Book:HprTD: Difference between revisions

From Elanthipedia
Jump to navigation Jump to search
No edit summary
(Redirected page to History of Trefan Draus (book))
 
(2 intermediate revisions by one other user not shown)
Line 1: Line 1:
==A History of Trefan Draus==
#redirect [[History of Trefan Draus (book)]]
'''by Paralien Rautavala'''

The Dwarves recite flamboyant lyrics about their "ancient
mountains." The S'kra Mur speak of their ancestors as "the first."
What care we, the Elven, for such rhetoric? Before the oldest and
wisest lizard slithered out upon the primal rock there was the
Ocean and soon, too, its lover, the first of the Elvenkindred. We
are of that Elven kindred, and we love to distraction even as our
distant parent once did.


==Chapter Zero: Our Distant Past==

We begin with the Ocean, for all things begin with the Ocean. It
was infinite in expanse and uncontainable. Yet the Ocean wished
for company and so created children within herself. Later still
she sought companionship outside herself, and thus created the land
and all things that dwell upon it, including our first ancestors.

They were happy and unconcerned upon the Ocean's shores, following
the dictates of her Voice and prospering in her attention.
Occasionally we would discover signs of other peoples moving great
distances across the plains far to the west. They furnished
speculation for the first songs and tales the Elvenkindred made
that were not about the Ocean and themselves. Doughty, short,
bearded warriors. Or taller folk not unlike ourselves, but
stronger. We waved and sought their attention, but they never
responded. We were told they were younger children who had already
forgotten the Ocean in their desire to know the rest of her
creation.
One night and day was much like another near the waves' caress,
until that fateful time we were sent away. No reason was given why
we must leave our beloved Ocean. The Elvenkindred merely felt the
Voice declare this one day, packed their meager belongings and
left. The Voice has not returned since then, and all that remains
is the heart's echo of pain, cutting across generations of River
Elven like the distant roar of surf. It beats within us; that, and
the knowledge that we must remain steadfast until we receive the
Call. Only when the Call is heard shall we Elvenkindred find once
more the sight of our beloved Ocean, our tears melting into her
waters.


==Chapter One: A Home is Sought==

Bereft of lover, parent and counselor, our ancestors sought what
relief could be found in distant images. Their steps turned
westward, and they traveled long before coming upon the Namafal--
misnamed, perhaps. It is not very salty but blue as the eyes of
day, and its banks sparkle with a rainbow of crystal deposited over
the centuries.

The Namafal runs strong and swift between 2 ranges of hills which
Humans have since named The Teeth of Akroeg, but which we call
Clethian Tiera and Clethian Foril, meaning The Entry and Egress
towards/from Regaining Strength. (Likely the fact that we address
either range as Tiera or Foril depending upon our emotional states
confuses other races, prompting them to select a single, fixed
description. Some sentient species have little appreciation for
the mutability of nature, however perceptive they are in some other
respects.)

Thick, forested carpets of fruit trees and clustered palms
gathering for miles along the Namafal's winding sides. There is
little access to the river unless one can scale craggy cliffs like
a lizard or roc, save for the very occasional gap between The
Teeth.

Directly inside one such gap we created our encampment, a well-
protected region of river, shores and woods, marred only by
excessive heat. As the days stretched across time into years this
encampment became our trefan, Draus. Its history is worth
examining, for of all the Elvenkindred we alone remain steadfast to
the elden ways. Since the River Elven are the eldest, our ways and
the ways of the Salt Clan are those from which all else has
diverged.
Now do not think our ways of living merely an echo of the past. We
preserve nothing which is static and fragile. Rather we invest our
traditions with the belief and energy they deserve, and they grace
and nurture us. They are living traditions. They direct our
energies into paths which benefit all.

Consider for instance our system of government that rules both town
and countryside. It is a pure monarchy, based on laws of
primogeniture. This is not because we believed monarchies superior
to other forms of government now or then, nor primogenitur the best
method of choosing a monarch-- but because they are the simplest
means to manage the transfer of government. "In governing well
lies the wisdom of leaders, not retaining power," wrote one of our
earliest social theorists, Malkiene. And she was, as always,
right.

Malkiene spoke those words at the first Council of our first ruler,
Lord Gallaenin. He approved her comments. (Both words and their
reactions have been transcribed and retained since that meeting
within the fai'ren of the Council Chamber. Only Council members
may consult it, though anything quoted from the fai'ren thereafter
becomes available to all.)

You might reason that this accord was because Maliene's remarks
cemented the foundation of his throne. Far from it. Malkiene led
the party that caught Gallaenin after he fled from Trefan Draus
upon hearing of his investiture by the Council. For Gallaenin
wanted no part of rulership, being a fletcher and herbalist by
trade who preferred his own affairs and his own ways in the woods.
He wished no welfare of others to be dropped upon his shoulders
like a bindweed net. Several of his subsequent Laments survive in
our bards' repertoire, bitterly eloquent about his burden.

The Council was not insensitive to Gallaenin's pleas, for the
rights of all Elven are equal before the Ocean and her children.
But somebody was needed to make decisions about Trefan Draus, and
the shadow fell across Gallaenin. He proved an excellent choice
for those times, a serious ruler whose judgment proved uncannily
accurate time and again. Such was required, for we Elvenkind do not
relocate our settlements easily.

Other races cannot begin to understand this fact, however quick of
apprehension they are. We are not like those tribes that discover
a suitable spot unoccupied by their neighbors and simply claim it.
Where Dwarven will mine, Halflings plant and Humans hunt without a
thought save to their own welfare and their children's future, the
Elven seek first their rightful place in the local culture. Are we
trying to settle within a forest, or perhaps by a desert? Then the
forest or the desert must accept us, and we must live by its rules.
This is a clue to the different-seeming natures among our kind.
River, Forest, Bone, Mountain, Sand, Snow or City: all are Elven,
yet distinct. Because all live according to the ancient litany
that whispers through and governs each place.

Carefree they call us, these other races, the Children of the
Summer of the World; but only because they see the results of our
efforts without observing the long effort itself. What comes
almost magically to us-- the fruit of the trees, the bounty of
stream and earth-- these are gained in exchange for our allegiance.
And long, and hard, is the path towards that.
But I appear to digress and jump ahead of my tale. Time is a
concept that the Elven treat differently from other races, and I
must temporarily retreat from the cross currents of air back into
the slow directional movement of the Namafal itself. We return to
Trefan Draus, and the moment of its birth.



==Chapter Two: The Settling of Trefan Draus==

Thus it was when our people first settled between The Teeth, and
formed the Salt Clan. We were rootless for many years, uncertain
how to proceed, living in a home that had not yet welcomed us and
granted permission for its occupancy. This was a great weight upon
our people, and that combined with our naturally low birthrate and
the riGors of life in a different region and climate led to a sharp
decline in our numbers.
We persevered. Under Lord Gallaenin we slowly built our homes,
using red-veined, cream-colored brick made from mortar and crushed
conchshells. Gleaming dark bartani scales formed the roofs over
our heads and reflected back the intense, enervating heat. We
developed new nets of green bindweed, less intricate than those of
old, to catch fewer of the small, delicate fish that swam in the
local streams and the Namafal. Slowly we learned the right times
to pick each kind of wild nut and berry in the neighboring forests,
and how much to gather without taking from those who needed it,
too, and had prior rights.

But even then our travail was not finished. The first visitor to
Trefan Draus since we formed it came unseen, unwelcome into our
midst. She bore pain and a feverish frenzy in her touch, and she
stroked the brows of more than three-quarters our early
inhabitants. The signs of her visitation were terrifying-- a
thirst that could not be quenched, the rise of pustules across the
body, a general dulling of the intellect. The pustules burst after
3 or 4 days, causing a horrific stench but providing some relief
and sanity for the sufferers. Alas, it was a mockery. They almost
always died within 24 hours of that.

Draus was not a large town before she came. It barely qualified as
a village after she faded from our presence. Scarce 200 names are
reckoned on the lists in those following years, and many of these
were children and the elderly, or those left sickened or brutalized
by disease.

Some River Elven grew disheartened. They wished to find other
places to settle, even if this meant losing the voice of the
Ocean's call when it finally came in the distance. Sadly, more
than half our kindred departed at that time from Trefan Draus,
moving (as we discovered later) to other lands.

And this is the origin of the various Elven families. We know that
many will claim differently, but their memories are flawed by loss
of contact with their origins and by years of doings, large and
small, in the matters other races. You must understand, we are not
better than Humans, Halflings, Gor'Tog, S'kra Mur or Dwarves. But
we are different; and in preserving our meralion lies our greatest
strength. When we give this up, when we take on the affairs and
viewpoints of these other races, we lose that which sets us apart,
and only disaster can follow.

It was shortly thereafter that we made first contact with sentient
creatures that were not Elvenkind. This, too, was not an
auspicious meeting. According to the fai'ren, 9 men and women
appeared over the plains to the east of The Teeth one day. They
made directly without asking for the smallest, cleanest lake that
lay 25 yards outside the gap and watered their mounts. Then they
smashed the Bowls of Drinking and encouraged their animals to foul
our drinking supply amidst much laughter. Finally they approached
to within 40 feet of Draus, and yelled out insults.

Shortly thereafter our Lord walked out alone, as he had wished it.
This was Lord Besana Devilion: once strong and wise as his recorded
deeds prove, his strength now gone in age but his wisdom great. He
forbade any others to join him as he confronted these people,
though our Council dearly desired this for the rightness of his
honor and that of our Trefan. But Besana was loved and respected,
and his thought in this matter prevailed.
The men and women who stood there in easy confidence wore a varied
assortment of worn and damaged leather and chain armor. Dirty
linen gauze folded turban-like bound their hair in place, and their
belts held many weapons. At the time we did not know what to make
of their varied shapes, but now we realize they were Humans,
S'kra Mur and Gor'Tog.

Their leader was the largest Human of the group, a bald, scarred
giant who loomed over the rest. "You will throw open your gates,
and let us in to take what we wish," he said. His followers
grinned. Our gates: at the time they consisted of several wooden
poles resting precariously on 2 white moi'tra dolmens. Ah, but
they were a symbol of resistance, and these shar'diz wished us
humiliated in our eyes, the better to work their will upon Trefan
Draus.

However Besana merely leaned heavily upon his cane, as though
steeling himself against a strong wind, and said nothing.

"What's the matter, old man?" shouted their leader after a pause.
He slid a large scimitar from his belt and pointed it at Besana.
"Are you deaf as well as stupid? Tell your hetman to let us in!
If he be not around, let us in, and we shall greet him upon his
return."
"I am the hetman of Trefan Draus," replied Besana at length and
feebly, but clearly enough for those inside our town to hear.
"Only friends may pass between our gates."

The invaders laughed at Besana's reply. "And so we are," sneered
the giant, "your best friends and protectors! We are hungry and
want nice things. You will give us all that. What else are
friends for?"

Lord Besana shook his head wearily. "Draus is small and our people
much fallen from what they were, but we bear the imprimatur still
of our forebears. Make an end to this. Kill me or leave at once,
for you are upwind of my nostrils."
At that the giant bellowed an oath, and he and his people descended
upon Besana like rocs upon a dead child. But as their blades bit
into his limbs our Lord cried out and struck at his attackers with
his cane; and the fire that came forth from it blinded those who
watched from comparative safety for nearly a minute.

When they could see again only charred corpses remained in
view...save the Lord Besana, who was in great pain and near death.
He spoke with his daughter, Vrisana, and presently left for the
Ocean.
Not a week later we received our second visit. This time it was
the Lady Vrisana who emerged from the gates-- alone, for she bade
us honor the memory of her father in this request of hers. And she
bore in her hands a bloodstained linen cloth.

The travelers that approached seemed more peaceable if equally
well-armed. There were several S'kra Mur in robes, attended by
Human bodyguards. Many horses were with them as well, but these
were pack animals laden with supplies.

They approached slowly and with evidence of some suspicion. Have
we seen, they wondered, a party of men and women...then they
proceeded to describe our attackers.

In reply, Vrisana unrolled the linen cloth. The oversized scimitar
of the giant Human clattered to the ground. Several of the
S'kra Mur hissed, and our people (armed this time, with harki knives and
jranoki) prepared for battle.

But it quickly became apparent that these new, strange visitors
were not voicing anger. They were expressing intense pleasure.
It seemed that the same party which had attacked us also did much
damage to their caravan (for such they were, traders and
travelers). Their hetman requested the scimitar, and Vrisana
assented. This much pleased them as well, though we had trouble
understanding their concept called zha'vazh, blood feud.

Vrisana invited the caravan into Trefan Draus. Over the next week
deals were struck from which both parties derived much benefit.
Thus first began the traffic and trust between River Elven and
S'kra Mur traders that continues to this day.

==Chapter Three: War and Trade Come to Our Borders==
In such light did matters stand when, during the reign of Lady
Raleene, a deputation of travelers appeared before our Council.
They were Elven, yet not like our Elven. They were dressed
entirely in scarlet and purple, in silks and sable with gold chains
of office and power. Though many of us are tall they were taller
still.
"We have come," declared their spokesperson, head held high, "to
obtain the support of true kindred everywhere in this war between
all Elven and the Human vermin that infest the rubbish heaps of
this land."

"You are bid welcome," replied the Lady gravely, and she stated her
lineage to the seventh degree in formal greeting. Of necessity
through tradition the visitors responded in kind-- one can well
imagine their frustration. But Raleene was right to stand upon
this most ancient of ceremonial greetings, especially with those
who claimed race kindred in defense of their cause.
Their leader identified herself as Cheril Laranainen. She spoke
for the Lord Keirnion of the Forest Elven, whose daughter Sorril
had been raped and spirited away by a Human named Kanton
accompanied by a band of cutthroat thugs. "What do you propose to
do about it?" asked the Lady.

"We have suffered Humans long enough," Cheril said, her gaze never
faltering as it locked upon Raleene's. "They have stripped the
beauty from our lands. Now they would take the children from our
homes. We want nothing more of them save their lives."
"I know that is not kindness on your part, for most Humans we have
encountered value their lives above all else," Raleene said.
"Assuming the truth of what you say regarding this Kanton, why
should the River Elven care?"

"Are you not elves?" Cheril said. "Where is your pride? Are we
not older than these Humans? Yet we see them growing daily in
power and substance. They and the Dwarves take places of
leadership that are ours by right of primogenitur and wisdom among
the races."

"If we are so wise we would not seek to enforce laws meant for
Elvenkind alone upon other races," Raleene said. "Or do you have
evidence that these selfsame laws are meant for all mortals?"

"So you will play at choplogic rather than help us?" countered
Cheril, then, angrily: "I wonder why they said this was a place
where the M'Diari dwell. Will you at least not stand against us?"

Raleene frowned. "You seek to impress us with images of material
wealth. You ask us to slay not merely one person but an entire
race, when all are children of the Ocean. Then you peer about for
M'Diari and insult us. Do not look in a mirror, Counselor
Laranainen. You will not find M'Diari there. Whatever your
complaint at these Humans, every moment that you stay in our
Council Chamber increases the resemblance between you and them."
Raleene frowned and would no doubt have continued at length in a
similar vein to that which I have transcribed, but the Elven
ambassadors perhaps sensed this, and chose instead to leave. We
never heard from any of them again, and word of the war that
followed made its way slowly to Trefan Draus long after the matter
had been resolved (as we later discovered) in a miraculous fashion.
Some have alleged since that the River Elven were involved in it,
and I have heard at least 1 song which lists several dead heroes as
being among those who came from Trefan Draus; but as these same
heroes are not listed among the inhabitants of Draus from its first
years forward we doubt the accuracy of such remarks.

This is not to say that heroes who appeared like River Elven were
hallucinations of combatants during the Elven-Human War. But they
most certainly were not River Elven, nor of Trefan Draus. And in
any case during the latter period of that conflict our gates were
closed once more to the rest of the world, for a lingering sickness
(like its earlier cousin, not as bad, yet still the bane of our
lives until recently) smote the Salt Clan with substantial force.
Raleene used this pretext to decree the first Shuttering-In,
sealing our borders to all traffic.
It was maintained for 22 years. For after disease had done what
it could to destroy our contacts with the world at large, Raleene
took its place. She insisted that the River Elven were self-
sufficient and needed no one, and debated incessantly with the
Council the basis of her authority, the significance of trade, and
even in one memorable session whether a world outside of the River
Elven truly existed.

(As a side matter, it should be noted the Council records of that
period show the Lady Raleene was never one to give up an argument
nor lose it, such was the strength of her reasoning and powers of
recall; though seldom have so many hollow victories been won that
would have resulted better for poorer sense and greater grace.)
It was only upon Lady Raleene's death and the investiture of her
son, Lord Olande, that this enforced isolation ended. As his first
act in office Olande caused the Stel of the Revarisen buried before
our gates to be dug up, and smote it with his Staff of Office. It
broke into many shards that were scattered in the Namafal. And the
caravans which had continued passing us by in the distance all that
time, their shadows at sun's set not even reaching our borders,
returned as though nothing of consequence had happened-- which,
aside from massive death in battle and an empire's birth, was
indeed the case.

Yet when they returned, it was with an enhanced need for goods and
a greater appreciation of those produced by the River Elven. Some
might think this was because of the fickleness of taste, and surely
we have observed this phenomenon since that time. In our case,
however, it was probably more a matter of the lack of productive
adult population left to other races, coupled with the knowledge
that we had taken no side nor part in these mass slayings, that
increased our renown.
Such at least were the speculations of our first Sa'in Talithel,
Master of Markets, whose name was Talithel Coru. For it was no
longer possible to have Clan members producing goods and sealing
contracts individually in mutual advantage. Talithel's task (no
easy one) was to forecast the lesser and greater needs of various
trading groups, coordinate our efforts to meet these, and secure
whatever goods were deemed necessary by the Council in return.
Thus, the Humans and S'kra Mur desired River Elven jranoki-- our
deep-draw bows with carved and lacquered shell designs-- but as the
size of Salt Clan increased, so the number of available bows for
export declined. Fortunately the Dwarven traders we dealt with
could deliver many cords of oak which we could turn into jranoki,
and sell to the Humans and S'kra Mur. The Dwarven in turn covet
our necklaces made of semi-precious stones or colorful salt
clusters, and as the latter can be produced with relative ease we
have the means to pay our wood suppliers.
Many necessities were developed by us for our own use which,
because of Trefan Draus' geographical isolation, appeared exotic
to other races. Perhaps, too, they appreciated the painstaking
attention to quality that always been the hallmark of River Elven
craftsmanship. Whatever the cause, merchants have always been
interested in the goods of commonplace Clan life, though the prices
of these fluctuated according to the moment. Thus bartani scales,
which furnish the distinctive tiled roofs of our houses, were
perfected into a kind of shield: lightweight and extremely hard,
though admittedly very brittle.

Admittedly our harki knives, though long and useful for skinning,
make poor weapons in hand-to-hand combat. This is because they
were developed for quick maneuvering against large, clawed prey.
Emphasis on maneuverability also explains our lack of heavy armor
and helms of any sort. We prefer to hide and evade the larger,
more quarrelsome beasts that roam the lands between Clethian Tiera
and Clethian Foril.

But there is more to life in our world than killing other sentient
beings, fortunately. The Elvenkindred are renowned for their love
and understanding of music. The salaka carapace forms a wonderful,
resonant case for our 6- and 12-stringed val'ani. Brightly painted
casan drums and fainali, the flutes of courtship, are also popular.
(Few, though, comprehend the tuning of a fainal, and therein lies
the effect.)

Our salaka saws are also extremely durable and sharp. From years
of shaping stone our tools have acquired a precision and strength
which is the envy of clans everywhere; and even the Dwarven have
admitted this.

Mas'en beads and light linen fabrics comprise our clothing and
these are for sale as well, though we wear and sell only colors
appropriate to the festivals of the calendar. I have mentioned
our gem necklaces, but not our salt sculptures created from living
crystal. These range in size from a palmsbreadth to the dimensions
of a hut. The fluid that encourages growth is carefully monitored,
resaturated and repositioned, and each sculpture takes shape very
gradually over many months.

Salt, of course, forms the basic export for the Salt Clan. We
sell vast quantities of it to all merchants, and though the price
is low there is a constant market that never fluctuates for this
commodity. The Dwarven have also offered to set up joint mining
ventures on the slopes of Clethian Foril, but this we have refused.
Foril especially (but Tiera, too) is the guardian of the Namafal,
the neighboring forest and all that dwell within them, including
the River Elven. To barter access would be to lose all future
chance of ever slipping beneath the Ocean's waves once more.

==Chapter Four: Trefan Draus Today==

In time, runs the old Elven saying, a drop of water becomes a
lake, and a wall becomes a friendship or a citadel. All things
shift in the universe of time. So it has been with Trefan Draus.
As the wealth of trade came to us, so it began to reform our Clan.
The town gate is now a real gate, built of tightly mortared stone,
with arrow loops in a second story parapet, and guards who civilly
greet arrivals any hour of day or night. Kaf'te, curing rafts,
once slung under the intemperate sun, have moved indoors to a large
guild facility. Temporary housing quarters for traders have been
replaced by tall, permanent structures where all guests are
registered and lodged for free.

The small marketplace on Namafal's eastern bank has been superseded
by two buildings, much further west and away from the gates: an
elaborate Mercantile Exchange for all manner of goods, and a squat
Financial Exchange where loans, deposits and guarantees may be
transacted. The S'kra Mur and Halfling traders are particularly
pleased with this, though Dwarven and Human visitors often prefer
the old way of transacting their business at Bluestone Tavern.
Even the building materials have altered as Trefan Draus grew.
Wooden beams became popular, allowing larger structures. Bartani,
bred in small lakes on varying diets to produce differently colored
scales, give today's rooftops a curiously multi-hued effect. The
presence of Dwarvenkind in this area mean a source for metal, and
several small, gleaming examples of fine iron and bronze work dot
our town's landscape-- such as the filigree edging around the inner
and outer walls of our City Council chambers.
Dwarven engineers have also assisted Draus artisans in the design
and implementation of some of our most impressive and beautiful
architecture, like the 4 Delicate Walkways that span and wind
across the Namafal in leisurely, sinuous grace. Fragile, would
you think? -They can support as many people as wish to travel
across them at once. Did I mention their form, like so many
delicately molded white waves sparkling with a confided hint of
other colors? Or that they impede not the light upon the Namafal
itself, and allow one to gaze down into its clear, cold depths
without obstruction?

Yet if the River Elven have prospered and wisely renewed and
bedecked Trefan Draus with many fine things, other changes have
wrought controversy. For instance our earlier, squarecut
buildings of shellbrick have given way to fanciful spiral homes
emulating the shape of the conch. This much is a matter for
admiration when executed with taste-- but what of those few
inhabitants, grown wealthy from trade, who have paid the Dwarven
to find abandoned, giant conchshells elsewhere in the land, and
bring them to Trefan Draus as homes? It is an enormous expense
with no return for the community, and the result breaks the visual
line of pattern and thought that has marked our Clan since the
dawn of its history.

Or what of our citizens who have purchased fine suede garments and
furs from the S'kra Mur? There is the question of creatures
surely destroyed for their skins; was the impact upon the land
measured before the taking of these inhabitants? This is to be
doubted. Then there is the clothing itself, plainly at odds with
our stifling heat, and those Elven who are regarded as laughing
stocks while they sweat their portly progress from building to
building. Amusing, certainly. But what does it do to the regard
for our traditions if government officials make fools of themselves
and seem all but oblivious to the result?

As Malkiene wisely said so long ago, the more forceful the action
taken, the more unexpected and forceful the consequences. Within
the last 400 years some River Elven have reacted against what
they've seen as the decreasing meralion of Trefan Draus. They
dedicate themselves to an abstemious code of ethics that appears
at times harsh and extreme. They give away everything, and live
on the barest of fish diets. They sleep in the open. They use
only Elven words, and stare rudely at visitors of non-Elven
extraction.

Such actions may damage the cause they seek to energize, attracting
ridicule rather than emulation; but when emulation strikes, it
sometimes takes on a still more distorted form. For there are
among us River Elven who, observing the efforts of these N'ai, are
spurred to greater folly. They give public sacred oath to return
to our holiest mother, the Ocean. These are the N'ai Jrana, those
who desire in a single act to show their devotion to the elden
cause.
When this oath is taken Trefan Draus mourns, for we know that
those who have vowed in this fashion are violating one of the most
ancient of our codes, and shall not return in living form. Such
for example was the fate that befell Auriele Tielian in my own
time-- as beautiful yet as supple and strong as the willow soul
she was named for. Auriele swore a somber oath upon the second
night of her ceremony of womanhood to seek the face of that which
had taken her father's life. Nithanel Tielian had gone to the
Ocean as a N'ai Jrana after his wife's death and had never been
seen again, thus it was foregone what his daughter's fate would be
as well.

She struck a bargain with S'kra Mur traders who regularly return to
buy and sell among us, and who frequent the trails that lead by
that shore but not, of course, upon it. She would go with them,
and leave their company at the point closest to the Ocean. They
would return two weeks later with supplies enroute for Trefan Draus
and seek her out, living or dead, provided they needed go no closer
to the place of peril.

Then all happened as was foretold, save in one circumstance. For
when the S'kra Mur returned more than a month later it was to say
that Auriele's body had awaited them on that same trail near the
Ocean, dead yet somehow fresh and warm as though her spirit had
slipped away minutes ago.
They preserved her form in cold shekra. (This had not been part of
the bargain she had struck, but the S'kra Mur have known us a long
time and honor our honor.) Within the fluid so like the Namafal
she lay much as she had been in life. Save that she was now among
the dead.

We broke the barrier and did with Auriele's remains as she had
requested, and all who attended shed signs of the Ocean upon the
earth that bore what had once been hers. I was foremost among
these, for upon the third night of the ceremony of her womanhood
Auriele and I had betrothed one another before the gods and the
Salt Clan.

==Chapter Five: A Personal Note==

That was more than 14 decades ago. At the time I was overcome
with grief. Then it was that my mother's sister Nythraen Kokkonen
reminded me of my promise made a decade before to take my
apprentice with her. For Nythraen Kokkonen was then the Senti
Moraudru, the Seer of Trefan Draus, and I her nearest living
relation. As with the rulership, so with all official positions in
our Clan: they pass from generation to generation, from kin to kin.

I had promised upon attaining my 18th year, but resisted since. I
had the will to see, but the eyes of my soul remained blind. All
around me it seemed were other Elvenkind with greater signs of
inner awareness. I was an effective guard and a good hunter,
especially gifted in remaining still for long periods of time,
alert but silent. None could spot me in such a condition-- save
one; and her doing so was the occasion of my meeting with Auriele
Tielian.

Upon her death and following the words of Senti Moraudru Nythraen
I recalled my oath. Later that day, still mourning, I moved my
jranoki and batina from the Hunters' dwelling, and entered the
quarters of the Seeress. My apprenticeship had begun.

The Senti Moraudru taught me many things. She spoke of the cycles
of plants, minerals and animals, and the herbal lore that goes
beyond healing. She read much from the fai'ren, passages that were
never been spoken aloud outside the Council save to other members;
and she caused me to commit to memory long chapters of legend. She
even required me to recite boring budgets of annual trade goods for
the last 50 years...a year after I had first studied them.
Some of what Nythraen taught would have even helped back in the
days when I hunted narabeasts and salaka. I had been silent and
nearly invisible; she showed me how to absorb sounds and light.
-But I could still do none of it. I understood her spoken words, I
strove to grasp her inner meaning, but the eyes of my soul would
not open to the power she worked with. This was the second great
grief of my life, for Nythraen would not permit me to leave her
service. She said I was to follow her on this path. Her offer and
my promise had bound us both.

So it went for the next 15 years, until one day Nythraen refused to
rise from her batina. She looked at me with surprise when I
entered her sleeping chambers where the Merals Moraudru stood with
his apprentice. "I had not realized this was the time, until now,"
was all she would say. Then she closed her eyes, and spoke no
more. Within hours she left for the Ocean. Her remains were laid
to rest in the southern communal mound.

For 7 days I mourned her passing; and then on the 7th night I saw
her, the Senti Moraudru, while asleep. She smiled at me in a way
that had always made me feel a child caught in some prank, even
though I had done nothing; a knowing smile, yet forgiving at the
same time.

I called out to her, Nythraen, but no words issued from my lips.
She merely smiled, and shook her head. Senti Moraudru Nythraen,
I tried to scream, but only the wind and the distant lapping of
waves could be heard. She shook her head more forcefully, and took
my hand. I pulled away, I cried in frustration...but though my
tears were seen, my sobs existed only in my mind.
I attempted to leave the hut, but could not. Finally after what
seemed several hours, I could stand it no longer. I gathered all
the anger and hatred that had existed for years deep inside me,
concentrated it into a burning white center, and projected it
straight at Nythraen Kokkonen.

Her mouth opened wide as it hit, and there was an explosion. I
was knocked backwards, and my dream blackened. When I fully awoke
it was dawn, and a hundred voices of things living, dead and unborn
filled my mind.

One voice was notably absent from among the others. The Ocean's
Call. What form this Call shall take I do not know. But come it
shall to the River Elven, and I shall recognize it when the Call
arrives, or pass that recognition on to my successor.
(Note: Parilien Or-Nythraen Rautavala died a handscount of days
after I transcribed the words he had spoken above. The night
after his spirit departed for the Ocean I heard the voices, and
became his successor and 23rd Senti Moraudru of the Salt Clan.
We laid his body as he had requested, next to the black earth in a
shaded bower deep within the forest. Upon that spot, too, were
Auriele Tielian's remains left to enrich the soil more than 100
years ago. -Eldred Or-Parilien Deleau)

[[Category:Book]]

Latest revision as of 03:29, 21 March 2011

Redirect to:

Retrieved from "https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Book:HprTD&oldid=41734"