Darkthorn’s Blog

The elven meetinghouse was a complexity of interwoven tree roots of varying shades. As some trees had died, the elves had just maintained it by planting new trees around, not bothering to remove and destroy the old ones. The building was surprisingly low-roofed, considering the average height of its usual occupants. Elves were beginning to lie out on the floor, stretched cleverly out on the lower roots to allow for optimum space. Blackmain took his place next to Ishton, wondering why the meeting was so important. He would have asked his friend, but it would have been impossible for him to have a private word, not with all the elves packed in so closely.

Collectively, they were beginning to adopt listening poses and far away gazes, as each hooked into the main memory of the room. That was the beauty of having such a room as this, it was relatively easy to network, there was no need to re-create it every time you wanted to talk. The room remembered everything. If it was asked, as it was occasionally, it could name those who had used it, and indeed, this one could name who was nearby at the time, who hadn’t attended. It had been in existence for a very long time, the lives of these elves had shaped it from the very beginning. The meeting house was the central meeting point of the clan, and it was a point of pride to have the best in the area.