She sat slumped in the chair. Lazily half laying in it. Dressed in her armour. Her expression was that of boredom. The Elf sighed deeply. Her idea with the home was groups of guests. That had never happened. She only ever had two guests. Her eyes looked over the combined kitchen and living room. It was a nice place, she liked it, but it was depressive and empty. No one ever came to visit spontaneously, well! Beyond thieves of course.
It was always “work” related when someone visited. It was lonely, depressive. She might be a lone wolf but even the wolf need companions and friends to meet at times. She tossed her coin pouch on the table with another sigh. The coffers were getting dangerously empty. But she never told people this. She kept being generous. Her ideas to help and unify non-Myon Elves looked to be nothing but a whimper in the dark. Nothing! No one!
Even when she tried to help people accused her or looked upon her like a mad woman. She probably was but there were worse people. She is dangerous some say. Dangerous? Have they seen her fight? She was getting old or something, cause good at fighting she was not. It was harsh words either way.
Glancing over the shelves. Filled with books she had gathered or gotten from others, bought, or even perhaps stolen from shelves. Behind her and to the left laid a pickaxe and some dust and dirt from Malyss roots she had harvested. She had stayed out there for days! Just hacking away at the roots when she found them.
The Elf was depressed, sad and hurt. She was lonely. She was a failure. Everything she touched withered and died. It probably was all her own fault, but she felt as if she did not always understand social ques. Along with people never understanding her. But it is easy to blame others.
Find new friends. Easier said than done. The Elf wanted a family, wanted those close-knit friends, a band of brothers as they say. The partnership and companions of the saga! The tales. That one person or group of people you know will always be there! Side by side, fighting the battles of life, in all forms. The family was gone, the friends was there, she thinks. But non became that companion of the protagonist in the sagas. She would love to be someone’s confidant. The one they listen to or tell everything. That -one- person.
She sighed once more, head leaning back in the chair, she would stare on the roof while twiddling her thumbs. Her mind contemplating her situation. She had squandered so much and then the circle spun out of control. The accusations, the cussing, the aggression.
Better not help, better avoid. Better not be around. Move, stay out of things.
What hurt the most to the Elf was those lost. Those gone. There are always new people, there is always someone else. Yes, there was but! The large dilemma. Every person is unique. There is only that one person who took her in and gave her a job when her own blood fell to nothing, scuttling away to hide in the darkness and shadows of the subterranean dump known as Andunor. Others giving her hope and a helping hand. All of them where unique and unlike any other. People sell themselves to short when they do not understand they are beyond anyone else, and anyone else is beyond them. No one is the same. But not everyone is worth awhile. But everyone is unique indeed. Even herself, but then! She pondered? Was she not even the main actor in her own play.
With a deep sigh she pushed herself out of the chair, putting some water into a cauldron, along with some herbs. Teatime. She wandered over to the window in her combined study and workshop. Gazing out at the night streets of Guldorand. Paranoid thoughts came. Could someone be out there, looking for her? Seeking to hurt her or steal something? It was odd times indeed. Ever since landing on these gods forsaken island.
There was a thought about leaving the island and not return. But not yet she thought. But she remembered then, the letter she had gotten. Her uncle! Her fathers brother. The so very old and clever man was on his death bed. She would have to travel home to Evermeet to say farewell. Not yet, but soon enough. The medicus and cleric had given the old man less than a year to live.
She will miss him, just like she would miss all those gone and never seen again. So many had wandered the streets. So many she met as aide, she spoke to and smiled towards. Guldorand had a lot of good people. Some just up and disappeared. The Steward, the sailing painter, the Dwarven carpenter, The supposedly sharran guardswoman with a nihilistic view on everything, the bardic decorator with her parrot, and many, many, more.
Those where to some degree worse than death. There was no farewell, there was just a void. The unknown, unsure thoughts of what happened. Guesswork and hope they will one day just shop up. Others was around but not about as often or even seeing her in poor regards. Those all hurt more. The broken friendships, the hurt relations, and the lost souls that she never thought would be gone. That was taken for granted. Now she regrets it all. She should have done more. She should have arranged more meetings and social events with these people. But now? Most where gone. Never to be seen again as it seemed.
A deep sigh erupted once more as she went through her home. So many things here was memories, memories of people. Gitfs, leftovers and things she had found or associate with these people. She had a bad feeling about travelling. What if the lease ran out to her home and someone, some official or property owner put it up for sale? Losing all those memories. Her thoughts were a shambled mess of “What ifs” and “I hopes”.
She went back down to the kitchen. Pouring herself a cup of tea, standing by the window once more, overlooking the street outside as a light rain poured down. Some nightly wanderers, perhaps some that been to a pub strolled past. She took another sip of the mintleaf tea and pondered; will someone remember me? And would it be for something good or hilarious? Or something grimmer? She was unsure.
Who would remember her? Was it relevant in the end? The relevant question to her was rather if she would create bonds strong enough to outlive this cursed island. Time would tell her eventually, would it not?