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Tradition And Silver

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Tradition and Silver

The Continuing Story of Reclamation



 

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Within the grand library of the high elves, you find an old, dusty tome. The pages are crusted with dry, fading ink, and the pages are crumbling for the age of which it was written. As you flick through the pages out of your latent curiosity, you see that the images and inscriptions become distinctly more fresh the further you read--almost as if the books stories were written slowly over time. You open to the first page, and begin to read.


 

 

From the landings of the elven ships went forth multitudes of elves towards the green haven of the newly reformed Malinor. Their many feet patted away at the fresh pavement of the Anthos highway and their eyes sparkled with innocent wonder at the pure, untarnished land ready for their habitation.


Some elves, however, had a more melancholy look about them. As the mali’aheral stoically marched down the road with the other elves--their minds fluttered between their new horizons, and the losses of the past. They slowly found one-another in the crowds of strangers--being drawn to their compatriots with what seemed to be a weary magnetism. As they spoke, reminisced, and debated, their conversations slowly turned to “home.” Where was this new place that was promised to them so short a time ago?

In groups, and alone, the mali’aheral struck out on their own, searching deep within the dense Malinorian forests. Pushing through trees, and rivers, they eventually happened upon a long, open sea of beautiful, untarnished flowers. The brilliant ocean of colour was almost a pathway towards their desired destination--some calling the picturesque sights “mandatory.”

Arriving at the location, the mali’aheral were met with a sweeping view of great mountains, waterfalls, and small ponds. Nothing but meagre, rude tents were already present, and scattered around the grassy fields. The lack of resources did not put the settlers off, however, and they quickly began to scrounge seeds from the ground, and hunt the forests for game. They cut wood for fire, and spent their first evening huddled together against the cold. They asked for no aid from Malinor or its princes--perhaps out of desire to remain self-sufficient, or perhaps out of sheer, immovable pride they had in themselves.

In the depths of the night, they spoke in whispers beneath their ragged blankets about past glories, the future, and independence...

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Mali’aheral of all kinds stood around the small pond, and wiped their brows of sweat. For hours they had toiled upon the plateau of the “new place,” and now the freshly tilled soil spread like a blackened sheet around the little pool.


The industrius mali’aheral, with chitters of pride and weariness, lay down seeds within the nutrient-rich soil, and waited for the new crop to spring up.

Some mali’aheral--artists who preferred to design rather than dig at the dirt, explored the countryside with paper and pencils. They scribbled furiously as their hands flew across the parchment. Their minds-eye already mapping out what would one day adorn the hillsides. They knew of their first constructive effort already--as was before, would they have again.

 

 

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Standing around the newly-created plaza were numerous builders, artists, and architects. The creation of the new structure--the first of many, was a gorgeous inn. The distinctive blue tiles had been placed carefully upon the rocky foundations, and the mortar was still fresh upon the stone. A short, polite applause was performed by the reasonably pleased citizenry. That said, there was still much to do, and the mali’aheral were not about to stop so soon after beginning.

 

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After this success, the artisans began to design a whole slew of structures--mostly based on the blessed styles of the ancestors, but allowing for new, slender designs by the meticulous and obsessively creative stonemasons. With the diligent efforts of many citizens (some with great complaints towards the state of their robes after working) many new towers and halls were erected with a speed unseen in the days of the ehaelun’or.

Remaining stern in their successes, and still very wary of failure, they continued their building with close precision.

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Standing upon the hills above the city, citizens reported strange shapes on the horizon on clear days, and (their natural curiosity taking effect) made overtures to explore the strange sights. An expedition was about to be formed...

 

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Stone after stone was placed upon the virgin soil of the newly named city of Lin'avarel--a new "sanctuary" indeed. The city slowly began to take form, and growing smiles of pride beamed across the citizens faces--the likeness of the ehaelun'or bringing comfort during the growing troubles. Books began to flock into the library, and the labyrinth slowly began to grow larger--more room being required to hold tomes.

 

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Buzzings of fear, worry, and intrigue leapt from high-elf to high-elf as talk of the civil strife in the Mali'nor reached a crescendo. Debate and arguments flared within the city, as the mali'aheral desperately tried to reach consensus upon what role the mali'aheral would play. Many considered a lack of clashes with the Valah organisations would allow them to remain ignored within their city, while others believed the humans came to conquer, burn, and pillage all. Many were frightened, and too few had experience in combat. 

 

What struck them most of all, was whether to join in the defence of the Mali'nor, or remain aloof of the conflict as they had always done historically. Many mali'aheral cited past wrongs committed by the people of the Mali'nor, and the subsequent effects it had on Kalos, Elysium, and Anthos politics. Some blamed the mali'ker, some the council, but consensus could not be reached.

 

And thus the panic began...

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It was after a while that the physical construction of Lin'evaral was completed. The city had nearly fully taken form. Time passed and the mali'aheral soon began to resume their chatter of independence once more. Eventually, pon the departure of Kolyat Alfakyn from Malinor, the elves declared their independence under the leadership of Lucion Sullas.

 

The Nation, The Enclave of Haelun'or was forged once more.
 

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The citizens however soon realized that no longer did they have to construct houses of bricks but rather a government of words and the pure. It was thus that Lucion Sullas once again stepped forth and word by word crafted a government which was worthy of the venerated culture of elves. In time it was Lucion who became Sohaer, and Kalenz Uradir and Delonna Aélèylsa who became the Medi'iran of their blessed state.
 

The Council,  The Hieal'thilln was forged once more. 


Subsequently the blessed elves set their sights on their next goal. A formal border with their 'cousins' in elmali'nor. Yet this proved to be more difficult than the elves could ever have anticipated. Verbal conflict arose between the two nations of elves, yet elhieal'mali would not budge. It would take "more than just words" they protested.
 
It was at this time that the Sohaer Lucion Sullas departed for a time, appointing Kalenz as temporary Sohaer. For years the elf had brooded over the situation with Malinor and it was indeed "more than words" to Malinor he intended to deliver.

 

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It was then the sounds of steel upon wood echoed across the forests of the elves, the sound of the ancient trees falling to their doom. Borders no longer were to be a choice of elmali'nor. The claim of the high elves had been accepted by Oren itself, the new rulers of Malinor. They were to be forced upon them. This action however did not only disturb the arrangement of trees in the forest. Conflict was brewing... A conflict with the guardians of nature itself.

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Seasons came and went, valah grew older but the mali'aheral remained. Their venerated society standing as tall as the highest towers of Lin'evaral. With this passing time came a newfound level of cooperation with elmali'nor. Indeed, it seemed one of their lower council, Asthil, was quite partial to cooperation between the two nations of elves. The druian and Malinor came to accept the land claim of the mali'aheral.

 

Yet the relationship between the children of Silver and the children of Maln was to be tested further in the coming year. It was a Sentinel of Malinor, Benedict Aves, who attempted to burn the mill of the mali'aheral. Fortunately he was stopped but once again tensions between the two groups of elves rose.

 

In a compromise Benedict Aves was to be put under trial by the mali'aheral of Haelun'or. Justice was to be enacted.

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So it came to pass that the criminal Benedict Aves was to escape the incompetent Malinor Sentinels. However the mali'aheral did not linger their thoughts on Benedict Aves. What came next was an outright rejection of those who upon many an occasion had attempted to cause the mali'aheral harm: The Fallen.

The Fallen lead by the unscrupulous fire-witch, Vallel, were exiled from elven lands including Malinor. Each known member was hunted down and purged before the gates of Lin'evaral.

Yet this time where the mali'aheral would hunt and kill these undesirables was swift to come to an end. The two behemoths of nations, Oren and Uraguan were to enter a war which would tear Anthos in two.

The mali'aheral became wary, knowing those of Uraguan might attempt to take illogical revenge upon them for the anvil which they had held long ago. The sounds of weapon smithing echoed across the city as the Sillumir lead by the new okarir'tir, Elavern'sil, were reformed.

So the mali'aheral stood by their Crimson-Silver Concordart, hoping war would not return to their blessed lives.

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And so time passed once more in the blessed lives of the mali'aheral. Just as is always true, empires would rise and fall in the span of their short lives. In time fell the White Rose and the mali'aheral were once left without a reliable ally they could depend on with the exception of the Princedom of Malin which had so often betrayed them— At least in the mind of the then Sohaer.

 

Alas, so came a time of thawing which cumulated in the Silver-Emerald Concordat, so designed by Asthil of Malinor. For a time there was prosperity and then came the shadow of the north. From their icy homes they came and from their icy homes they brought destruction upon Haelun'or. A great battle was fought in which the high elves were driven out of their home and it was only the combined strength of the elves which permitted them to reclaim it. Next came the Uruk, wrecking havoc on the already ailing city. Time passed, but it seemed that all was lost.

 

The city of LIn'evaral was beset by tremors and the mali'aheral were forced from their sanctuaries. The high elves were to retreat to the Old Princedom, where they set up their own camp— Yet the winds of change blew also in Malinor, their camp was not to last for long.

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Wasting away in the refugee camps were the remnants of the pure citizenry. The strange and mysterious tremors that rumbled beneath Lin'evaral had driven away even the most steadfast of its people. The graceful powers that pierced the sky now crumbled back into the earth. Books, experiments, and property were left for looters brave or mad enough to venture into the ruins. So much had been lost, aside perhaps for their dignity.

 

So once again, the Mali'aheral found themselves huddling against one-another out in the chilling nights. What little they had left was stockpiled in a communal tent, and shared among their fellows as best they could. Strangely, violence seemed rare in the camp, despite the reputation of New Malinor being quite the opposite.

 

Living once again with the lesser creatures took its toll quickly on the refugees sensibilities. Bewilderment over their strange social norms, frequent copulation, and constant fighting made it difficult to acclimatize. Some found relief in the presence of old friends, and some retreated to remote outposts long forgotten by the old Enclave's citizens. Upon the fall of the High Council and the ascendancy of the new "Conclave of Malin," many of the Mali'aheral ventured to it, hoping for a new beginning, and perhaps some form of reconciliation with their cousin Mali. In truth, many found what they sought, and wallowed in their new-found egalitarianism. But others were not so satisfied. These traditionalists banded together, and devised a solution to their problem. In this time of uncertainty, disastrous wars, political upheaval, and horrors beyond counting, a research facility was constructed in a remote mountain valley, far from the disruptions of the world. There they would work for their people...

 

... or they would leave.

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Aware of the world around them, the high elves toiled and worked upon their home which was given the name by Lucion Sullas "The Tomb". Kalameet, leader of the Conclave of Malin perished and yet the industrious mali'aheral paid no heed— Their goal was singular and the misfortune of he who had left them was perhaps of too little concern to become anything more than idle chatter.

 

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The mali'aheral fluttered in the halls, engraving stone and crafting a home tailored exactly to their liking. Only time would tell what would be constructed in those silver halls. Yet one thing was certain, at least in the minds of the few: Though they were but seventeen in number, soon they would once again be more.

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Silence is a commodity often prized by the Mali'aheral. And yet, just like many things it can be found in excess. Silence however, upon this karim, was not a word which one would use to describe the Tomb which the mali'aheral had made their home, for mali fluttered about the halls they had wrought from cold hard stone.
 
A new home, undoubtably had been forged. Indeed, while wood may rot and stone may crumble it would seem that Silver is eternal.

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As time passed the relations with the outside nations became stronger.

 

A ball was arranged by the town of Leanniel. There was quiche, wine, tea and dancing!

The three kind of mali were entranced by the music and drink, happy they were.

 

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"Our city stands. Kingdoms melt away like snow and the onset of a thousand human generations leaves its wear upon the earth, but yet it stands. It has vanquished the tooth of all-consuming time to grant us, the Mali'aheral, blessed high elves, our knowledge and our path."

 

So were these words said by Ellir'siol, the Lonely Friend, and so too did they stand as irrefutable fact, chiseled into the fabric of time to remain as the very nature of the existence of the silver nation of elmali'aheral, the Blessed Elves. Years did pass since the construction of the Tomb, the research base which the Mali'aheral built as their home following the fall of Lin'evaral, the rebellion of Mali'nor and the formation of the Conclave. In the Tomb the Mali'aheral did live in blessed isolation, forgoing the everlasting conflicts of the lesser-lived races in favor of the pursuance of the maehr'sae hiylun'ehya; progress through science and health through knowledge. The peace was enjoyed by all, but it was not to last. 

 

A terrible force rose from the north of Anthos, sweeping indiscriminately over the cities of dwarf, orc, elf and man. Eventually, a solution came about. With the aid of the Blessed Elves, an organization known only as the Golden Lance retrieved three keys and opened the gate to a new realm: the Fringe.

 

Thus, the Mali'aheral marched. They left their Tomb behind, fleeing the approaching corruption, and strode through the gateway to a new land. The studious high elves, no strangers to the tedious grind of moving and rebuilding,  quarried much stone and raised many beams. There, nestled in cliffs between the nation of Oren and the nations of Urguan and Alras, rose a new city of the high elves...

 

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The years within the land dubbed "The Fringe" grew; the mali'aheral developed not only in numbers but in diversity. Within their walls the noble houses of the mali'ker and the prideful kharajyr took refuge from the war torn lands beyond the silver plateau.

 

With new lands came new opportunities as Medi'ir Delonna Aeléyèlsa and the beloved Sohaer Lelien Lazul both took leave of their service having their positions quickly filled by Medi'ir Iatrilemar Elervathar and the return of the past Sohaer Lucion Sullas.

 

And in strides was progress made, the uruks quelled, the wars coming to a simmer, the tea fresh! Towers sprouted through the city as the population of mali'aheral grew exponentially. It was not known where all these displaced mali'aheral came from. Perhaps Anthos was not the only past waypoint to the Fringe?

 

It soon became apparent the plateau could only house so much and with no where to expand around them, having been surrounded in the sea that was the human nations the mali'aheral came to ponder. Were they made to reach into the skies or fall into the depths?    

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The nations of the lesser elves are often ill fated and misguided. The Conclave of Malin, which eradicated the Shining Princedom of Malinor was no exception to this trend of inferiority and thus, as all things do, it slowly withered and fell apart. With it died the last of the nations of the lesser elves.

 

Disgruntled and displaced the rabble took it upon itself to elect themselves a new leader of elves. This elf to win was the Maheral of Haelun'or, Kalenz Uradir. It was then the rabble descended upon Tahn'siol and organised themselves, separate from the blessed elves but still bound by the Silver Laws which have preserved Blessed Haelun'or from the decay the lesser elven nations faced. First came the mali'ker, who founded the district Ker'lomi and then the mali'ame who founded Lin'ame.

 

It was also during this time of great change that Delonna Aeléyèlsa retired as Medi'ir, the late Sohaer Lelien Lazul stepped down and Lucion Sullas rose once more to become Sohaer. However, it seemed history was to repeat itself and but years later he was once more replaced by Kalenz Uradir. The hideous fate of the late Maheral Lelien Lazul, however, is a tale for another time. 

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