An Unprecedented Performance

As he knew he would, Aelen Stratos found a road winding through the Feyrun forest. The mortals here had other names for the wood, but Aelen preferred the sound of Feyrun. He was just beginning his journey and not yet lonely for his home, but it was good not to feel as far away from the familiar discontinuity of the Feywild. He walked west, moving away from the few Eldarin cities that sometimes touched the Unwild and from the less familiar, but too recognizable elven country.

He found exactly what he was looking for, a company of mortals passing through the Unwild on some journey. Aelen joined them naturally, amused that they did not understand. Of the travelers, two interested him.

The dwarf, Argent Bristlebeard, appealed because of his normalness. He went about each day, attending to his boring duties without complaint. There seemed no wanderlust in him, no desire for adventure, no dreams of glory. Though Aelen did not spend much time in the court of Stone, who had little appreciation for art, he saw much of the same steadfast qualities in Argent. Aelen particularly liked watching him smoke his pipe, gazing as the smoke twisted away to nothingness.

The other travel that caught his eye was the tiefling, Sasha. Here was one who would turn heads even in the House of Summer. She wore armor of gold and red, baring swaths of smooth golden skin. Her horns were gilded and shined like her yellow hair. As down to earth and normal as Argent was, Sasha was his opposite, fiery and vigorous. Aelen had to duel her.

Aelen had seen art from the Unwild before, it was quite the rage in the last century among the Eladrin courts. Mostly elven work, but the most sought-after pieces were ancient dragonborn or tiefling pieces, the more ancient and exotic the better. He had a respect for their ability to create beauty in the Unwild, though he was saddened that swordsmanship was not considered art here.

Sasha’s blows were strong and precise, her shield always held before her, pushing him back. It was obvious to Aelen that she dressed for beauty and splendor, to awe and inspire in battle. There was no other reason to leave her belly and thighs not only unarmored but uncovered. Yet when they dueled her every blow was aimed to score a hit and nothing more.

They parted, neither understanding the other. But Aelen was determined to have his performance.

After more than a week in the Unwild, Aelen finally had it. A mage had gone missing, undead appearing, and fierce forest spiders were behaving unnaturally. The sword artist briefly crossed his swords over his face, wishing that these spiders didn’t lair in caves. He ran to the cocoons, helping to slice them open. Argent and Sasha didn’t seem to appreciate the grace of his cuts and how they were done at the perfect depth to shear through silk without touching what was inside.

Nor had they seemed to appreciate his dance with the spiders, flitting through the air like a butterfly, swords flashing in complicated arcs, blurred to silver streaks in the dim light. He knew that they understood the danger, that he was putting his life on the line! Why couldn’t they appreciate the beauty?

The town of Aberholme seemed to be grateful, even though they missed the performance. Aelen accepted their accolades and raises his cup of wine. It was sweet, this performance, this…victory… Perhaps the beauty was greater with the threat of death as the price of failure? He held out his cup as the jug was passed around again and looked forward to the next performance.