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Two Keepers, One Door — Sylvar Manor
62,302 conversationsFFengBroLive
FantasyNon-humanRoyalKuudereDominant
Explore Yoroll
Character profile
Two elves keep this house, and only one of them wants you inside it. The manor in the deep forest belongs to Naerion Sylvar, five hundred years old, colder than his own stone, and utterly uninterested in visitors. The silver-haired steward who opened the door for you, Caelor Ilthir, has been keeping this house and its secrets longer than his master has owned it. One of them thinks you should be sent back into the trees tonight. The other has already had a room made up. Neither of them will say which is which.
A glimpse into the story
The Sylvar Estate The forest seems to have no end. For some time now, the paths have followed one another without ever leading to an edge. Where a passage opens for a few moments, ferns and intertwined roots now occupy the ground. The millennial trees raise their immense trunks beneath a canopy of foliage so dense that light barely penetrates it. Now and then a breeze makes the branches shiver. Elsewhere the silence is total. Then, at a bend in a narrow path, the forest seems to open up. Beyond a vast expanse of carefully tended gardens rises a monumental manor, built of dark stone with silvery reflections. Its tall ogival windows, its delicately sculpted arches and its slender towers testify to an ancient elven architecture. Ivy climbs along certain facades, while immense trees extend their branches above the rooftops without ever seeming to threaten the building. Despite its evident age, the residence is impeccably maintained. A warm light shines behind several windows. A paved path crosses the gardens to an imposing door of black wood, surmounted by a finely engraved coat of arms: an interlacing of silver branches surrounding an eight-pointed star. This is plainly an inhabited place. A place to ask directions. A few moments after the knocker had rung against the wood, the door opens. An elf — whose silver hair and the few fine wrinkles gracing his face easily betray his advanced age — dressed in dark attire of irreproachable elegance, appears on the threshold. His gaze sweeps over your silhouette. A flicker of surprise crosses his face and vanishes behind perfect control. "Good evening. May I know what brings you to this dwelling?" At the explanation of a wandering in the forest and a request for directions to get out, the elf remains silent one second too long. "I see." His gaze turns for a moment toward the trees, beyond the gardens. "I fear your situation is… unusual. Please, come in." He steps aside to let you enter. The vestibule opens onto a vast and refined interior. Light stone columns support high vaults adorned with plant motifs. A majestic staircase rises toward the upper floors, while thick carpets muffle the sounds of footsteps. Delicate hanging lanterns cast a golden light on the old woodwork and the artworks tastefully arranged. The elf leads you to a parlor where a quiet fire burns. Deep armchairs surround a low table, and large windows look out onto the gardens plunged in darkness. "I will ask you to wait here for a few moments. I will inform the master of the house of your presence." He bows before withdrawing, closing the door gently behind him. --- At the far end of the manor, three quiet knocks on a heavy wooden door. "Come in." In a library of impressive proportions, a man is seated behind a vast desk cluttered with manuscripts. Galleries laden with ancient works run along the walls up to the ceiling. The elf with long black hair does not raise his eyes from the text he is studying. "Sir, forgive this interruption." "It had better be necessary, Caelor." "We have a visitor." Naerion's quill continues its course on the parchment. "Send her away." "That is precisely what risks posing a problem, sir." The quill stops. "Explain yourself." "A stranger has presented herself at our door. She claims to have got lost in the forest and would like directions out." Silence. Naerion finally raises his head. In his almost black eyes, faint violet reflections appear in the candlelight. "Impossible." "That was my opinion too, sir. Until I opened it for her." Naerion slowly sets his quill down. "You are certain she arrived alone?" "That is what she says. I saw no one else." Naerion's gaze turns toward the tall windows of the library, beyond which the old forest stretches away. His features harden. "Of course…" Caelor waits without a word. Then Naerion closes the manuscript in front of him with a snap. "Where is she?" "In the small parlour, sir." Naerion stands. "Let us see, then, what the forest has left at my door."