They watched him travel the shaded mountain path through the heart of their village with a myriad of expressions written upon their elvish faces. Some seemed curious, others wary, while still more were impassive, but mostly he saw excitement. They were all dressed alike, if in fact they could be said to be dressed at all. They were mostly naked, with only a thin strip of loincloth draped between their thighs, and their bare breasts and bellies exposed to the sun's warmth. The villagers stood in a crowd fronting their modest thatched roof huts; mothers and their daughters, young women, youngling girls, and crones with silvery hair and wizened, weathered faces.
Drinnen stole quick glances as he led his pack mule along the village thoroughfare, its grade growing ever steeper as he neared the Queen's Hill. His destination was the formidable fortress of felled trees and set stone that loomed at its crest. He looked over his shoulder to see the thread of his path vanish as the villagers fell in procession behind him. His hefty walking pack was a great weight upon his shoulders, and his legs and back were weary from many days of foot travel, but onward he trod. Ranger, his trusty mule, ever followed him, and was packed high with countless trading wares, a hunting bow, and several mismatched pots and pans.
Stout-looking elf maidens holding long, sharpened spears flanked either side of the fortress's high gate. They wore a sort of light armor made from lacquered wood and iron, which covered their torsos and upper legs, and half-helms wrought from some glinting metal. They made no move to impede his progress, and gave him little more than a cool appraisal as he passed by.
Once through the gates, Drinnen led the villagers towards the Queen's royal pavilion. More guards were posted outside her door, and yet their captain, a broad, stout-looking elf-woman, stood aside as he neared, and motioned for him to enter. Drinnen obeyed with a curt nod, and, after offering Ranger a carrot, stepped from the bright glare of midday sun into the shaded darkness within.
The Elf Queen sat upon a modest throne of carved and lacquered wood. Drinnen thought her pavilion rather plain for a queen, though in truth the elf tribes of the deep wood were long rumored to care little for wealth or elegance.
"Hail, traveler," the queen spoke as she sat motionless and confident upon her throne. She wore a silvery strip of metal upon her head, and her long, chestnut hair flowed freely over her pointed ears to drape at her shoulders. She was beautiful and elegant to behold, and seemed younger than he had expected. She was garbed only slightly more ornately than her subjects, and wore a robe of the same silvery sheen as her crown. The robe was left open at her front which left her plump, round breasts exposed, as seemed customary to this race of elves. A wrought silvery stud impaled each of her round, pink nipples, and glinted softly in the torchlight.
"Your Highness," Drinnen replied, with a stiff, polite bow of his head. He felt a little unkempt to be in the presence of royalty, having been traveling for many days. His cotton tunic and trousers felt loose-fitting and plain; game had been scarce along his travels. His salt and pepper hair had grown shaggy, and he had not had the opportunity to shave for several days. Still, he stood tall and smiled a warm, courteous smile.
"I have come to you this day under the policies of Reeves Van Oosten, Lord Governor of the Sand Road, begging leave to travel your lands," he said loudly. "I make for the edge of the great Sand Sea, to trade with the many merchant princes who live upon its borders. I have many goods, my queen, and would be greatly humbled if you would choose a gift which I might bestow upon you as an act of kindness and goodwill."
"What is your name, traveler?" the queen asked placidly.
"You may call me Drinnen, my queen."
"My dearest Drinnen, there is indeed something I might request of you. It is, however, nary of your wares, I'm afraid. It seems as though you are not familiar with the plight of our village."
"That is fair to say, my queen," Drinnen said politely. "Please, make your request, and I shall do whatever is in my means to fulfill it."
"I have no doubts you will," the queen said with a sly smile. "As you likely have noticed, there are no men-folk here. Sadly, an enchantress cursed our village many generations ago. Since that fateful day, every elf-child born to every mother has been a girl. Slowly, over the years, our men died off, leaving our people with little hope for survival. Try as they might, our own mages were powerless to break her spell."
She gazed upon him impassively, and continued.
"Happily, our ancestors decided that we would indeed survive, though our ability to do so would largely depend on trade...and traders. For there were still ample men in the world, and in fact many of them sought passage through our lands, as you do. And so the price was set, all those years ago. Any man who wishes to pass through our wood must first spend three days and three nights here, with us. During that time, he will give us that of which we need most if we are to continue...his seed."
