SUMMARY: After participating in the Estellen Calen, Erakirak's relationship with his newly met griffon companion has improved by leaps and bounds. The pair is practicing synchronized gliding when they are joined by Ga'Elian and Erithamiel. The griffons get along surprisingly well.
Sound travels far in the Redridge Mountains, echoing from the stone all around. Right now, the loudest sound by far are the mingled and enthusiastic cries of Rak and his silver-winged griffon as they glide down from the top of Fate's Spire together. Rak is riding the griffon, all four wings deployed, and when they turn to catch an updraft they do so mostly in synchrony. To judge from their enthusiasm, this is a new experience for both of them.
The zest for life one feels is one of the most amazing aspects of soaring the air currents. Somewhere in amongst the forests way below, a second springtime awakens the fertility of flora and fauna alike. Borne to heights of both altitude and ecstasy upon such visceral thrills, Silverwing isn't the only griffon frolicking in the drafts, Silverbeak also bears his companion upon the currents of the wind. Sighting the female, the male calls out in a shriek of Springtime energy.
Erakirak laughs delightedly at the unexpected but not unfamiliar cry, and the pair angle their way towards the source of the cry.
Anyone who has observed Rak with Silverwing previously -- even as recently as yesterday, before the Sylvanori ritual -- will observe a marked difference in how they work together... the griffon is significantly less shy and reticent than she has been, and they seem to anticipate each other's movements.
As they approach Erithamiel and Ga'Elian, Rak dismounts and continues to glide under his own power, while the griffon approaches more closely with a series of enthusiastic caws and yowls.
Ga'Elian gives Erithamiel free rein to frolic as he pleases, which he proceeds to do, but unlike Erakirak, Ga'Elian wouldn't be wise to dismount just now. He may have a ring to slow his fall, but fall he would. So, he rides the airborne bucking bronc, resigned to enjoy it for what it's worth. He does blow his horn to greet his fellow ranger, though.
Erakirakis falling as well, of course -- he has not yet come into his full growth as an Egalrin, and while his wings are enough to keep him agile and safe in the air, and turn his fall into a slow glide, they cannot altogether defy gravity.
He returns the greeting and glides in closer so they can talk, amused by the older ranger's difficult ride. "Well met! What brings you to the Redridge?"
Ga'Elian responds, "We are come to see the lands below from a bird's-eye perspective, and to revel in the freedom of the skies." At this, he seems to have a realization and says, "You both are merely gliding, is that so?" <auran>
GAME: Ga'Elian has prepared glide in a reserved spell slot.
Erakirak bristles a little at the 'merely', but nods. "We are. I come to the Spire to practice every day, when I can," he explains, pointing to the highest point in the Mountains from which he's gradually been descending, "and Silvie agreed to some riding practice this morning as well."
He seems so proud of the latter he might literally explode at any moment.
GAME: Ga'Elian casts Glide. Caster Level: 19 DC: 14
Ga'Elian nods and smiles. He casts a spell, then allows the beast under him to move away as he catches the current himself, by magic alone. He says, "How liberating! Of course, I can only maintain this for a brief while ? unlike you."
Erakirak seems concerned for a moment, and regards the elf carefully as though trying to gauge his ability to catch him, should the spell fail. Then he decides not to worry about it... no doubt Ga'Elian knows what he's doing. "Yes," he agrees, genuinely if perhaps undiplomatically, "it's best to rely on one's own wings. Still, it's impressive for a Walker to function in the air at all," he adds hastily.
Casting around for a way to pull his talons out of his beak he gestures in the direction of the gamboling griffons. "They seem to be getting along."
Ga'Elian glances as the griffons, too. He says, "Famously." Then adds, singing, "They say there's something in the air...."
Erakirak laughs. "Well, after that ritual, I don't doubt it!" he agrees enthusiastically. "Is it always like that? The -- what did you call it? Estellen something?"
Ga'Elian smiles and says, "Estellen Calen. It's actually a Mynsandraal phrase, kinda hard to translate directly." Looking over at the griffona again he can't resist adding in a joking tone, "What do you get when anpait of wild things like that play together? More wild things." He laughs.
"Estellen Calen, right. Mynsandraal," he echoes... "that's, like, an ancient sildanyar language, right?" He feels a little sheepish about having to ask what most everyone probably knows, but his education didn't include much about the sildanyar. Or about languages, for that matter.
He laughs at the joke, adding "Well, it's not really the season for it, but--" he blinks, startled, as it dawns on him that the "second spring" the druids were talking about might not affect just the plants. "Oh," he adds, then "Well, she could do a lot worse, I suppose," he concludes with a chuckle.
Ga'Elian whistle looking falsely innocent. Then he says, "Yes. It's the language my ancestors spoke ages ago. Even our oldest elders can't pinpoint just when the language change enough to be considered different. I'd guess it happened gradually of millenia."
Erakirak nods. "The Lorekeepers teach that Auran is the language of the sky... not just the Egalrin, but of djinn and the like. They say it's the language spoken on the Plane of Air. I don't know if that's true, though."
Ga'Elian nods. "Yes, I gather as much myself. Still, I bet a djinn has a different accent." As the elf glides along, his Ioun Stone seem quite oblivious to the altitude and airspeed, but hia cloak and loincloth do flap and flutter as the he moves gracefully through the air.
Erakirak clacks his beak in agreement. "I guess so. I've never talked to a djinn. Actually," he continues curiously, "you're the first person I've ever met who wasn't of the People who speaks the Tongue... how did you learn it?"
Ga'Elian thinks for a moment. Says, "I don't know exactly. I guess hearing enough of it from the egalrin in my home forest, it just gradually staryed to make sense. You do realize I spent over 115 years there before venturing away from home, right?"
Erakirak tilts his head to one side. "I hadn't, actually. How long do Sylvanori live?"
Ga'Elian says, "Oh, quite a while. I think the Chief Elder of my tribe is pushing 825 years old or so? I'm not exactly sure."
Ga'Elian asks, "What about your race? How old do your people live to be?"
Erakirak says, "Well... the oldest Egalrin I know is Kanitte, I think... she's the mother of one of the Council Elders... and she's... hrm." He thinks a bit, catching an updraft as he does. "Four centuries? Maybe five. But she's got plenty of time left. I don't actually know how long we live, naturally," he admits. He seems ashamed by the admission."
Ga'Elian would shrug it off, but how could you tell? He sings instead, in Auran, the lyrics describing in detail of far greater specificity, but still in poetic language, the subtle nuances of air currents.
GAME: Ga'Elian rolls Perform/Sing: (19)+20: 39
Erakirak listens admiringly. There are some excellent singers in the Aerie, but the elven ranger puts them to shame.