History of Dertalriosh Endaertheala (book)

The History of Dertalriosh Endaertheala Spear of Sun's Flame Descending by Melear Kadriashnara

Chapter One: Dragon Priests

I am not a Bard, with a gift for weaving stories into tapestries of sound. Nor am I a Lorethew, with knowledge reaching back into the far mists of time.

So I will tell this tale as it was told to me by my father, as his father told him. The tale of Dertalriosh Endaertheala, Spear of Sun's Flame Descending, now called Stormwill by men.

When Corik, called the Black Cloud, first built the city of Shard with the aid of the elves of Morganae's mountain, a spire of white marble arose in its midst, on a night filled with magic and power. Our finest Stone Mages molded the very earth into a tower unlike any other in Shard. The walls seemed to pulse with a beat like that of the world's heart, and the floor hummed with the earth's silent song as it traveled its way through the Void of creation.

As the sun's rays fell behind the mountains surrounding Shard, they would strike the marble of the tower with their glory, making watchers marvel at its golden-red beauty. Many would remark on its resemblance to a spear of fire rising from the earth in defiance of the encroaching night. And so the tower received its name. A name filled with pride and triumph and defiance of the darkness. The same pride which filled its creators, and their people.

For no matter what our Guild has sunk to in these recent years, the Elemental Mages of that time, the time of the Empire's fall, were brave men and women, filled with determination and spirit. It was this very spirit that would be their downfall.

Though Corik remained apart from the War of the Dragon, as the dispute between Lanival and Teiro was called in Shard, it filled his heart with rage that he must sit idle while the men and women fighting Teiro's oppression died by the score.

The Council of Three advised patience, and that Corik follow the peaceful nature of the Elotheans. But that peaceful nature was not Corik's nature, and something inside him died when he learned of each death, as though he could have prevented it had he been there. As though the small portion of the army he did send was not enough.

But when the Dragon Priests rose to power, and began to march against Shard, Corik became enraged. He could suffer in silence while people died in far-off wars, but Corik would not suffer to remain peaceful while his home, the city he had built from nothing, was attacked.

Corik gathered together his armies, what few soldiers would follow him, and marched from Shard. The streets of the city were silent with mourning. Mourning not only the loss of life they knew would come, but also for the loss of the peace they had known for so long.

Many refused to follow. Their ideals were greater than the need to defend our home, our city. Many cursed our lord, our Ferdahl. They called him a beast, and a monster. He was not. He was a man who loved his home and could not bear to see it destroyed. A man who felt that life itself was more precious than the principles of peace.

The warriors of the House of the Grey Storm, the Mages of Dertal- riosh Endaertheala, marched in the vanguard of Corik's host. Their pride was too great to allow them to surrender to the darkness of the Dragon Priests. Too long had they, and their tower, stood as the last remaining light against the darkness. Too long had they been warriors to again accept the tenets of peace. But under their pride lay a darker thing: arrogance. They had created a tower in a single night, and a thing of beauty it was. They wielded powers greater than those of the Gods themselves. Or so they thought.

It was this arrogance, this blindness to the world around them, that would cost them the very thing they fought to protect. While the warriors of Corik's host marched valiantly into the mountains, seeking out the armies of the Dragon Priests, Shard lay in flames.

The Dragon Priests, led by Dzree's scrying and the cunning of their scouts, had circled around Corik's army and attacked Shard in the night. Women and children were slaughtered in their beds. Those who woke from their dreaming, woke to a nightmare. The Dragon Priests rounded everyone up into the central square of Shard and drove them from the city. Many fought back, not wishing to leave their homes. They were branded upon the forehead with the Dragon's Claw, the symbol for those slated to die as sacrifice to raise the World Dragon.

As they were driven to the south, into a great meadow, Shard was consumed in magical flames hot enough to burn stone. The black rock quarried from Morganae's mountains was turned into a liquid darkness upon the ground. The only building that survived the flames was Dertalriosh Endaertheala. Protected by some of the strongest wards ever created, the flames could do little damage before they died out.

It was the tower's burning that alerted the Ferdahl and his armies that they had been duped. The flickering light of the flames was a brilliant signal in the night, a signal that called to the hearts of the Mages, and enflamed them with rage.

Corik led his men towards their defiled home in a massive charge, later ennobled by Bards in song and tale. They covered the distance of three days march in a single night, reaching the smoking ashes of Shard as the sun's rays breached the horizon.

Great was the rage of Corik's armies, and even greater the shame. Many who were there spoke in later years of the expression on Corik's face as he gazed upon the defiled land where once his city, his great creation and gift to the Elothean people, had stood. It was as if someone had shown him all the light of the world, then snuffed it out the second his hand reached out to grasp it.

The Ferdahl's soul died that day. Died beyond the power of any Cleric to reclaim it from Urrem'tier's grasp. His body lived to lead one last battle, that which freed the Dragon Priests' prisoners. Most survived, though a few had already been sacrificed upon the World Dragon's altar.

Corik was never seen after the battle. His body was not counted among the dead, nor among the living.

Few mourned him.

Chapter Two: Alec the Phoenix

Many years passed until the Elothean people were once again free. During that time, the Mages of Dertalriosh Endaertheala lived apart from the rest of their people. They were blamed by many for the destruction of Shard, and for the great loss of life.

The Mages could not deny their accusations, for they were true. If they had not followed Corik, if they had not been filled with pride and the glory of their powers, Shard would not have been left undefended when the Dragon Priests came. The city would not have been taken. The people would not have been slaughtered like sheep upon the altar of Dzree's madness. And the Spear of Sun's Flame Descending would not have been broken.

The Dragon Priests made periodic raids into the lands surrounding the ruins of Shard, and the temple they had built there. The Mages tried to defend their people, but they were so scattered that it was impossible to save everyone. Each person taken only widened the breach between the Houses of the Elotheans and the Mages. A hard lesson was learned in those days, one that many still have not learned.

The duty of the Elemental Mages, the Warrior Mages as they are now called, is not to wage war. It is to prevent war. And if they cannot prevent it, it is their duty to see that the horrors of war do not harm the innocent. In both duties, the Mages of Dertalriosh Endaertheala failed: by following Corik, they sought glory for themselves. By following Corik, they failed those they were supposed to protect, leaving them defenseless. It was a shame they lived with for many years until one came who lifted them from the ashes of their despair and gave them new hope for redemption and life.

Alec, who claimed to be son of Corik, came to the disparate Houses and united them once again. Filled with peerless drive and charisma, he healed many of the wounds our people had nursed for so long. He taught us how to work together again. Not in war, but in peace.

Dedicated to peace as his father had been to war, Alec did not lead us into battle against the Dragon Priests. Instead, he counseled patience, that their power could not last long.

When word came upon the wind that Dzree had fallen, and the viper of the Priesthood was headless, Alec united the Houses. He led them in a triumphant march to the Dragon Priest's temple, and in the only battle of his life, led his people against the Priests and their dark magics. Alec himself wielded neither sword nor spell in the battle. True Bard that he was, his songs inspired his armies, filling them with even greater strength and conviction than they had felt before.

When the last Dragon Priest lay dead at the last soldier's feet, Alec burned the temple to the ground. Its ruins can still be found to the south of Shard, on the road leading to the Dark Hand. The city of Shard was built again, though Alec learned much from his father's mistakes. He made peace again with the Mountain Elves, but never trusted them as much as Corik had.

For many years, Alec supervised the reconstruction of the city he had never known, but was still home to his people. In a gesture that did much to heal the breach between the Mages and his people, the Ferdahl asked for their aid in rebuilding. Grateful for the chance to aid in some way, the finest of the Stone Mages gathered around Shard, and in a night filled with magic, returned the black stone to the earth.

The rising sun shone upon a barren field and the twisted, fire blackened form of Dertalriosh Endaertheala.

The mages, with Alec's permission, had left their old home standing as grim reminder of the costs of pride. Once a symbol of the light against the darkness, it now stood as a reminder of the darkness within.

Though twisted and warped from its former beauty, the tower was still habitable, if slightly damaged. The mages, those who wished to remain in the tower, all swore that Shard would be completely rebuilt before they reconstructed their own home.

Many of the Mages of Dertalriosh Endaertheala chose to leave the tower, unable to dedicate themselves to the lessons of peace many had learned in the time before Alec's coming.

Once the House of the Grey Storm, now the Spear of Sun's Flame Descending had no place among the Elothean peoples, and was weakened by that lack of direction. With the Ferdahl's permission, they accepted the aid of a Human Mage, named Arhat in honor of his famous ancestor, and the leader of the newly-formed Guild of Warrior Mages. With his aid and guidance, the Mages of Der- talriosh Endaertheala began walking the path of the senka'i neir.

Chapter Three: Mage of Storms

It was nearly two generations ago, as Humans see time, though only one for Elotheans, that once again a great darkness spread across the lands.

A young mage, newly woken to his powers, appeared before Dertal- riosh Endaertheala on a springtime morning. Quickly gaining entrance to the tower, the shepherd's son sought out the Guildmas- ter Sevaer, and was granted entrance to the Guild of Warrior Mages. The young man was gifted in the arts of Magic, and dedicated to knowledge and learning. He advanced quickly through the circles of knowledge, soon reaching the rank of Archmage.

It was at this time, when his life had reached a crossroads where any choice was open to him, that he learned of his family's death in a freak storm. When he first heard of the news, accounts of the time say his eyes, normally filled with mirth and cheer, were slowly drained of all their light. The Mage, filled with mourning, locked himself into his rooms in the tower, and refused to leave, even to eat. For many months he remained within, and many young apprentices swore they saw strange lights dancing beneath his doorway in the wee hours of the morning.

Of course, all thought these tales were nothing but the fantastical weavings of restless minds. Perhaps, if they had been taken more seriously, much of the heartache would have been avoided.

When he emerged, many breathed a sigh of relief. He appeared unchanged, though perhaps a bit more somber than before his time of mourning. The relief was short-lived.

The mage returned to his studies, now driven to learn ways to control the weather itself. If before he had seemed obsessed with advancing his knowledge and power, now he seemed as though nothing in this world existed save the knowledge he sought. Something in his studies warped him from the good man he once was. Or perhaps it was before then, in his time of mourning when the strange lights were seen beneath his door. He no longer cared what methods he used to gain his knowledge, even resorting to torturing fellow Mages if he felt they were withholding a vital clue to his search.

For these crimes, the mage was expelled from the Guild of Warrior Mages and from the city of Shard itself. Though many now curse them for their decision, the Guild Council felt that he might repent of his ways. And so he was left with his magic intact.

Many years passed before the Mage was seen again, though dark rumors filtered down from the shepherds and miners: rumors of a deranged mage who could call the lightning from the sky, and burn entire villages to ash with a firestorm.

The people of Shard, who knew nothing of the Mage's crimes or outcasting, laughed off these rumors as no more than the superstitious mutterings of uneducated fools. In the end, it was shown that, superstitious or not, the hill-folk were wiser than the "educated" peoples of Shard.

On a late autumn day, when the hills surrounding Shard were glorious with the colors of changing leaves, a man appeared at the gates of the city. He demanded the city's complete surrender, or he would burn it to the ground, as the Dragon Priests had done centuries before.

The guards, angered by his insolence and stung by the reminder of a past shame, laughed in his face, and barred the city gates to him. It was the last thing they ever did. The mage summoned a storm from the clear skies, and called the lightning down upon the gates, and the guards who had insulted him. Later, all that could be found of them were a few smoking fragments of bone littering the pavement on the opposite side of the city.

Standing unharmed amidst the destruction he had caused, the mage laughed quietly to himself. One last time he repeated his ultimatum, then withdrew to a hilltop overlooking the city, where a tent had been erected for his comfort. His darkling cloud followed him, a rumbling mass of lightning and power. Shard, he said, had one day to surrender, or be destroyed utterly.

Alec, old yet still very much in command of his people, summoned the Guildmaster of Dertalriosh Endaertheala before him. Alec decreed that since the Guild had seen fit to let the mage keep his powers, it was the Guild's responsibility to prevent the abuse of those powers. Several of the Guild's most powerful Mages were sent against the one who was called the Mage of Storms. All were returned to the gates of Shard as smoking corpses.

The Guildmaster despaired of being able to stop the madman, and turned to his Guild for help. None stepped forward with an idea, save one Mage, very young to the Guild and new to his powers. At first the Guildmaster was afraid to trust him, both for his youth and inexperience, and for -- other reasons I will not go into in this tale.

As the deadline the Mage of Storms had set drew near, however, the Guildmaster had no choice but to allow young Kadriash to try his plan.

In the dark of the night, Kadriash hurried through the deserted streets of Shard, seeking out an old friend in the Moon Mage Guild. Though afraid, the young Mage, even newer to her powers than Kadriash was, agreed to aid him in defeating the Mage of Storms. Surrounded by a cloak of invisibility, Kadriash and his partner crept beyond the ruins of the city's northern gate and towards the tent where the Mage of Storms awaited the sunrise.

Whether by luck or intervention of the Gods, they were unseen by the Mage's minions. The tent itself was dark, the Mage asleep and his infernal cloud dormant above, only occasionally rumbling as the Mage's sleep was disturbed by unpleasant dreams.

No one truly knows what happened within that tent on that dark autumn night. In later years, neither Kadriash nor his partner would speak of it, beyond the barest of facts. Somehow, the the Mage had known they were coming, and was prepared for them. In the desperate battle that followed, the young Moon Mage stunned his mind, rendering him helpless against Kadriash's magic and releasing his control of the storm cloud above.

Much of northern Shard was devastated in the storm that followed, as all the pent-up fury and power of the storm was unleashed against the home of the Elotheans.

Somehow, Kadriash was able to gain control of the storm cloud, though even he wondered how it was possible. His control was never as complete as that of the Mage of Storms, and he had to remain constantly alert. For the storm, though not intelligent, seemed to have a limited understanding of the world around it.

When Kadriash and the young Moon Mage, battered but triumphant, returned to the city, the storm cloud followed them. It would be a constant reminder of the evil of the Mage of Storms for the rest of their lives. Though he could control the storm cloud in his sleep, Kadriash soon found that the closer he was to it, the more control he had. The Guildmaster, who was desperately trying to restore the Guild's name in the eyes of the people of Shard, used this greedily.

Though the stairs to the upper floors of the tower had been destroyed during the Dragon Priest conquest, the Air Mages created a floating pathway from the mist of clouds to ring the tower, and allow Kadriash access to the roof.

The Guildmaster began bragging that his Mages had not only saved Shard from the evils of the Mage of Storms, but now they sacrificed having a roof over their heads to protect the people from the madman's evil. Dertalriosh Endaertheala was given a new name, coined by a Bard during a sarcastic imitation of the Guildmaster's foolishness -- Stormwill. The name was simple, direct, and a symbol of the dedication of the Warrior Mages to protecting the innocent from the evils of harmful magic.

Kadriash was soon made Guildmaster of Stormwill Tower, and I, his daughter, have followed in his footsteps, both as Guildleader and as guardian of the storm cloud.

I am one of the last to remember Stormwill by its true name. So that it may never be forgotten, I give to you this story of what we are, what we were, and what we may become again.

By my hand,
Melear Kadriashnara
Guildmistress of Dertalriosh Endaertheala