The Media Wizard 2954 Share Posted July 19, 2021 The HIGH TALES of the FOXHOLE Documented by Terrance Handyfellow On the 12th of Malin’s Welcome, 33 SA, the crimson sails of the Foxhole were seen cresting the eastern horizon. The sun was sinking in the west and the sky burned. A crowd of elves gathered at the docks of Amathea to welcome home the elf who captained this vessel: Amaesil Vuln’miruel. The ship approached the seawall and docked. The elflord exited the vessel and embraced his kin. He spoke little. He was infatuated with what he had missed in his homeland during his journey; however, the elf was not the only one to depart the Foxhole. A cheery-looking halfling named Terrance Handyfellow disembarked with a lute in one hand and a notebook in the other. He and Amaesil shared quiet words with one another, a kiss to each other's forehead and a sorrowful farewell. It was not long before Terrance Handyfellow, a storyteller and bard-to-be, began speaking loud and long in the taverns of Almaris. His stories were of heroism, ingenuity and the strange world that lay just east of Almaris. They were the High Tales of the Foxhole… The ISLAND of FIRE Spoiler Far to the southeast of Almaris there lay an island wreathed in smoke and flame. Its name is nor’igne and it is home to the bortu’igne — the fire dwarves. These dwarves (much like their cousins of Urguan) are short of stature and masters of the forge. Their skin is soot-black and they wear crowns enveloped in flames that lick snow-white hair. Around nor’igne is a bubbling sea — the tennallar’ilum. The waters here are so hot that the wooden hulls of ships melt like fresh-fallen snow. The intense heat from underneath the wake causes the sea to glow a white-hot prismarine at all times of the day. It is due to the tennallar’ilum that the Foxhole found itself marooned. Amaesil Vuln’miruel, estelaurir of the elves, disembarked from his ship and surveyed the damage. The hull was melted from the bow to the central mast. The craft would not be able to leave the island until repairs were made and it was able to withstand the heat. With his objective in-mind, Amaesil wandered into the forests of the island until he came upon a stronghold of the fire dwarves. “Lo, who walks unseen through our forests?” the fire dwarves called out in one voice. “A stranger, but not a foe,” Amaesil replied. “I am of a land far to the west and have become voluntarily linked to the fate of my vessel which lies half-dismantled on your shore. I ask for your aid, master dwarves.” The bortu’igne shook their heads. “We do not abide those foolish enough to become marooned on our shores. If you desire our succor, you must prove yourself. Make yours the fire-horse of the north — the Nightmare!” Amaesil ventured north from the dwarven fortress. A full day passed as he communed with the natural beasts and plants of the island. They were unlike any the druid had ever spoken with before. They did not grow despite their conditions, but they thrived in them. It was with the aid of the beasts that he soon learned of a glade of ash to the north. It was there that the elflord spotted the famed Nightmare. The beast was the size of a Clydesdale and had a mane of orange flame. It stomped around the glade and ignited any plant that dared to grow in its realm. If not for the mane, the Nightmare’s black skin would have made it impossible to spot in the soot-covered landscape. Amaesil spent two hours observing the creature from the edge of the clearing before he wrapped himself in soot and crawled across the expanse of dead underbrush. At midnight, Amaesil came to lay in the middle of the field. It was not long before the Nightmare spotted him and came to his side. “You are foolish to come into my domain, creature,” the Nightmare said. “You must burn as all things do.” “You are mistaken,” Amaesil responded quickly. He gestured to his soot-covered body. “You have already burned me, humble steed, and I have survived. To challenge my power would make you the fool: not me!” The Nightmare pondered this for some time before it neighed out a jet of flame into the air. “You speak true, stranger, for you are as dark as my fields. What is it you come into my domain for, that-which-is-burnt-but-not-broken?” “You see I can perish, but not by flame. The bortu’igne of the south sent me to tame a wild beast, O’ King of Ash. You, however, are no wild thing. I ask you, noble steed, to accompany me south by your own free will.” “I will do this, stranger, for you have dignified me and named me King. I will travel with you.” The next day, Amaesil returned to the dwarven fortress atop the nightmare. The fire dwarves were astonished and soon came out to greet the elflord. Amaesil spoke thus: “I have completed your task, but you must pay honors as I did. Bring forth a crown of ash for the great King.” The fire dwarves complied and soon the nightmare, too, had a black crown of soot and flame. It galloped northward to rule over its domain once more. Amaesil spent the next month within the fortress. The fire dwarves had built this stronghold after they had been pushed out of their great city underneath the mountains: the Brass City. The underground metropolis had become impossible to enter due to the presence of the Wailing Woman, an eldritch abomination from the Old World. Her gaze alone would break the will of the strongest warriors. Due to the charity of the fire dwarves in repairing his vessel, Amaesil granted them one final act of repayment — he would slay the Wailing Woman. The elflord departed the next day for the mountains of nor’igne. It was on the fifth day that Amaesil came to the base of the mountains where he found a cave wrapped in shadow. He set his campsite and waited for dusk. As the starlight began to illuminate the island, the Wailing Woman trudged forth from her abyssal cavern. She was wrapped in the dark skin of the bortu’igne she had slain and her face was a hollowed, elongated mess of grey skin. Amaesil and the Wailing Woman did battle from dusk to dawn. As the sun threatened to pierce the horizon, the creature fled back into her cave. Two more days passed. From dusk to dawn, Amaesil did battle with the fiend until she fled. On the fourth day, Amaesil was graced with divine insight. He spoke softly to the trees of the forest and asked them to make dark the area beyond the creature’s cave hole. At noon, the clearing was as dark as midnight. The Wailing Woman charged out of the cave and met Amaesil in combat once more; however, the trees soon retreated and allowed the sunlight to flood the clearing with bright, golden light. The Wailing Woman gave a howl and her chest was soon pierced by Amaelaurir, the star-steel longsword of the elflord. With a final death rattle, she was defeated. Amaesil returned to the fire dwarves and declared: “It is done.” The fire dwarves cheered and soon began to return to their Brass City. Amaesil, despite his valor, was not permitted to visit the city; although, this did not bother him. He returned to the Foxhole to find his sailboat repaired with glistening, white wood. He set sail from the island and crossed into the tennallar’ilum. The heat was intense, but the material that the bortu’igne used to replace the hull held firm. As he exited the black smoke that surrounded the island, he found himself back on the eastern seas on a clear day. He turned his ship and continued eastward into the strange unknown edges of the world. SONG FOR the KING Spoiler Far to the east — well beyond the Great Maelstrom and the Red Leviathan — there lies the kingdom of Bayfallow. This great kingdom has stood for hundreds of years and is entirely populated by halflings. Unlike their counterparts in Almaris, the halfmen of Bayfallow took on the heritage and culture of the human nations that preceded them: lords, knights and, of course, a king. It was many months into his voyage that Amaesil Vuln’miruel docked in Bayfallow Harbor. The Foxhole was scratched and charred, but it remained intact. Upon departing his vessel, a congregation of halflings greeted the elf. He was given simple trinkets and food by the common folk who had (until this very moment) never seen or heard of the elves. His arrival was soon reported to the king who sent an envoy to retrieve Amaesil and bring him to the keep. Amaesil walked the gravel streets of Bayfallow accompanied by a wave of halfmen who followed behind him like newborn ducklings toddling after their mother. The crowd soon arrived at the keep and the elf was ushered into the Great Hall. “Hullo! Welcome to Bayfallow,” The king greeted. “You are a stranger here in more than just acquaintance, tall-man. Where do you hail from?” “Far to the west,” Amaesil answered. “I am lord of a far-off realm known as Elvenesse. It is there that my kin reign. We are elves, Your Majesty. My kin are unlike your own peoples; as distinct as myself among you all now. We are fair, tall and burdened with endless life. Our words are a chorus and our songs are a symphony. Nowhere in this world will you find a fairer and braver people.” “Sing me this chorus, then, elflord,” the king demanded. Amaesil nodded and began to sing: The woodland song of nature’s grace Plays through all They grant. The creek of water; the leaves of Fall, Yet none will compare. A midnight song shared under stars Of all who look upon us now. Bard of good, bard of grey Sing the song of yours. The elflord continued to sing a melody so sweet, cold and sorrowful that it brought tears to the halfmen. Men, women and children wept at the tale of the elves. The king — who considered himself a musician — became transfixed by this melody. At the conclusion of the song, the king spoke: “Your people have a beauty unlike any here in Bayfallow. To the northwest there lies a garden. It is a sacred place to us, but we believe you will feel most at-home within its borders. Stay as long as you require, master elf.” Thanks were given and a celebration was had by many. Not all, though, celebrated the elflord’s song. Outside the borders of Bayfallow lived a creature wrapped in blackness. This knightly creature hated all things beautiful and fair; and the song had enraged him. The Blackstone growled in his cavernous halls deep within the Ashen Peaks. Whatever had brought this newfound splendor to his realm would pay the price. The next day, Amaesil was strolling through the gardens that the king had granted him permission to roam. As he walked, he sang. The melody echoed across the woodlands and filled the trees with vigor. While roving, the elflord found a shaded nook beneath a fallen oak tree. It was there that he rested and slept for a time. During his slumber, the Blackstone edged across the gardens and wilted all that he passed. Coming to the sleeping elf, he plunged his cursed weapon deep into Amaesil's chest and pinned him to the ground. No pain was felt by Amaesil and a smile stained his lips. Vines grew around the sword. Satisfied, the Blackstone turned and returned to its halls of shadow. It took a week before Amaesil’s body was found. The king was summoned and he came to rest at the side of the fallen elf. Tears were shed and a great gathering of halflings entered the gardens. None dared to move the elf’s body. Overcome with sorrow, the king parted his lips and began to sing: The woodland song of nature’s grace Plays through all our hearts. The love of song; the death of kin, Yet tears that sting arrive. A final song shared under stars Of He who looks upon us now. Elf of good, elf of red Hear this song of yours. With the song renewed, a new rage filled the Blackstone. He charged down from his mountain home and crashed through the garden until he found the gathering of half-folk. “WHO ARE YOU WHO RENEWS WHAT I’VE DESTROYED?” the Blackstone boomed. “A grieving king,” the halfling responded. “You took from this world beauty that we as halflings may never see again. Bring back this elf-man and you may have from us anything you desire.” The Blackstone paused. Then, it said: “THIS GARDEN WILL ROT AND BE UNCARED FOR HENCEFORTH. YOUR MAJESTY SHALL LEAVE THE THRONE TO YOUR SON AND LEAVE THIS LAND ALONGSIDE THIS ELF-MAN.” With a somber heart, the king agreed. The Blackstone reached forth and drew the sword from Amaesil’s chest. No wound remained, but a jagged scar would forever adorn the elf’s body. The halfmen gathered the elf and departed the garden as instructed by the Blackstone. Content, the dark creature returned to its lair. One month later, the elf awakened. He had memories that were not his own. To Amaesil, a lifetime had passed him by in his slumber. With the memory of the elf saved and the people of Bayfallow content, both the elflord and the halfling-king boarded the Foxhole and set sail north. The king took on his true name — Terrance Handyfellow — and served as the elflord’s companion. It is said that years after the Blackstone faded away into the shadows, the garden regrew and the son of the king became a great king in his own right! BEYOND SEAS and HEAVENS Spoiler The elves of Celestine are a superstitious race. They are the last great city before the northern oceans become trapped between the sun and the moon — the Sea of Twilight. It is said that any ship that finds itself drifting in this sea at dusk will be trapped. Should the morning sun shine upon any lost vessel in this stretch of water, it will become lost to the heavens for eternity. The warnings were given to Amaesil Vuln’miruel and Terrance Handyfellow, too, but they had to take the risk. The Lizard Lords of Sanctum had entrusted to the members of the Foxhole the last egg of summer. If they failed to deliver the newborn cocoon to the Priestesses in the northlands before summer’s end, the lizardfolk would lose a generation. Summer was coming to its natural conclusion and the Foxhole had only arrived at noon the day of. They had to brave the sea. The waters were harsh and a storm arrived from the northeast. Waves crashed into the side of the Foxhole and nearly sent Terrance somersaulting into the sea. As the sun began to set behind the clouds, a sudden stillness came to the water. As the elflord and halfling recovered, they soon found themselves drifting through an endless expanse of stars. “What madness is this?” Terrance asked. “I cannot tell where the ocean ends and the night sky begins!” “I fear that there is no edge,” Amaesil answered. The elf looked over the edge of his craft and saw a drifting, endless abyss of twinkling starlight. With a deft hand, he reached down and plucked a handful of the glittering stars and placed them into a leather pouch tied around his sword belt. The pair had entered into the Sea of Stars. Far below them was the faint outline of the world that had been left behind; far ahead lay their only salvation: sunrise. If the Foxhole and its crew could successfully navigate the sea and reach the northlands before sunrise, they would be free. If not, they would be lost to the beyond. The two companions began to skim silently through the heavens above. Terrance dared not sing and Amaesil could hardly breathe. After a few hours, the crew had become confused. They were deep within the stars and the notion of being guided from above was folly. The two contemplated for a long while in their disorientation. Then, an idea came to mind. “By the Light and Aspects, bring us to the Lands of the Living!” With this chant, Amaesil unsheathed Amaelaurir, the Will of Amaethon. The star-steel longsword forged by Fëanor Sylvaeri shone brightest in the heavens! A beam of crystal moonlight illuminated the sky and guided the wayward sailors northward toward their goal. To those of Almaris, a great comet of sapphire appeared in the night sky that evening. After many more hours, a long shape appeared in the distance. Terrance leapt with joy at having overcome the darkness, but Amaesil was fearful and contemplative. The pair soon gazed upon a great bridge of pearls. It stretched far to the east and west; no ends in sight. Beneath the bridge rested a great troll of silver and grey. It looked down toward the Foxhole and spoke in a booming voice: “FOR WHAT PURPOSE DO YOU SEEK PASSAGE UNDER MY BRIDGE?” “To outrun the morning light,” Amaesil answered. His voice quaked with fear as he saw orange to the east. “If I may ask, troll, what is it that crosses your bridge?” “TO EXPLAIN IT, ELF, WOULD MEAN FOUR SUNRISES AT THE LEAST. TO CROSS MY BRIDGE FROM THE UNDERSIDE, HOWEVER, IS PERMITTED SHOULD YOU ANSWER MY RIDDLE: IT BURNS WITHOUT HEAT AND SMOKES WITHOUT FIRE. FEEL IT TOO LONG AND YOUR TIME BECOMES DIRE.” The elflord was lost for words, but Terrance had spent his childhood playing riddles with his kin. “The cold!” the halfling explained triumphantly. The troll grinned and waved his arms along. The Foxhole glided past the bridge and continued toward the northland shore. As sunrise began to crest on the horizon, the ship was suddenly rocked by a heavy scrapping. Looking overboard, the two companions were amazed to see sand! The sun warmed their cheeks as they sat on the beaches of the northland. Overhead a falling star graced the sky. “You must teach me more of those riddles on the voyage west, llir,” Amaesil said before falling asleep to the sound of the sea. OOC Spoiler This is a collection of anthological tales written by a character named Terrance Handyfellow! I want to make certain that one thing is clear: TERRANCE IS NOT A RELIABLE NARRATOR. These stories are meant to be mythological tales for the elves that are originally told by a halfling who journeyed with my character, Amaesil Vuln'miruel, on his boat journey. I wrote these short stories while bored on vacation and I thought you may all enjoy them. I won't assert that anything in these stories is canon, but damn would some of this **** be pretty neat. That is all. Enjoy the reading! 22 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Media Wizard 2954 Author Share Posted July 19, 2021 AUDIOBOOKS Amaesil Vuln'miruel is a lord of the elves. He has embarked on a great journey into the unknown edges of the east... The ISLAND of FIRE Spoiler SONG FOR a KING Spoiler BEYOND SEAS and HEAVENS Spoiler 3 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
exanimated 1360 Share Posted July 19, 2021 Reserved Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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