one. “Peacebloom. Kingsblood. Where did I put that liferoot?”
Kayah slowly walked over to a chair that rested against a wall beside his nightstand, her voice speaking firmly made it evident she was used to his routine of talking to himself even when another person was present. “Lower, but he is asleep now. Provided he doesn’t roll onto that open wound, he should be able to rest for the night.” It hadn’t been that long since she’d gotten used to the fact that the other priest assisting her with the care of the elderly too sick to stay at home with their families was a night elf.
She could remember how odd it was to see him there rather than assisting the men on the frontlines against the Horde and how strange it was to see him at a bedside trying to alleviate the pain of someone’s grandmother. It was also awkward trying to talk with him when he had yet to fully grasp the common tongue as well as the fact that he not only towered over her considerably, but his silver beard and golden gaze made him seem more like an elder than a contemporary.
“Excellent. I’ll see if I can’t do something about that wound tomorrow. To think his family neglected to move him every now and then to alleviate the pressure on his flesh…” Dhurandal spoke with a bit of a bothered tone as he referred to the bedridden gentleman under their care. Finally able to find the bag that contained the herb he was seeking, his movements had his royal blue robe shifting with each of his movements so that shadows danced upon his frame. At the table, he placed the liferoot into a mortar and looked over his shoulder to see Kayah reaching over to pick up the journal he had been writing in.
“Is this your journal? I haven’t seen it for quite some time. May I?” Tracing a finger against the cover of the text, she gave a beaming smile that anyone would find difficult to refuse. In fact, so sure was she that Dhurandal would not refuse her that she already picked it up and placed it on her lap though she made no move to open it just yet.
With a nod, Dhurandal turned away from her and grasped a pestle to begin to process the liferoot in the mortar. “It is one of them. You will find as you age that there are still many things for you to learn, no matter how many lifetimes you live…” Indeed, several of the books amongst that stack were other journals on other topics that Dhurandal had written his thoughts inside of. Each was attributed to a specific topic and some were older than the others as Kayah soon made evident.
“Well, I will say this. Your writing has vastly improved.” When Dhurandal first arrived, his use of the common tongue was limited and his writing was even worse. She had been unable to read his journal the last time she’d opened one of his journals because it was a haphazard mixture of Darnassian and Common with the latter entries difficult to interpret due to the shoddiness of his handwriting with their alphabet and his vocabulary. Diligence and dedication, along with the fact that almost everyone he had to speak to in the settlement was human had his ability to communicate in common growing by leaps and bounds. Kayah was duly impressed since his writing was easy to read aloud and actually was more fluid than many who were born with the language.
“Of special note is that there is an increased risk of developing dangerous disability due to seemingly simple immobility. Joints that are not frequently exercised have a habit of contracting and being forever restricted to a limited range of motion that is not only visually grotesque but can complicate other treatments and cause life threatening physical and mental changes. The caretaker of an elderly patient should take the time to…”
Kayah did not finish reading the text aloud. Instead, she simply scanned the rest of the page before lifting her head up with a slightly furrowed brow as she studied the back of the man who was grinding the liferoot he’d placed in the mortar. That chipper tone she had used to allow her to read those pages now shifted to that of a student seeking clarification on the content. “…Your journal is a guide on how to care for the elderly? Why would you wri-“
“Why would I write such a thing when you’ve never seen a wrinkle of age upon the face of a night elf?” Dhurandal set the pestle down upon the hard wooden surface, his build sinking as he slouched while bracing himself upon the tabletop with both of his hands. It was if an enormous weight had once again been placed upon his shoulders. With his back to her, Kayah could not see the fading of the golden glimmer in Dhurandal’s eyes as he contemplated for a silent moment before continuing, the young girl chastised by the sudden interruption of her thought by the older healer. For that reason did he soften his tone when next he spoke, “Do you know what I used to be before I became a priest, child?”
As she shook her head from side to side, Kayah remembered that the Dhurandal could not see her do such with his back to her. By the time she got over her unseen embarrassment and parted her lips to speak, he was speaking again to signify the question he had asked was not meant to be answered. “…I was a tailor of no great importance amongst my people, just a man content to work thread into clothing for the simplest of reasons. Until the coming of the last war, I had no need to weave fabric for any reason but appearance. It was a simple and good life.”
Unexpectedly, when Dhurandal turned to face her it was with a renewed gleam and a slight smile as new life flowed into his old soul. “I suppose I’m really going to sound my age when I start telling you tales, Kayah. A historian once told me of a story from a civilization older than even that of mine. I do not know if it was merely for entertainment or if they truly believed it was an explanation of life. The story tells of three goddesses who dictated the fate of those who lived by measuring with the thread of life. What was woven was a tapestry that spoke of that person’s time on Azeroth and when the thread was cut…their tale ended and they passed on.”
Once again, Kayah’s pale blue gaze narrowed as her face relayed that she was having difficulty connecting the tangent that Dhurandal had apparently gone on with the journal that had started the entire conversation. As if to steer him back towards that end, she closed the book that had resided on her lap and placed it back atop the stack of books she had initially gotten it from. Whether Dhurandal noticed or not, he continued with his tale regardless, though now he sought to sew the pieces together. “You can imagine how that story danced through my mind every time I stitched someone’s shirt for them, I’m sure. When I finally cut that last piece of thread and recalled that it once symbolized the death of someone living. It wasn’t until our World Tree was destroyed that everything really hit me…my race is no longer immortal. Our threads will eventually be cut whether our bodies are by blades.”
There was a deliberate pause in his speech. Dhurandal wanted Kayah to put the pieces together now. If he simply told her why he wrote what he did, then the neophyte healer would not learn as great a lesson as he could impart upon her. With great interest did he watch as she lifted finger up to tease against her bottom lip, obviously in thought and seemingly hesitant to speak in case what she said was wrong and potentially offensive to the night elf. “…When your people lost your World Tree, you lost your immortality? Then that would mean that you’d get o-…” Kayah caught herself, knowing full well that the human priests did not appreciate having the word ‘old’ thrown in their direction.
However, Dhurandal was not human. Her youthful slip of tongue was reinvigorating as he chuckled lightly and turned away to take hold of the pestle while grasping the mortar firmly in place with his opposite hand. “Older, Kayah, I would get older. By your standards, I am ancient.” Steady movements of his wrist aided the transformation of the liferoot into a paste. “Imagine, Kayah. In my race there lies an entire population aging simultaneously. Though we are long-lived, I am sure there are not many who remember what it was like to feel their body and their mind deteriorate faster than their will.”
“So that’s why you’ve studied medicine amongst humans?” Now that the cloud of ignorance had been lifted from her mind’s eye, Kayah grasped hold of his journal again and flipped it open. As she scanned page after page, it was indeed a compendium of knowledge when it came to care of the elderly. “To re-learn what it is like to age?” Bringing that journal over, she set it down by Dhurandal and stood by the tableside, trying to study the older and taller male as he continued with his task.
With a widening grin, Dhurandal raised his head from his handiwork to look at the young woman who had been learning to heal alongside him despite the massive discrepancy in life experience. “I suppose you could say that, yes. In all honesty, however, I do not believe that prior to our immortality our knowledge of medical care for our elders was quite as comprehensive as the knowledge the other races have compiled altogether with the passing of time. As I said, there is much to learn…even for those with a lengthy lifespan.”
“I see, I see. Is that what you’ve written in those other journals of yours?” Kayah gestured by tilting her head in the direction of that stack of worn texts.
“Those?” Turning his head to look in the direction of his journals, Dhurandal seemed to ponder something for a while before turning back to the table. Lifting an arm to point over at a corner where numerous pieces of cloth were stored, he decided it was best to focus on the work on the moment rather than continue this cultural education. “They are of other observations I have made, but we can speak of them another time. For now, would you kindly grab some of that linen for me?”
A single word answer was her reply to both his termination of one topic of conversation and his request that would begin the transition to the next. “Alright.” Spinning on her heel, Kayah moved over to the stack already asking the next question that Dhurandal would be compelled to answer. The thirst for knowledge that the human race displayed was truly invigorating to him. “What is it for?”
Thus began the treatise on a long and comprehensive theorem of a potential use of liferoot as Dhurandal and Kayah continued their work through the night. “The linen? I’m going to prepare some bandages. Liferoot’s curative properties have already been well tested by alchemists, but I was hoping that by applying a paste along with a bandage to areas of skin breakdown amongst our patients that the rate of healing would increase considerably over time without the increased demand on the energy stores of the body that a potion would often cause. That way…”
End.
Salutations! I’m new to the Twisted Nether Gazette and I can tell you that it has single-handedly won me over since the presence of a roleplaying community on the realm seems to resonate amongst you all. I’d like to thank you for that! What follows is a character history piece for my priest, Dhurandal, and it explores something about the Night Elf culture that I find intriguing. What happens to a race when they suddenly lose their immortality? There’s some medicine and probably lots of lore issues that can be contested throughout my writing, but I’m hoping that leads to some interesting debate that will help me improve my character’s philosophy on Azeroth. The isolation of the Night Elves speaks of a vast culture shock beyond just language and writing. There’s very little drama or action, thus it might bore quite a number of you and for that I apologize ahead of time. Still, I do hope that some of you enjoy!
The Threads of Life
“Dhurandal? Can I come in?” A light knock upon the door had it opening slightly to allow firelight to escape into the hallway from the numerous lanterns set up around the bedroom. The occupant that was staying within the room had transformed it from a simple bedroom into something almost akin to what an alchemist would be comfortable with. There were potions and used vials laying around, cloth piled in a corner, numerous linen bags filled with herbs of all kinds, and a stack of books on the nighstand next to the bedside.
The source of the soft-spoken voice was young human female adorned in monastic vestments that covered her in an earthen brown. Ebon locks atop her head were swept back and tugged into a ponytail whilst the piercing blue of her eyes provided one of the only sources of vivid color aside from the crimson of lips for her skin tone was quite pale. Hesitantly, her hand pushed the door open to reveal an occupant that was visually quite different from her. “Dhurandal?”
“How is his fever, Kayah?” Those were the words that greeted the girl as she stepped into the room. The person she was referring to was closing up a book he had been transcribing his thoughts into moments before she had knocked and after setting it down atop many others, he turned to walk towards his bounty of herbs. Even as he was awaiting her reply, he was muttering to himself as he pushed containers aside looking for the right one. “Peacebloom. Kingsblood. Where did I put that liferoot?”
Kayah slowly walked over to a chair that rested against a wall beside his nightstand, her voice speaking firmly made it evident she was used to his routine of talking to himself even when another person was present. “Lower, but he is asleep now. Provided he doesn’t roll onto that open wound, he should be able to rest for the night.” It hadn’t been that long since she’d gotten used to the fact that the other priest assisting her with the care of the elderly too sick to stay at home with their families was a night elf.
She could remember how odd it was to see him there rather than assisting the men on the frontlines against the Horde and how strange it was to see him at a bedside trying to alleviate the pain of someone’s grandmother. It was also awkward trying to talk with him when he had yet to fully grasp the common tongue as well as the fact that he not only towered over her considerably, but his silver beard and golden gaze made him seem more like an elder than a contemporary.
“Excellent. I’ll see if I can’t do something about that wound tomorrow. To think his family neglected to move him every now and then to alleviate the pressure on his flesh…” Dhurandal spoke with a bit of a bothered tone as he referred to the bedridden gentleman under their care. Finally able to find the bag that contained the herb he was seeking, his movements had his royal blue robe shifting with each of his movements so that shadows danced upon his frame. At the table, he placed the liferoot into a mortar and looked over his shoulder to see Kayah reaching over to pick up the journal he had been writing in.
“Is this your journal? I haven’t seen it for quite some time. May I?” Tracing a finger against the cover of the text, she gave a beaming smile that anyone would find difficult to refuse. In fact, so sure was she that Dhurandal would not refuse her that she already picked it up and placed it on her lap though she made no move to open it just yet.
With a nod, Dhurandal turned away from her and grasped a pestle to begin to process the liferoot in the mortar. “It is one of them. You will find as you age that there are still many things for you to learn, no matter how many lifetimes you live…” Indeed, several of the books amongst that stack were other journals on other topics that Dhurandal had written his thoughts inside of. Each was attributed to a specific topic and some were older than the others as Kayah soon made evident.
“Well, I will say this. Your writing has vastly improved.” When Dhurandal first arrived, his use of the common tongue was limited and his writing was even worse. She had been unable to read his journal the last time she’d opened one of his journals because it was a haphazard mixture of Darnassian and Common with the latter entries difficult to interpret due to the shoddiness of his handwriting with their alphabet and his vocabulary. Diligence and dedication, along with the fact that almost everyone he had to speak to in the settlement was human had his ability to communicate in common growing by leaps and bounds. Kayah was duly impressed since his writing was easy to read aloud and actually was more fluid than many who were born with the language.
“Of special note is that there is an increased risk of developing dangerous disability due to seemingly simple immobility. Joints that are not frequently exercised have a habit of contracting and being forever restricted to a limited range of motion that is not only visually grotesque but can complicate other treatments and cause life threatening physical and mental changes. The caretaker of an elderly patient should take the time to…”
Kayah did not finish reading the text aloud. Instead, she simply scanned the rest of the page before lifting her head up with a slightly furrowed brow as she studied the back of the man who was grinding the liferoot he’d placed in the mortar. That chipper tone she had used to allow her to read those pages now shifted to that of a student seeking clarification on the content. “…Your journal is a guide on how to care for the elderly? Why would you wri-“
“Why would I write such a thing when you’ve never seen a wrinkle of age upon the face of a night elf?” Dhurandal set the pestle down upon the hard wooden surface, his build sinking as he slouched while bracing himself upon the tabletop with both of his hands. It was if an enormous weight had once again been placed upon his shoulders. With his back to her, Kayah could not see the fading of the golden glimmer in Dhurandal’s eyes as he contemplated for a silent moment before continuing, the young girl chastised by the sudden interruption of her thought by the older healer. For that reason did he soften his tone when next he spoke, “Do you know what I used to be before I became a priest, child?”
As she shook her head from side to side, Kayah remembered that the Dhurandal could not see her do such with his back to her. By the time she got over her unseen embarrassment and parted her lips to speak, he was speaking again to signify the question he had asked was not meant to be answered. “…I was a tailor of no great importance amongst my people, just a man content to work thread into clothing for the simplest of reasons. Until the coming of the last war, I had no need to weave fabric for any reason but appearance. It was a simple and good life.”
Unexpectedly, when Dhurandal turned to face her it was with a renewed gleam and a slight smile as new life flowed into his old soul. “I suppose I’m really going to sound my age when I start telling you tales, Kayah. A historian once told me of a story from a civilization older than even that of mine. I do not know if it was merely for entertainment or if they truly believed it was an explanation of life. The story tells of three goddesses who dictated the fate of those who lived by measuring with the thread of life. What was woven was a tapestry that spoke of that person’s time on Azeroth and when the thread was cut…their tale ended and they passed on.”
Once again, Kayah’s pale blue gaze narrowed as her face relayed that she was having difficulty connecting the tangent that Dhurandal had apparently gone on with the journal that had started the entire conversation. As if to steer him back towards that end, she closed the book that had resided on her lap and placed it back atop the stack of books she had initially gotten it from. Whether Dhurandal noticed or not, he continued with his tale regardless, though now he sought to sew the pieces together. “You can imagine how that story danced through my mind every time I stitched someone’s shirt for them, I’m sure. When I finally cut that last piece of thread and recalled that it once symbolized the death of someone living. It wasn’t until our World Tree was destroyed that everything really hit me…my race is no longer immortal. Our threads will eventually be cut whether our bodies are by blades.”
There was a deliberate pause in his speech. Dhurandal wanted Kayah to put the pieces together now. If he simply told her why he wrote what he did, then the neophyte healer would not learn as great a lesson as he could impart upon her. With great interest did he watch as she lifted finger up to tease against her bottom lip, obviously in thought and seemingly hesitant to speak in case what she said was wrong and potentially offensive to the night elf. “…When your people lost your World Tree, you lost your immortality? Then that would mean that you’d get o-…” Kayah caught herself, knowing full well that the human priests did not appreciate having the word ‘old’ thrown in their direction.
However, Dhurandal was not human. Her youthful slip of tongue was reinvigorating as he chuckled lightly and turned away to take hold of the pestle while grasping the mortar firmly in place with his opposite hand. “Older, Kayah, I would get older. By your standards, I am ancient.” Steady movements of his wrist aided the transformation of the liferoot into a paste. “Imagine, Kayah. In my race there lies an entire population aging simultaneously. Though we are long-lived, I am sure there are not many who remember what it was like to feel their body and their mind deteriorate faster than their will.”
“So that’s why you’ve studied medicine amongst humans?” Now that the cloud of ignorance had been lifted from her mind’s eye, Kayah grasped hold of his journal again and flipped it open. As she scanned page after page, it was indeed a compendium of knowledge when it came to care of the elderly. “To re-learn what it is like to age?” Bringing that journal over, she set it down by Dhurandal and stood by the tableside, trying to study the older and taller male as he continued with his task.
With a widening grin, Dhurandal raised his head from his handiwork to look at the young woman who had been learning to heal alongside him despite the massive discrepancy in life experience. “I suppose you could say that, yes. In all honesty, however, I do not believe that prior to our immortality our knowledge of medical care for our elders was quite as comprehensive as the knowledge the other races have compiled altogether with the passing of time. As I said, there is much to learn…even for those with a lengthy lifespan.”
“I see, I see. Is that what you’ve written in those other journals of yours?” Kayah gestured by tilting her head in the direction of that stack of worn texts.
“Those?” Turning his head to look in the direction of his journals, Dhurandal seemed to ponder something for a while before turning back to the table. Lifting an arm to point over at a corner where numerous pieces of cloth were stored, he decided it was best to focus on the work on the moment rather than continue this cultural education. “They are of other observations I have made, but we can speak of them another time. For now, would you kindly grab some of that linen for me?”
A single word answer was her reply to both his termination of one topic of conversation and his request that would begin the transition to the next. “Alright.” Spinning on her heel, Kayah moved over to the stack already asking the next question that Dhurandal would be compelled to answer. The thirst for knowledge that the human race displayed was truly invigorating to him. “What is it for?”
Thus began the treatise on a long and comprehensive theorem of a potential use of liferoot as Dhurandal and Kayah continued their work through the night. “The linen? I’m going to prepare some bandages. Liferoot’s curative properties have already been well tested by alchemists, but I was hoping that by applying a paste along with a bandage to areas of skin breakdown amongst our patients that the rate of healing would increase considerably over time without the increased demand on the energy stores of the body that a potion would often cause. That way…”
End.