Enchante Journals, Volume 6 (book)

A Chronicle of Music and Magic

By Elesigis Arilafrei

Introduction

Bards are the storytellers and lorekeepers of the land, but too often we have forgotten the truths of our own past. There are fascinating tales behind the music and magic that so defines what and who we are as Bards; tales largely unknown. For that reason, my companions and I have taken it upon ourselves to create these chronicles, what we have called the "Enchante Journals."

In this endeavor, this vast undertaking, I have been aided by the following noble Bards: Hildart Sverul, craftsman of Hibarnhvidar and master of the Dwarven epics; Nereeth Gethaelt, wandering singer and performer and entertainer of children; Endirek Chydaku, of the Order of Kalodi. In this volume of our chronicles, we tell the fabled tale of Eillie, and the song known now as "Eillie's Cry."

Volume VI

This is a tale of love and tragedy, of hope and death and sorrow. But it is also one of the most powerful legends we Bards can speak of. It is the tale of Eillie and Desodren.

Ages upon ages ago, there lived a priestess named Eillie De'Tegotais. Eillie was a fierce and strong- willed woman, with the fires of Everild raging within her. She could fight, and defeat, the finest male warriors of the time. But yet she was still a gentle, kind soul. She tended to the ill and protected the weak.

And of course, she was beautiful beyond mere mortal words. With steel-grey eyes, she looked out from the most lovely face, crowned by a river of flowing gold- red tresses. Many, many men -- more men than years have passed since this story took place -- tried to suit this wondrous and gorgeous creature. But none were successful.

Eillie would take the hand of no man, so devoted was she to her cause and her gods. This was the proclamation she made... and yet, it did not ever halt the deluge of suitors that sought the greatest prize and treasure of attainable in the lands -- the hand of dear Eillie.

So the suitors came and the suitors went, none more successful than those who came before, or those who came after. Eillie remained steadfast, devoted to her beliefs.

Years passed, but Eillie grew no less lovely.

And then came one suitor in particular, seeking the affections of Eillie. She, of course, spurned him, like all the rest. But unlike the others, he would not accept his fate. He tried and tried and tried yet again for Eillie's hand, being rejected each time, until he could take it no longer.

He killed Eillie, striking her dead for refusing him.

With this, Eillie became a spirit. In death, she was possessed of the same unflinching determination and resolve which marked her in life. Only now was the quest changed -- revenge. She sought the death of he who had taken everything from her.

Eillie began haunting him, tormenting him, driving him to the brink of madness, until at last he could do nothing else but take his own life. She used her beauty and his love of her to destroy the vestiges of sanity within him before his death.

But Eillie was not contented with this. Her ghostly desire for revenge was not sated... not by far.

Eillie became a demonic force. She began hunting down men, using her alluring beauty to destroy their minds and cause them to either be lured to their deaths, or to take their own lives. We do not know how many men she came to, and how many corpses she left in her wake.

Sometimes it would be an enchanting woman seen through the fog in the distance... and as one runs to her, one would find himself tumbling from a cliffside. Othertimes it would be an ethereal beauty tugging at the heart-strings of two men, prompting them to duel to the death over her love, with the end result being both of them lying, bloodied and dying, upon the ground. Eillie's methods were frequently cruel and her deaths were seldom neat and painless.

Many men sought her out again, now, though for entirely different reasons. Now they sought to destroy her, to end the existence of this wrathful and murderous being. She welcomed their advances now, for she was stronger than them in death, and each warrior that went to Eillie to defeat her became yet another victim of her vengeance.

Then came Desodren.

Desodren was a young Human Bard, born in a village located in what is now northern Therengia. He had not made much of a name for himself, except that he was a morose man who was very much alone, and filled with a sadness because of that. From what we know, his family and friends were lost to death at a very young age. And so he went through life with that burden of sadness and solitude. The songs and poems he wrote reflected this condition.

Desodren at some point heard of the tale of Eillie, of what had happened to her and what she was now doing. And so at the age of twenty three, he began a journey south to see this remarkable Eillie who had taken so many lives and broken so many hearts.

He found her, of course, because Eillie did not seek to remain hidden. She welcomed and enjoined others to find her, that she might take their lives.

But unlike all the others who had come before him, Desodren sought neither to love Eillie, nor to destroy her. He was unlike any of the others she had ever before encountered, and because of this, the wraith was perplexed.

Desodren did not come as a suitor or as a killer... he brought neither gifts to win the heart, nor spells or swords to vanquish the vengeful soul. He brought only his harp. And while Eillie attempted to puzzle out his intent, he sat upon the ground and began to play.

He soon began to sing, as well, a truly beautiful song with words that pierce the heart... he sang to Eillie, and he eased the hurt and the anger, the desire for bloody revenge, that had kept her clinging for so long to the lands. His melodies eased her suffering and he conveyed to her, in a way that simple speech cannot, that she was not alone.

Desodren's music touched Eillie in a way that nothing else ever had before. And she wept, her ghostly tears falling upon the ground before the singing Bard, his face and voice so full of despair. As she wept, she slowly faded away from the world.

Eillie never killed again. She had finally found the peace and the rest that all spirits deserve. And Desodren? He did not die, for no body was found. But no one saw him again, either, though his song became legendary. Some people told tales that they saw a Bard that matched Desodren's description, but it was always through the fog, or at night, or at a distance, and the identity was never confirmed.

Our chronicles of Bardic magic are continued in the next volume.

By my hand,
Elesigis Arilafrei