Lightening streaked across the obsidian clouds swirling low to the ground. The ozone left the air filled with a crispness and energy. It could rain soon. Looking at her hands , she was hopeful for the rain. Fifteen seasons of training had left Astorik’s slender elven fingers crusted with grime and the reminders of battle. No amount of cleaning could remove the scared and war hardened flesh that she was looking at now.
“Could Isha have meant for these times to come to us”, she thought. It was not uncommon in the history she has stumbled upon. Events seemed ominous and insurmountable but the outcomes created a higher awareness of the Winds of Magic. This is how she chooses to accept why such atrocities are happening.
While she cannot deny the inevitable, the time has come to a crossroads for Astorik. She must choose her surname for all to know her by. Her mind races with names of glory and honor. How easy it would be to take a common name like so many of her brethren. Most elves simply choose their surname based solely on their function in elven society.
She visited the naming registrar once but he was a mere human. What do they know about naming Elven kind? If she were to allow a human or dwarf to provide her surname, she would be the laughing stock of her homelands. Creatures that are just taking their last breathe of life when elves are but still crawling can’t possibly grasp the delicacies of such matters. Not wanting to leave Elven traditions behind, she makes note of a few names and decides to petition her parents for assistance.
She will wait until word comes from her parents before the final decision is made. She owes them that much respect. She still has some time before another visit to the registrar.