Joining the Resistance

Agrajag woke up. Something was wrong. His body felt so…small. He stumbled to his…feet? He stared at the five toed pads. Attached to thin legs. Where were his long, muscular legs, tapering to finely shod hooves? This was all wrong. He was Eponai, not an Elf!

What did he remember? Yes, the final battle. Leading the Eponai cavalry in the final rout of the Unseelie Court’s host. Throwing the severed head of the Unseelie King at the feet of Lord Gargravarr. Gargravarr, who had given Agrajag immortality, and command of the cavalry of the Bright Hosts. Gargravarr, who in his moment of victory, was no longer the Bright One. He opened his mouth, and within it Agrajag found oblivion, for himself, and for his world.

Blinking back the memory, Agrajag saw clothing that fit his new body, and dressed hurriedly. He opened the door, and saw a bustle of activity. People conferring. Weapons being handed out. Elves, humans, even gnomes going to and fro, putting on gear, looking at maps, trading tools. Groups gathering and leaving. A man in leather jerkin came up and said, “Just arrive? Go over there!” Some half dozen people of various races sat, listening to an Elf (who looked disconcertingly like the Unseelie King whose head he had cut off seemingly hours ago). The Elf turned toward him and said “Welcome, brother! Join us in resisting Gargravarr!”

Agrajag’s new elfin ears perked up at the name. He sat down and listened.