When Malinor Burned

[Treshure 5817]

 

 

“I am the blood of the Aldersfolk; I alone invoke the name of Old Gladewynn. By my rite, the Seven Songs will sing again.”

 Kairn, Prince of Alders

 

Woe to Elvendom, for your sorrows run long and deep. Your fathers did not inherit this legacy of tragedy, but rather witnessed it on their lonesome. The terror to remember is fresh in the eye that beheld it. May your sons and their heirs remember now and evermore; it is all that remains within your power. The elves of yore remembered their elder lands as the green kissed paradise the Gods had lent; emerald hues and souls to enjoy them forever. These elves now lie beneath the ground. The living descendents of Old Gladewynn remember otherwise.

”Histories of the Alderfolk”

–

 

 

The Wardens were said to be a once powerful army. Brought from the plentiful lands of Elvenesse, they drew the collected strength of a united Elvenkind: boundless and terrifying. In those days that Malin walked the earth, Elvenesse was pure and true to their purpose. They, noble as their racial cousins. But those days are no longer. Cursed is that Demon’s tongue, who is called Iblees: by his words, Elvenkind’s light fades.

 

Sewn into Mali culture was the excess of life. The elder elves were buried far into the droves of forests and wildlands, enjoying respite from churning tides of war that engulfed the rest of the world. They spread far and wide from Malinor, drawing from the earth druidic powers to amplify nature’s bounty. They drunk evermore on the lust and comfort their lengthy lives afforded. The elder elves sat, fattened, and weakened. What was a proud bastion of the Wildlands sunk into pits of depravity. The Great Tragedy loomed as a hidden beast; each act of wanton ardor and surplus fed the unconscious nightmare stirring aneath.

 

 

In these days, the power of Humanity was nascent. Yet it was clear the strength of Horen and his sons grew. Soon, their ever expanding eye turned to the sleeping state of Malinor. Rich, old lands ripe for the bounty; wicked elves bound for the cross.

 

Purple and coal banners, the Black Dragon, the White Rose.

Armies forward, the cross alight, the Crusade set.

Forests afire, wails, woes.

The Sack of Malinor had begun.

 

A black drudge settled above the sky, blotting what perfect blue hung above. Smoke billowed from the Eternal Trees of Old Malinor; screams of doomed souls to sing amongst burning embers. All along the carnage lay the banner of the Black Dragon, that who smote the elf high. An Imperial presence hung there for it's first and it's last: decimation followed the Black Dragon, and none remained. No secret or ancient wisdom was saved reprieve from those consuming fires. Butchery was set upon ancient elfdom with little to escape. Within this chaos, the founding clans convened.

 

 

When the news had reached Har’el and his kin, few were surprised. Elvenkind had remained scattered for nigh centuries. The home of all mali, Old Malinor, laid bare and exposed to the eastern Kingdom on her fringe. They came by many names, though all will remember them as the Rose. There was little time to act. Summoning the strength of the Ichorian clans, Ithelanen led the Alderfolk into battle.

 

What hopes and ambitions laid in defending Old Malinor were utterly destroyed. For every elf fought a dozen men, pouring in droves with the fire of their god inside steel helmets. The native elves were distraught, relying on the ancient powers of the Druids and Mani to defend the city. Great roots tore from the grounds below. Rifts to rend the land asunder; beasts of the wildwood to defend what remained. It was not enough.

 

Ithelanen retreated from the front gate’s breach.

Vanethelan’s numbers reduced to almost nothing by the Emperor’s own western sally.

Corrin retreated to the city’s rear by a retinue of Carrion.

The remaining four clans, split and pushed by the White Rose.

 

Half the day had passed before the defenses were nearly overwhelmed. What remained of the Ichorian clans coalesced in the city’s rear, mounting in sum of their strength a final defense. They surrounded a massive stone known as the Aldersrock, preserved since the ancient times of Aegis. It was not enough.

 

 

Utterly driven by the assaulting forces, the Ichorians fled southward towards the secret exitways amongst the the Southern Walls - obscured in vision from the Imperial assault. There they climbed cliff and tree, losing their attackers and gaining both ground and safety. Turning, they could not imagine a sight as this.

Malinor burned. A thousand times they had looked on evergreen pastures and comforting woods - only now to see the dread and black consume what souls lived beneath. Their home set aflame, and all was lost.

 

There, the Ichorians mourned. Their fragility was shed; their hearts turning cold as tears dried on elven cheeks. To each clan, a song was sung  - seven voices in haunting harmony whilst Old Malinor fell to ash and flame. In this time, Old Gladewynn quickened within the womb of Malinor, birthed on His mother's dying throes.

 

No Malinor forthward would be recognized to the Seven Clans - it had died that day, buried amongst the rubble and sins of dead elves. Old Gladewynn was created in the wildwoods; the old forest far from Man - far from anything. But there would be one last return to Malinor.

 

 

In the ruins of that city lay the Aldersrock, stained with the blood of Ichorians. Those of Ithelanen took the stone, hauling the relic to their young settlement. There, the Chieftan of Ithelanen would proclaim himself ruler of this stone, its history, and those who bled upon it - that he would become the Prince of Alders, and all beneath the Aldersfolk.

 

Thereon the stone was inscribed with the histories and songs of Old Gladewynn. By it, all would know their past. All would sing the Seven Songs, just as their ancestors had in years past. In time the stone would fade; sections of inscriptions would wipe - and with it, their histories. The Seven Songs and her clans were partially lost, though not forgotten.

--

 

When the light settles, seven fires are lit. When elves mourn, seven songs are sung. What forgotten magicks were birthed in Old Gladewynn, only the dead know. What ancient spires and Old Gods of the wildwoods - what hymns, and lovely things, and the dead and black things - our mysteries, our heritage, and the Songs that bound us all together. The Aldersrock alone shows.

 

 

Spoiler

Establishing lore for Gladewynn, that which can be built on. Thanks for reading.

 

[Quavinir_Twiceborn 1050]

I am somewhat confused. Is this meant to be a story said for why the Gladewyn company exists? Or is this actual history? IF this is the former is this a spread story? IS this common knowledge? And if this is somehow actual lore- than literally nothing here makes sense or is true. If this is supposed to be a story of any faithfulness to what actually happened, than this is more inaccurate than than the movie adaptation of Eragon.

[Treshure 5817]

8 hours ago, Quavinir_Twiceborn said:

 

  Reveal hidden contents

 

 

I am somewhat confused. Is this meant to be a story said for why the Gladewyn company exists? Or is this actual history? IF this is the former is this a spread story? IS this common knowledge? And if this is somehow actual lore- than literally nothing here makes sense or is true. If this is supposed to be a story of any faithfulness to what actually happened, than this is more inaccurate than than the movie adaptation of Eragon.
 

 

 

 

The oral tradition of the Alderfolk, IE Gladewynn culture. This is an IC account of past histories – not completely accurate.

[osumanduas 1442]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.