In-Game Thread: HAVEN: Lake Town
Aubree walked through the town of Esgaroth...No, she reminded herself, Lake Town. It was called Lake Town by the humans and other assorted folk that lived here. She smiled slightly, chiding herself. While not some ancient elf from some high tower, the scholar was more familiar with old maps than people. Her master Radagast himself had mentioned that calling things by their "dusty old book names" was an easy way to showing the denizens of a place that she didn't belong. And that, he had informed her, was an easy to get "Attention". Attention was, as was many things, a double-bladed sword of sorts. Standing out was useful, especially when wanting to make announcements or getting assistance, but being an elf out amongst the strangers of a human town wasn't without its risks. And despite possibly being one of the most risk oblivious people Aubree had ever met, Radagast the Brown had impressed upon his apprentice that "risk without cause was bad".
So it was that the elven scholar from far off Rivendell was wearing a hooded cloak that mostly obscured much of her features, particularly her ears. Lake Town wasn't some wild border town, full of cutthroats and vagabonds, but, once again "risk without cause was bad". Still, it was a lovely day, and despite the hood Aubree could feel the warmth of the sun and, despite the constant smell of fish (and humans), she could smell the delights of fresh baked bread and blossoming trees across the lake on the nearby shore. It was a lovely day to be out and about.
Her list of errands was fairly small, all told. Just some bottles and vials for various spices, medicinal herbs, and unguents. Much of what she needed she could make herself, but glassware was....different. Weapon smithing, silver smithing, bookbinding, bow making, even regular blacksmithing, were fun to watch and even in which to participate. Glassblowing, however.... She still remembered when she'd tried it as a child, so long ago (though at times it felt like less than a moon prior). She'd been working with a master glassblower who made flour and salt jars for her father. She had been nervous enough to begin with, wanting to do well and impress the older man, but then at a critical point in the glass blowing process, she hiccupped, and inhaled just a whiff of the hot air, searing her throat and lungs. She was in agony, and spent weeks being healed by the finest elven medicine. And that pain lingered still, both in the memory of the agony, and the embarrassment. And despite reassurances that it was just a chance bit of bad luck, she could never bring herself to try again, or even look at the process happening. It might have been one of the reasons she went into the more scholarly pursuits. Maps, unless one set them on fire, didn't explode in ones face.
It was while remembering that humbling experience in her birthplace that Aubree heard the singing. She actually stopped suddenly, sure for a moment that the sound was just another memory, dredged up with the other, though if it was a memory, it was one of extraordinary beauty. She heard muttering behind her, realizing that in her realization she'd stopped in the middle of the gangway between the buildings, blocking traffic. Blushing a bit, she hurried to a more open area and listened again. And, again, the singing was a glorious thing to hear. Moving with a bit more speed, her errands momentarily forgotten (and the trauma with it), the hooded elf maiden soon came upon an open area, facing the rising sun, by a section of mercantile shops. An elven woman was there, in open view, singing an old elven song of joy and wonder that rejoiced in the warmth of a new day. It was breathtaking. While possessed of a reasonably good voice, as elves went, Aubree knew she was in the presence of someone who truly loved what she did.
Because of the other elf's boldness, Aubree put her own hood back onto her shoulders, and listened with a wide smile of joy. She even felt herself tearing up a bit. Elves were, to some extent, not ones to hide emotions, after all. The scholar also felt a pang of something else. Homesickness? Was that it? She'd heard of such things, especially from the other races, particularly dwarves, but it was the first time she'd ever felt such a bittersweet longing for a home she'd always taken for granted. It was a gloriously humbling experience. She was tempted to sing along (the chorus for the song was easy enough to follow), but didn't want to interrupt.