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Submitted to the Eternal Library
MILITANT FATE
Written by Malaurir Dimaethor Elervathar
Issued on 23rd of the Amber Cold, 1740
The horizon behind the Motherland was beautifully on fire. The soaring towers stretched upwards, piercing the sheening heavens above. Upon our peak of sheer splendor, the ‘thill had reconciled with one another in an enduring truce. Candles and a sweet scent seeping out of a hall hinted at a daughter and her parents and their parents savoring supper. Oh you peaceful dominion of Silver.
An unexpected snowfall obscures the view, and creates chaos and panic. Arrows adrift flew through the air above the heads of crouching Sillumiran, dancing the dance of death. The horses rise, neighing, and there are no riders in their saddles. The trenches are filled with a thousand lonely murders, and the dark wind continues to blow. We are trapped on these besieged fields.
Bells must no longer toll, and in its place ring laughter of children. Pristine pillars of quartz had risen out of luscious grassland like sunflowers, or lilies. A domesticated Mali’ame wandered about, plucking weed out of one of many Haelunorian lavish parks. Soups of the finest vegetables simmered in the tavern, and barrels and barrels of Visaj wine were rolled in to build stock for a grand feast. Days passed slowly; serenity for what seemed like an eternity.
A rose drifting in water. A silent scream in the night. The hardened souls softened against the steel swords sent in their direction. The trumpet call to continue the charge, a fanfare of impure affliction, compelled more Elves forward to the slaughter. They rang as if in anticipation of the impending carnage. With this backdrop of suffering, blinded and choking, they were taken to have a dawning and dismal realisation..
No more ashes. Peace.