Laureh'lin - Rememberance: Part 2

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

PART ONE

 

[[Once again, if you have semi-regular contact with Artimec or are relatively connected with the Laurelin playerbase then this piece of writing is publicly available for your character to read and know about]]

Dead of night.

 

A time of enigma, a time of stigma. Nothing is more sinister than the darkness, or so folk are taught. All manner of spooks, munchkins, gnarks and beasts hide in the soft, velvety embrace of Lady Midnight’s shadow. In times of old, Malin’s trueborns carved charms into the bark of their trees to ward off such creatures of the fae. But that was long ago. There were no spooks now. No munchkins, gnarks or beasts, only a low rumbling of wood rolling along a beaten little gravel path, stretched across a vast sea of desert sand.

 

A lithe figure sat at the back of a shambling hatchless carriage being tugged along by a shiny black steed, dark as the night they were blanketed in. A tiny candle illuminated the rider, 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.

 

Ahead and behind him marched a procession of steel-clad men. Their figures lithe like his, ears pointed, much like his own. They carried spears in their palms and bows across their backs, their heads lowered, likely thinking of home.

 

The man in the carriage sat despondent to his surroundings, parchment in his lap, quill in his hand. Deep in this foreign land, with only a little candle and the light of the moon to illuminate his work, he began to write.

 

 

Spoiler

24th of First Seed - 1546

 

This is the day. One full elven year ago, the jewel of wood elven youth gathered. Spears and swords ready, we gathered within the dark, musky ratholes underneath the ruins of our former beloved city of Leyulin, ready to make a last stand for our freedom.

 

The invaders were of course, the High Elves of Haelun’or. Under the iron fisted regime of Kalenz Uradir, a man whose desire to wreak suffering upon my people was only surpassed, and caused by, his hatred for one Phaedrus Lli’hileia, and of course, yours truly.

 

As with all wars, both sides had allies. I had brought in dwarven support for the wood elven people, a race who hated the silver city as much as we did. Dwarven support drew the ire of the Human Empire, long time enemies of the short ones. But, proxies aside, this was clear. This was a battle that would decide the future of the elven race.

 

Our plan was a foolish one, but in truth, the only one in which we had a hope of victory. We were vastly outnumbered, so we dug ourselves into ratholes underneath the battlefield, hoping we would force our pale enemies to root us out, where we would pick them off one by one.

 

We were mistaken. Explosive powder wreaked its way down into our fort. I remember standing within those suffocating subterranean halls, feeling the very earth around me tremble, being able to do nothing but stand among my kinsmen as I waited for the harbingers of our imminent death to blast their way down to our level. When they did, the battle was short, but sweet. I killed a young high elven man, and fled. A mark of shame, one I will never let myself forget.

 

There was naught to do after the battle of Leyulin plains was lost. The flower of wood elven youth was gone, our ability to wage full scale war was destroyed. I did not want to surrender to Kalenz Uradir, death seemed a more attractive prospect. Thankfully, I did have to. My fellow Chancellors Ac’Aelu and Dwyn Tinuvial signed the official surrender.

 

We ceded all our nation’s land to Haelun’or save for the walls of our new city, Cerulin and were forced to exile Phaedrus, the man who won us our freedom those many years ago. The terms of surrender could have been worse. Kalenz originally wanted my head delivered to him, and we kept the sovereignty of our nation, diminished as our land was.

 

This peace was not to last. Once Kalenz had consolidated his losses at the battle of Leyulin, he launched a new campaign to finally re-subjugate the wood elven people. He cut off all roads to Cerulin, attempting to starve out our city and block off all trade. He demanded the execution and banishment of many of our citizens, particularly any “impure” high elves we had living among us, threatening war if we did not comply. We were in no state to deny him, too many of our warriors had died under Leyulin. But we had been training more men, building up a new force of brave young wood elves, willing to do what was necessary to protect our home.

 

Of course, Kalenz eventually revealed his true intentions once more and demanded that the wood elven people join in the ‘Emerald Pact’, a contract he’d constructed that put our nation under his direct control. We once more faced the prospect of returning to the squalid, oppressed state of life we’d been subjected to under high elven rule in the Fringe...or to fight once more. But we couldn’t win a war if it came to it. Our rebuilt force of warriors could fight off the high elves, perhaps...but the might of the Oren? No.

 

But then, when things seemed at their darkest once again… something spectacular happened.

 

Just as it had been when a resurgent Kalenz had first tried to retake Annil’sul, it seemed that the high elves friends’ may not have been as close as they’d believed. The human king was tired of fighting Kalenz’s wars for him, and called the psychotic mali’aheral’s imperialistic ambitions to a halt, ensuring him that it was not a request. The monarch in question, Andrik Vydra, paid the silver city a visit to speak with Kalenz on the matter. But while there, true to his insanity, the tyrannical sohaer did the unthinkable.

 

Burned alive the King of the largest kingdom on the continent.

 

To this day I don’t quite understand what compelled my arch-enemy to do such a suicidal thing, but the death of their king left the human people both confused and enraged. They promptly declared war on Haelun’or and thus ended the high elven threat to my people. For good.

 

Many wood elves fought among the humans as we clashed against the high elves during the only battle of the Oren - Haelun’or war. The humans fighting to avenge the death of their ruler, we wood elves battling to avenge almost a century of grief our pale cousins had caused us.

 

We swore under Oren shortly after that last battle. A decision propagated by my successor, Tristin Tresery, the man who rules the wood elves to this day.

 

Things had gone from dire to golden so quickly, it was almost too good to be true. One day it seemed that my people would be finally wiped out for good by Kalenz’s psychotic murderous spree...the next, we fought alongside the human kingdom, driving the high elves back into their cursed city.

 

We entered a golden age from there, one we are still in today. Tresery was given the title ‘Praetor’, and the Order of Sirame was formed, the fiercest wood elven warrior band since the old Wardens of Aegis. Our population boomed once more, business thrived.

 

I myself retired from my political position. I became a spiritual leader, doing my best to revive the ancient traditions and Aspectist religion of our ancestors. My mission, which I had wished to achieve for years, was to bring back our culture. Something we had lost much of during a century of constant fighting.

 

That brings us to Vailor. Current day. The nation born in the fire of Phaedrus Lli’hileias overthrow of Haelun’or still stands strong today, the Princedom of Laureh’lin. A beacon of pride for not only wood elves, but all mali.

 

That concludes my lengthy historical musing. I thank you for reading it though, for it is important to remember who we are as a people, where we came from, and who got us to where we are now.

 

The young elves who fought among me exactly one elven year ago, this day. I thank you for making that last stand with me, for me, for in a way it was a war that I started. I thank you for paying the ultimate price. Every night I pray to the Aspects to ensure your bodies returned properly to nature, and your souls inducted into paradise, as they so deserve.

 

 

 

Artimec looked up. No bloodshot eyes this time, no trembling hand. Only a stoic gaze, and eyes that seemed very far away.

 

The sun was rising over the desert plains he and the Order of Sirame had traversed through the entire night. The warriors behind his ricketing carriage seemed to be in higher spirits now first light had arrived.

 

The lithe man snuffed out his candle, rolled up the scroll he’d been writing in and slipped it carefully into his satchel. Soon shouting could be heard, as could the thundering of hooves. A hundred tents came into view. A war-camp. In front of it, in the sun-lit horizon...the fortress of Dunamis.

 

He smiled.

 

Spoiler

 

:^ )

 

 

[justDEWit 133]

Ravondir finished reading the history text as he began to nod in approval. "I'm glad he wrote this so that other 'Ame may learn of their history."

[SmartScout 392]

Reads the history..."Ah, I remember all of this, back in the good old days when I first joined the Sirame..." Continues to reminisce of the old days in Athera.

 

((I can't believe it has been a year...doesn't feel so long...))

[Elad™ 560]

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