mabon (leironuoth)
"The Champion of the Lion is among us, brothers."
They roared with drunken laughter. What weight such a title held was almost forgotten between heavy drinks out of wooden cups, bowls, or whatever was passed around. Bébhinn thought she saw a shoe, or two. She didn't think it was funny in the least bit, what they were laughing about. The young champion had a mother who was a war cat on the plains, and had a father whom had been a force beyond which words could comprehend. Though she'd never met either of them formally, it was hard to escape the rumors, myth, and legends they left behind. The mother more so than the father because the mother, Etain, was a Sylvan elf. Some said she ran like the wind blows. Others said she hit with the force of a ogre behind her.
Was she here to test a legend or make a fool of herself?
Bébhinn didn't know any of them. She was here because it was festival. Specifically the festival celebrating harvest and the dying sun. Soon it would be cold, as cold as it could be here in Astarii, and Bébhinn would be moving again to the plains with her tribesmen. There they would establish trade again, there they would fight beasts to keep their cattle. Not that the forests and jungles were any better.. then of course it was fighting other tribes. Bébhinn didn't worry about that. She was a well accomplished warrior. The height of her notoriety was killing ten Orc in a single sweep of her spear. Of course, that was heavily exaggerated. It'd only been five of them, the other five died when she took out her tomahawk and savagely broke their skulls open until she blood painted her fingers red. The heads were still drying somewhere in the sun now.
Normally she preferred to stay away from everyone. She knew what they said about her. Crazy. Mad. Twisted. Bébhinn was none of those things and all of those things to the right people. Leironuoth was here for some reason. To sleep with the pretty women? To take another under his wing and sing the praises of a Goddess who was as temperamental as she was lovely? This was as close as she would be able to go alone. Beside the fire, across the roaring flames he was standing. She wasn't five feet from him but he was engaged in some conversation. He didn't look nearly as much like a High Elf as she thought he would.
He was also shorter than she expected.
But he had an unmistakable aura. Would they warn him? The bones of family wrapped in her hair, the madness clinging to her fingertips whenever she smelled blood. A beast hidden in beauty. They were flattering. She felt young standing there and staring. But what did one do when they were in the presence of someone so close to the Goddess which had given them life? How did people talk to him? They seemed so easy beside him, Bébhinn would never feel like that. The sense of mystery, the allure of a challenge. To jump across the fire and show how fit she was? Challenge him to a footrace? Maybe the first to kill a boar?
Did she really want to try and prove her strength matched his. Or did she simply want a conversation with the someone who no one could understand. No one understood her anymore. No one understood him. She couldn't pretend that she did. She was no expert on religions or temples. Not a knight of a high house. A lord. She was simply a warrior from a tribe. A good tribe. A good warrior. But simple, simplistic. Misunderstood. Her mother was mad, that was a fact. But those Older Elves, those younger elves, those that knew so little of her thought the apple did not fall far from the tree.
If their brother had been murdered. Their father. Their mother driven mad.
She was not seeking to be understood. She sought a peace of mind that she only found in battle. Kill or be killed. Make dinner or be dinner. Animals were better companions. She was staring with wide eyes.
"There are many finer drinks for you to try, come with us and we'll show you!" They laughed again. They weren't very funny.