It's storming badly, but the Inn is warm and comfortable. Children, seeing an elf adventurer, not knowing it's Wraithvine, politely ask hir if they can tell the children a story before they have to go to bed. -- Anon Guest
"The wind is in mourning," began the Elf, "you can hear them cry. The wind is raging and I know why..." not all of the story was poetry, but Elves tend to lean into a rhyme whenever the opportunity presents itself. Especially when storytelling.
Back in the times when the gods still walked the earth and set things into being. Back when there was less evil in the hearts and minds of living things, gods and mortals went about their business as if they were regular people passing each other in the street.
In this far more innocent time, Wind made themself known by being something of a prankster. They would toss about leaves and whisper in people's ears. They would flip up robes and dash away, knowing that nobody could find them. Wind is, and ever was, invisible to anyone's eyes. They could only ever whisper, in the time before many things, so many found it difficult to converse with them at all.
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