Tired of the killing and savagery that was ubiquitous in saurekian cultures, Yokk the saurek decided to leave it all behind. He found himself a quaint little shore along Lake Urbek, far away from civilization, and built a rustic cabin home. He spent every day simply enjoying the simple life, combing the beaches for flotsam, tending to his algae farm, checking fish traps, and building up his home, and taking long walks through the coastal rainforest. He found peace and satisfaction, far removed from the war-like lifestyle that had driven him to such an isolated home in the first place. Yokk's latest project involved expanding the aquatic enclosure he had made for his fish farm, and the diligent saurek worked on the nets and barricades by the warm light of a waterproofed lantern as the night enshrouded the land. It was there that she appeared.
It was a misty evening when Yokk found her floating on a piece of debris that looked like it had been blown off a larger vessel, as if the gods themselves had delivered this strange being to his doorstep. An elven woman, soaked to the bone, still bleeding profusely, and deathly still. Any normal person would have rushed to help this poor, long-eared woman, but Yokk's first instinct was instead to grab a weapon and defend himself. It was a reflex that had been beaten into Yokk throughout his whole life, for monsters and those that called themselves the "Light-Touched" were mortal enemies, the two factions having spent much of the recent century constantly warring against one another.
It was said that, during the Age of Eld, all races once thrived together, but there were some who chose to take up arms with the Deeplords, eventually becoming the "monsters" of the modern era. Saureks counted themselves among the servants of the Deep, and Yokk himself had been taught since whelphood that elves were treacherous and arrogant, their pursuit of truth and beauty a veil to hide their deceit and malice. He had fought against them, too, in the past; the saurek had left that life behind, but muscle memory and battle scars were difficult to shake, so his grip hardened against the handle of his carpentry axe on sheer instinct.
As the elf woman drifted to shore, he noticed something was amiss. His high-elf adversaries in the past were lithe and graceful, carrying themselves with an aura of dignity and charm, as they decimated armies and rained holy light upon the wicked. This elf looked nothing like the handsome beings described in elven propaganda. Her body was scarred and bruised, her hair was so blood-soaked and matted that it was difficult to tell its original hue. Her face was gaunt, her shoulder blades visible through her haggard form; her clothes were completely torn, as if she had been savagely beaten. Most savagely, her left ear had been cut shorter than the right, its tapered tip mangled and blunted in a way no properly sharp blade could have achieved. There was something odd about her aura, as well, it seemed fragile, and almost sad. The more Yokk gazed upon her, the harder it was to see her as the enemy. As she was now, this elf would have been incapable of holding even a dagger, never mind cast any spells.
Yokk remained cautious, but something compelled him to put his axe away and move to help her. Perhaps his months of living in isolation had softened his warrior's judgement. He carried the shipwrecked and wounded elf out of the water and moved her into his home, with the intent to at least patch her wounds. While he lacked in medical knowledge, he could, at the very least, clean the blood, apply fresh bandages, and set her on his bed. As the elf lay there, helpless, Yokk sat in a nearby chair, and debated internally whether he should have her hanged for her kind's sins against his, or live with the fact that, for the first time in his life, the sight of an elf had not filled him with hatred.
"No ... at least, not for now ...." Yokk sighed, his hulking blue frame heaved as he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. It would defile the new life he strove for if he killed this poor, defenseless, and clearly near-death woman. Besides, not even saureks were savage enough to kill a sleeping woman. Theirs was a culture of violence, yes, but also of strength and honor based upon the acknowledgement of might. Deceit, and subterfuge went against the saurekian ways, which, unsurprisingly, were traits about the elves that saureks despised. This sense of honor was one of the few things he kept close to his heart after his exile, and while the thought of hanging her crossed his mind, he realized the outcome of such an execution would be more to his detriment that his favor.
The most pressing matter was that Yokk had no clue who this elf was, or why she was so horrible hurt. She could have comrades, or the Deep forbid, pursuers, searching for her. Whilst he dressed her wounds, he saw fetid cuts encircling her wrists and ankles; she'd been in shackles not long ago. If someone came looking for this poor, battered woman, they might do him harm in their quest to retrieve her. Aside from that, if word spread that a missing elf had been found dead near the saurek's cabin, he would likely be forced to either leave all that he'd build up, or pick up his weapons and march to war once more. Neither of these options suited his goal of finding serenity and living quietly and peacefully. He would have to let the elf live, not for any unselfish reason, but for his own protection. She was weak, anyway, and would likely be of no risk to his safety.
For the time being, Yokk left her asleep in his own bed, having nowhere else to put her in his home designed with function over comfort. Instead, the saurek decided to retire on the hard wood floor beside the fur rug in front of his fireplace. Lying on the soft bearskin, gazing into the embers of the fire as the chill of late autumn blanketed the world outside his log walls, Yokk soon drifted to sleep himself, though not before a final moment of lucid contemplation.
"I hope I didn't make a big mistake here."
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