The child curls her toes over the edge of the crevasse, smiling with delight as they sink into lush growth of spring grass. She gazes down into the deep ravine, noting the sharp cut-off where meadow ends and snowy cliff-side begins. She chuckles, pleased with the interplay of simple vibrant colors around her. The sky-blue of her toes as they wriggle in the richly emerald grass and, far below, the gleaming white of the snow. A warm breeze carries the scent of sun-warmed meadow to her and she smiles again.
“Jump, Little One.” The loving voice whispers behind her. “Step forward and let the Wind take you.”
She jumps.
She falls.
Plummeting rapidly, she feels the immediate change from balmy spring day to remorseless bitter cold. Even as the sun’s brilliance is blocked by the crevasse walls, she looks down to see some of the glittering powder far below shift, revealing green-gray icy teeth that await her under their blanket of snow.
Then, a gust of warm air buffets her. This air does not smell of fresh spring grass but of sandalwood and sun-scorched sand. It cocoons her in whirling wind and lifts her small frame up and up. She shrieks with excitement as she rises far above the lip of the crevasse and high over the green meadow. Then the wind diminishes and she slowly floats downwards, coming to rest gently on the grass.
The air continues to swirl. It takes on density and coalesces into the shape of a tall man, floating just above the meadow flowers. He looks down at the child next to him.
“Did you feel anything?” He asks eagerly. “Before I caught you, did the Wind come?”
“No, Father.” She is still gasping out her laughter.
Then, after a moment of quiet, she reluctantly blurts out:
“But I did not really try to call to it. It is too much fun when you swoop me up! I feel like I am flying!”
“What? You mean, like this?”
The form next to her dissolves in an instant and the child’s hair is blown into wild ringlets as a blue cloud surrounds her. She is picked up and twirled joyously through the air, once again howling in laughter.
“That tickles! It tickles!” She giggles helplessly.
Chortling too, her father sets down the child and takes on a solid form directly next to her. Holding her in his arms, he kisses her smooth blue cheek.
“Do not worry, Elodie. The Wind will come. You are but six years old, there is time. The Wind will come” The Djinn promises.
“And, when it does, will that also be when I grow my wings?” Elodie questions, squirming and stretching her shoulders as if testing for the imminent appearance of feathers.
Sadness flashes deep in her father’s eyes and the air around Elodie cools for a moment.
“When you learn to call the Wind to you, you will not need wings!” He says decidedly.
He bends down, this time kissing the top of her hair. Then looks down at her with some consternation.
“Oh dear. Your Mama will not like this.” He mutters.
“Not like what?” The voice is laughter tinged with mild suspicion.
Nearly soundlessly, the Elf has landed in the grassy field behind the father and child. She now folds her powerful wings and smooths down her robe, looking at her little family questioningly.
“Mama!” The child squeals rapturously and leaps, bounding into her mother’s embrace.
“Hello my Little Sparrow!” The Elf murmurs lovingly.
With easy Avariel grace, she quickly recovers the balance she lost when the little body barreled into her. She unfolds one wing, curling it protectively around the child that is clinging to her waist.
Elodie breathes in contentedly. Her mother’s wings smell like the honeyed milk she is given at bedtime. Like the wood lilies that grow in shaded dales. Like sun shining on freshly washed linens. Mostly, they smell like home. The child clings tighter.
Her mother, refusing to be distracted, repeats:
“What is it that I will not like?”
“Er, that. The hair.” The floating form of the man shrugs, just as the winged Elf strokes her daughter’s head affectionately. Or tries to. Her slender fingers move only a short distance before becoming firmly entangled in the wind-swept nest of curls on the child’s head.
“Oh, I do not mind that.” The Elf says sweetly.
Father and daughter raise surprised but hopeful faces to her.
“Of course not!” She continues with a happy smile. “Because darling Shamal, I think you forget, but it is your turn to brush her hair.”
The child looks to her father, who is grimacing. Her eyes, so dark blue that they are almost purple, narrow. Her lips pout out and several small silver sparks ignite in the wayward locks before fizzling out.
“My hair is fine! It does not need any brushing!” She calls out mutinously.
“Elodie…” Her father starts in a warning tone.
“Oh no, it appears that a storm is brewing.” Her mother whispers, smiling and gesturing to the tiny and short-lived light display on Elodie’s head.
“Elodie! Your hair is sparkling. And – yes, I believe that I just saw several of your curls fidget and float up on their own! Loriot, did you see that? Little One, did you feel anything else? Did you feel air moving around you?” Shamal asks excitedly.
Elodie shakes her head and takes a step back. Speaking rapidly, the Djinn and the Elf start a happy discussion of this new phenomena manifested by their daughter. Realizing that the threat of imminent hair grooming has been averted for the present, the child relaxes and watches her parents adoringly.
One of her favorite games is to have them all stretch out their arms, and then to arrange their hands in a pretty gradation of color. First the deep, midnight blue of her Papa. Then her own thin arm, the skin the gentle but rich blue of a summer sky at dawn. And then her Mama, with her palest blue, almost milky, shade of cloud-curtained dusk. Elodie likes to see how her color blends that of both of her parents.
She knows that neither her hair nor her eyes resemble her Mama’s or Papa’s. The Djinn has a restlessly shifting abundance of indigo locks. Against the deep blue of skin and hair, his golden eyes glint and flash with sly mischief. The Avariel’s hair is long and silky smooth, falling like calm water down her back. Its shade, subtly glowing twilight blue, highlights the deep gray eyes that are luminous with such intelligence and kindness.
Still, Elodie likes that her hair – unruly, never-cut waves of gleaming purest white – matches her Mama’s wings perfectly. She can tuck her head under those clean snowy feathers and feel like she is comfortably disappearing into a hidden nest. She does not have any wings of her own. Or Wind to swirl around her.
Her parents have settled comfortably onto the sun-warmed grass. They lean closely in against each other and their talk has moved to the news from the Temple of Aerdrie Faenya. Knowing that her Mama’s report of the prayerful research and weather observations of the day can take time, and content that she is not missing anything of interest, the child sets off to collect wildflowers.
The mountain-top plateau ends with a dizzying descent into icy ravines along its southern edge. This is where Elodie and her father tested her Air Genasi gifts earlier. The meadow slopes much more gently towards its western boundary, briefly dipping into a hollow formed by a rapidly moving stream. This stream runs through Elodie’s home city, on through the meadow, and then falls in lacy silvery spray into the depths surrounding the plateau. Along its path through the mountain meadow, the stream bed is a delight of ferns and early spring flowers. This is where Elodie turns, her short legs carrying her surprisingly quickly down the western slope of the field.
The child is small enough that following even the gentle downward slope to the singing stream means that she is quickly out of sight of her parents. She hears occasional peals of her Mama’s pearly laughter and the soothing rumble of her Papa’s deep voice as she walks. But the tempting melody of the water nearby soon draws her away from these comforting sounds. Still, this part of the mountain plateau is under the Aerie’s protection. The skies here are clear and safe.
Elodie reaches the edge of the stream and peers down into the shallow gulley. There are flowers here, many flowers. But…something is different. The sun is unexpectedly and blindingly bright; glittering in a myriad of reflections below. The child gasps in awed excitement. Ice! And snow!
She steps hesitantly down, feeling the suddenly frigid air around her and hearing a delicate shattering crackle as her bare feet crush the grass. There are little floes of milky ice floating in the babbling river. There are drifts of snow delicately softening the outlines of the stream’s banks. And the flowers…
Hundreds of blossoms cover the slopes of the gulley. Each is perfectly formed and perfectly still. Every stem, leaf, and petal is coated in ice. The sun sparks off the crystalline surfaces in jewel flashes of light and color. The wind rustles through the gulley and a musical tinkling follows as the flowers clink together. The air smells of winter.
Elodie stands completely still, enchanted. She is unaware that her snowy locks are slowly unwinding from their tangled knots, separating into floating strands, and starting to dance in gentle motion around her little head. Overwhelmed by the loveliness of the sights and scents close by, she now feels, with new delight, as the air immediately around her starts moving. The child is surrounded by a current of cool fresh breeze. It swirls together the sun’s warmth from the high meadow with the icy breath of the freezing stream at her feet. It effortlessly mixes the smells of fresh grass and mountain wildflowers with the chill clean scent of snow. Elodie’s eyes widen. The Wind has come!
She is not sure how long she would have stayed there, gazing at the strange beauty before her and feeling the new movement of air all about her. But her reverie is interrupted.
“Elodie! Elodie!” Loriot’s voice rings out like a bell over the meadow. “Where are you?”
“I am here! Mama! Papa! Come and see!” She raises her voice in reply.
“Elodie, we told you that you need to stay in sight of us when you walk the meadow…”
Her father gets this far in his rebuke when he sees the child standing in the stream bed. Her Mama only gasps.
Elodie’s happy expression fades, her lower lip trembling as she sees the look that now passes over her Mama’s face. First the Elf’s, and then, in rapid faithful echo, the child’s, eyes fill with tears.
Loriot reaches for an amulet on her neck and whispers urgently into the charm. Within moments the beating of strong wings fills the air around them. Winged Elves descend into the meadow, surrounding the family. Confused, Elodie sees the same shocked, sickened look spread through the questioning faces around her. The other Elves do not weep, however. And, in addition to surprise and distress, they also look to Elodie and her father with suspicion. And anger.
“What is happening, Papa?” The child whimpers.
The Djinn leans in and envelops his daughter in a warm swirl of wind, holding her close to him.
“I am not sure, Little One.” He murmurs. “But you… look at your hair! And your air is moving!”
Questions flutter around them.
“What is this?”
“What has happened here?”
“What have you done?”
This last demand is made by a tall fair Avariel. He is holding tightly onto the hand of a fledgling. The boy is also pale, with light golden hair. The father and son clearly heard Elodie’s mother’s distress call while they too were enjoying the spring warmth in the meadows. The boy still holds a fading bunch of wild flowers in one hand.
“Altiir!” Elodie cries out happily, her distress forgotten.
The older fledgling stares down at Elodie and his scowl echoes that of his father.
Loriot frowns too, and steps toward Elodie and Shamal. She places one hand on her child’s thin shoulder and curves her wing protectively around her family.
“You are absurd! She is but a child. What could she possibly have done to cause something like this?” She throws the angry question back at the tall Avariel.
Still, the anxious whispers continue. Elodie gazes at the beautiful and well-known faces around her. They are distorted by fear and doubt. She is still confused but, reassured by the embrace of her parents and the presence of a fledgling playmate, Elodie stoops down and breaks the stem of one of the beautiful ice encrusted flowers.
“Here,” Elodie holds out the blossom to Altiir. “Your flowers are wind-faded from your flight. Take this pretty one.”
The Avariel child’s scowl deepens. Elodie looks down at her hand and inhales sharply. The warmth of her palm has rapidly melted the pellucid ice shell around the flower. Leaving a limp, frost-deadened stalk with petals that droop and leave damp smudges on her clutching fingers.
“It is ruined.” Altiir says haughtily.
He pushes Elodie’s offering away and follows that up with a short sharp shove at the Genasi child’s shoulders. Elodie falls, stumbling back into her mother’s arms. Her confusion, sense of betrayal, and injured dignity find their only possible release: in noisy tears.
“I think that parents should take their young ones back to the Aerie now. Our fledglings have had enough for today.” A kind voice rises over the worried murmurs.
Elodie’s sobs quiet as the child looks up curiously at the newest arrival. An Elder of the Aerie, of Aerdrie Faenya herself! The anointed Heron of her Mama’s Temple! Her dark gray wings are magnificently strong and the Avariel is garbed in the formal ivory robes of her order. Elodie would be abashed but, imposing as the Heron is, her face is lit with a patient smile. And her wise eyes shimmer with gentle merriment as she regards the tear-stained Elodie and the pouting Altiir.
“As for the rest of you, you may stay or leave as you wish.” The Elder now lifts her face and voice to the assembled Avariel. “It is clear that a breach has occurred. It is beyond anything that a fledgling could create. Or that a loyal friend, like Djinn Shamal, would ever attempt. Is this not so?
“Now it is time to discover what has happened.” The Elder continues with calm authority. “The acolytes of the Lady will be here for some time, finding out what we may. The rest of you may join us if you wish to help. Or may go back to your homes and await further news there.
“Whatever has happened, it is time to remain peaceful and united. We must work together to face this new challenge. The Cold is Encroaching”
The Elder’s last words spark renewed murmuring and distressed cries among the gathered Avariel. But now all attention is focused on the icy stream bed and no one is looking at Elodie or her father.
“I will take our little Storm Cloud home.” Her father leans over, briefly but fervently embracing Loriot.
She holds him tightly in return, and then leans down to kiss her daughter’s upturned face.
“Goodbye my Angry Sparrow. Behave yourself! I will stay here and assist Heron Eolia. I may be late home this evening.” Loriot replies.
Shamal sweeps the child up in a warm and perfumed whirlwind, carrying the little Air Genasi back to the Avariel city. The crisp wintry cold and the sweet scent of wildflowers, mixing together in the air around the child, follow Elodie off the mountain.
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I hope you enjoyed this preamble to Elodie’s adventures. Head over to the images section to check out some of the art that I found inspiring for the Aerie, little Elodie, Elodie’s parents, and the Winged Elves (coming soon).
I have several songs that play along in my mind for this chapter:
For the Aerie of the Snow Eagles and the Avariel:
Lament of the Highborne, Russell Browler
Build a Wall from Bastion
We all lift together, Freya Catherine, Jack Victor
For Elodie:
Carol of the Bells, Lindsey Stirling
To nie Ptak, Kayah & Bregovic
For Shamal and Loriot:
Desert Rose, Sting
Ajde Jano, Kayah and the Transoriental Orchestra
Please also visit my playlist on Spotify. I will be populating this with all of our campaign tunes as we adventure onwards:
The songs by Kayah are translated below:
To nie jest Ptak
She is not a bird
She bustles about in her colorful dress
Now and then she turns her head
Sending a smile
You could swear that
Yesterday you saw her wings
When she hid them under her dress
But she…
She is not a bird. Do you not see?
She is not a bird
Not a bird
She is not a bird. Do you not see?
“I love you” says each of her smallest motions
But you are looking for feathers amount the colorful frills
Because you are sure
That yesterday you saw the shadow of wings
That is why you built a cage
But she…
She is not a bird. Do you not see?
She is not a bird
Not a bird
She is not a bird. Do you not see?
That day when darkness steals your heart
She will be in the window laughing but through tears
She will release the blackness of her hair
And transformed into a raven she will leap
So that in a moment she can return through the same window
But she…
She will be a bird from paradise because that is what you wanted
A bird from paradise
A bird from paradise
A bird from paradise because that is what you wanted…
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Ajde Jano (Traditional Serbian folk song/wedding song)
Come on Jana
Come on Jana, let us dance the kolo
Come on Jana, come on Darling, let us dance the kolo
Come on Jana, let us sell the horse
Come on Jana, come on Darling, let us sell the horse
Sell it so that we can keep on dancing
Sell it so that, Jana Darling, we can keep on dancing
Come on Jana, let us sell the land
Come on Jana, come on Darling
Let us sell the property
Sell it so that we can keep on dancing
Sell it so that, Jana Darling, we can keep on dancing…
Tears of the Seldarine 
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