Laureh'lin - Rememberance: Part 1

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

PART TWO HERE

 

[[OOC note: If you have regular access to Laurelin you can RPly read this piece of writing!]]

Dead of night.

 

A time when the sons of Malin retreated into their hearths, and spirits came out to play. In times of yore it was told that the forgotten folk braved the night with charms of bone to ward off the fae, and essence of moonlight to illuminate the dark. But that was long ago. There were no bone charms now, no moonlight, no fae. Only a faux-silence, broken by the sway of trees in the gentle night breeze, and the crackling of a lonely little fire at the end of a lonely little woodland street.

 

A lithe figure sat at the edge of this fire, obscured largely in shadow though flickering tendrils of light illuminated a sparse few features. Fiery locks of red hair. Dull, sea green emerald eyes. Skin of cinnamon, and the creases of a man who’d seen too much and lived too long.

 

He sat with no company, but he was not alone. The crickets in the branches above chirped a somber tune to venerate him, the fireflies darted about in flickering, fickle strands of light about his form. A sparrow landed atop his shoulder, he paid the little thing no heed, yet its feathery touch made dampened the heavy aura around him. A little.

 

To work. The lonely fireside man slipped a furled up parchment out of his satchel and placed it on his lap. He dipped two fingers into a wooden tube on his belt. Red ochre. He spread it across the page, painting elegant, curved lines, like the horns of a stag. The mark of a noble seed.

 

Then, he began to write:

 

 

Spoiler

 

20th of Sun’s Smile - 1545

 

Just one more year...and it’ll have been one full cycle since we lost the war. One elven year...just over fifty common years. There are mali’ame children nearing adulthood now who cannot remember a time when we fought for our continued existence against the Silver Menace.

 

We elves of Laureh’lin are a prosperous people now, but this was not always the case. We were almost wiped out several times. I must remember the sacrifices I made my own people make, and I must chronicle our story. Without further ado, I shall begin.

 

Malinor fell to the rejoice of many. It was a rotten state in its death throes when the Conclave took it over in a bloodless victory. How happy we elves were. A new beginning! An end to the corruption of Malinor.

 

We were, of course, mistaken. The Conclave was the same rotten apple, only given a new sheen of paint. By the time we made our exodus into the fringe, none called the Conclave their home. It was a low point for the wood and dark elven people, who were scattered across the continent.

 

Lo and behold, our generous and caring Silver Cousins of Haelun’or extended their offer to let us live with them! Our purity obsessed counterparts who until now had sneered at our very existence. My...it seemed such a grand idea at the time.

 

I don’t know what we expected, but it wasn’t what we got. Squalid homes directly underneath shining high elven spires, tiny living spaces, muddy streets, we had no trees, no forests, no glades. We were bound to elves of our own colour, I saw many a young mali dissapear for our righteous pale overlords suspected them of wanting to be with one of their own. I saw more publicly condemned and executed for speaking out against their flawed system.

 

We had no say in how our home was run. It took us years to get a wood elven representative into their ‘silver council’. A puppet, a glorified advisor. It changed nothing. We were raided daily by beligerent dwarves and orcen forces. Races who had been provoked by the high elves but unfortunately, only we were in reach of their wrath, as we lived in the slums below while our ever kind and protective lords hid up in their silver towers.

 

So I was not surprised at all when Phaedrus, one of Haelun’ors few wood elven supporters, turned against them and drove them out of their own city when we moved to Athera.

 

I was there for the fight. Oh how my blood pumped. Shameful to admit now, but I deeply wanted the satisfaction of spilling high elven blood. Alas, all the pale ones had fled the Silver City. It was ours.

 

Thus the state of Laureh’lin was born, and for a time we lived in freedom and peace.

 

As a disclaimer, I ought to state that the Haelun’or I speak of was a regime under the thumb of one Kalenz Uradir. I am sure all my readers have heard of him. There have been Sohaerates led by more peaceful, reasonable folk, even ones I’ve come close to respecting. Let it be known however, that I shall not hide my contempt in this paper, for Kalenz, or the high elven nation he ran to the ground.

 

Peace of course was not to last. After all, we inhabited a city we’d wrestled out of the high elves hands. Soon they resurged from their various hiding places, with new allies and a desire to wreak vengeance on our attempted genocide of their people.

 

Yet another note: There was no genocide. Phaedrus Lli’hileia, the orchestrator of the high elven overthrow, offered amnesty to any pale one who forsook Silver Law and returned to the city, Annil’sul to live in peace. There was, of course, violence towards many high elves, particularly the remaining purity-mongers. Some were innocent. I do not condone all that happened, but one must bare in mind that the wood elven people had lived under the oppressive yolk of the high elves for centuries. Because of them, our culture had died, our population had dwindled and we had suffered many blows to our dignity. Our anger was a long time pent up, and when the cards fell, it was inevitable all hell broke loose.

 

This is where I, Artimec Camoryn, come in. As it happened, Kalenz had acquired orcish and Renatian allies and was rather smug about his chances of revenge. He wrote a rather condemning letter stating all the unsavoury things he would do to Phaedrus and his wife, Elorna. Of course, the Orcish Rex got ahold of this letter and withdrew his support of the Kalenz, claiming him dishonourable.

 

At this time I’d already secured Dwarven backing for Laureh’lins upcoming war effort. We did, after all, intend to keep Annil’sul from falling back into high elven hands. With the orcs out of the picture, I sat down with the Laurir’ker, a dark elven insurgent group, and convinced them to lay down their arms for peace. Kalenz’s support was dwindling.

 

A high elf known as Delonna, who I believe was their Maheral at the time, laid the death blow to Kalenz’s chance at revenge. He underwent a coup and deposed the mad dictator. In the end, Kalenz’s own people exiled him. Not as satisfying as I’d hoped, but it worked.

 

I made peace with Delonna. He was a reasonable man. Proof that Haelun’or could be a decent nation under the right hands. With Kalenz gone, I decided to return Annil’sul to the high elves. Marble homes and silver towers were never meant to be for the wood elves. I intended to grow us a forest home just under the new city the high elves planned to build after de-constructing Annil’sul.

 

I was a FOOL.

 

Our newly christed city of Leyulin was quickly built and quickly became prosperous. Many elves who had fled the Kalenz regime returned home. Our population boomed and as a result we enjoyed a short, but sweet golden age. I formed the Ivory Order, a militia warrior force, and together we crushed the will of a nearby cult of dark arts users, the Embermoore Adherency.

 

But Leyulin lay in the shadow of the Haelun’or plateau. A massive elevated structure, some say grown with skygod magic. Even though we were free, the high elves still loomed over us. It was an omen of bad times to come.

 

Sure enough, Kalenz, much like the cockroach, is a breed of vermin that is hard to exterminate for good.

 

He wormed his way out of his banishment and hostilities began between Laureh’lin and Haelun’or once more. The mad dictator had never lost his desire for revenge on me, Phaedrus, and our entire kind. Soon, our people were being kidnapped, tortured, molten gold poured from their eyes then thrown off the high elven plateau to send us a message. We would suffer for our crimes.

 

Didn’t take long to erupt into a full scale war. We of course fought back. High elven patrols died by our blades. We even sacked the plateau city a few times with the help of orcish warbands.

It was a waiting game now. Aside from skirmishes occuring on both sides of the Leyulin/Haelun’or border, we were both consolidating our allies, planning to make full scale invasions. In the end, a network of alliances and rivalries led to our defeat.

 

We sought help from the Dwarven people, who were also long-time enemies of the high elves. The dwarves, however, were also long-time enemies of the human Kingdom of Oren. The valah King at the time was Andrik Vydra. That man had no love for high elves, but he had a contempt for Dwarves. So, as I said, a web of messy rivalries led to the largest nation in the world rallying against us.

 

By the time of the first full-scale battle, we had moved away from our town situated right under the high elf plateau, deep into the forests of Fiandria where we built our new city, Cerulin. But we mobilized to defend the now empty plains of what was once Leyulin, not willing to let that territory fall into high elven hands.

 

We lost. In the end, the Kingdom of Oren’s numbers were simply too great to defeat. I escaped deep into the forest after that battle, leaving many of my kin to die. A mark of shame I will bare until I die.

 

I remember that encounter as the War of Leyulin Plains. In just a few days time, that battle will have been exactly one elven year ago. The battle that caused so much death and loss for the wood elves. The battle that would shape so much of our future to come.

 

The lowest point of the wood elven people was that day. We were corned in the fringe of Fiandria with the high elves baring down on us, it seemed we were doomed to live under their yoke once more.

 

Of course, we didn’t. Laureh’lin is a prosperous city today. A booming population, a thriving cultural resurgance, and surrounded by vibrant forests and nature-life that we never had under the silver city in the fringe. How did we get here, from such a low point?

 

I will continue in my next historical brief.

 

It is imperative we remember the path we took that led us to where we are now. Even the parts we wish to forget. We are a thriving Princedom whose people live free and content, but we will never those who sought to ruin that for us, and those brave elven souls who sacrificed themselves to prevent them from doing so.

 

 

 

Artimec looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, his hand which only moments before had been feverishly writing was now still and trembling.

 

The sun was rising over the treetops, birds began to chirp their morning songs, elves began emerging out of their homes to go about their daily business.

 

But, in the shadow of a now dying fire in the end of a lonely little forest street, a lithe man dropped his parchment to the ground beside him, buried his head into his knees, and wept.

 

[OhDeerLord 673]

Dwyn would've been making a rounds through Laurehlin when he heard the crackling of the fire. Spotting Art bent over his writing he waits, not wanting to interrupt. As he sees the man finish and subsequently break down the taller elf strides to his friends side, kneeling beside him and resting his hand against his shoulder. He reads over the parchment, just being a silent comfort as he too, begins to reminisce in the past, their shared past in guiding and leading the Mali'ame people. He gives Art's shoulder a squeeze and pulls his old friend close, not sharing words as he understands more than most in their city, spare for Art himself, the struggle the last elven year has been.

[Sky 0]

An old Cleric with access to Laurelin would read over this and reminisce of the old Orenian wars with the Elven kind.

 

 

 

[Cave_Creature 467]

Salhassan takes the paper gingerly, and wordlessly nails it to the messageboard in the town center for all to read and understand.

[LadyRebecca 1050]

Arahaelth sits quietly by the calm waters of Cerridwen's shrine, gazing into the pond. In the early morning, all would be blissfully calm. As the silence was shattered by  Artimec's gentle weeping, she would turn her head, her ears twitching faintly. Her soft expression falters, leaving behind a compassionate and sympathetic gaze in his direction. Wordlessly, she turns her face up to The Green Lady and murmurs a silent prayer.

"Hold him close to the spirit of the forest. Give him strength his sorrows."

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.