Tale of the Esh'lahier

The memory of the Elves does not fail. Their senses are too keen; their lives are too long. They have seen and experienced things that the lesser races cannot even dream of knowing. They were born to immortality and yet became mortal, passing through death with grace befitting Carmelya's beloved. They were the second-born, beloved of two Gods and heroes of the Great War against the devil Cyraxians. Their ways are older than the records of time, and their presence the ingredients of myth. In their minds lies the history of Telath itself, the great inheritance passed from generation to generation, continuing the ways of the first sons of the Ke'trala who descended from the heavens.

But there are some things that even the Elves wish to forget.

The legend of the Great War between the Elves of Trelore and their dark brethren from K'Terak has not gone unnoted in the annals of time. Their stories still fill the bards' songs while their memory forever haunts the land of the living in ancient Trelore and even the lands of the Medonian continent. The lightborns still harbor hatred for our kind, stirring up rumors of our acts of unmentionable evil and our embrace of the Aeternians. But we participate in neither. Our Trelorean cousins do not see the difference between white and black and tarnish the name of our holy people with their lies. We are not Vysstichi; we are Esh'lahier. We are Ioannes-fearing, Order-loving Elves who seek peace and understanding. We have repented of our ways and amended our mistakes. The minds of the Elves are hard, however, and loathe to forget injury. The truth is twisted from their eyes as they see what they wish to see, not what actually is.

But this is not the time to dwell on our cousins' faults, nor is it to correct the misunderstandings of the past. Now is the time to tell the true story of the Pale Elves and their part in the Great War of the Elves. Now all shall know of our actions, good and evil, and what we did to earn such hatred…and what we chose to earn such forgiveness.

The Ke'trala existed at the very beginning. They were the chosen, the second-born of creation. Made by the Guardian of Magicks himself, the Ke'trala dwelt with the Father among the immortal planes, serving his desires and furthering his interests. Their fall from grace is well-known in more esteemed annals than this; I shall not repeat its tale again. It suffices to say that, when the choice was made, the hearts of the Ke'trala were not in one accord. The enemy Cyraxians had presented the Ke'tralan their first taste of Chaos, and some had found it eerily beautiful. It stood in stark contrast to the ordered hierarchy of the Aethernian realms as an equal opposite. Chaos offered power and influence, allowing its followers the ability to mold reality to their whims. There were no restrictions, laws, or rules to obey, no set pattern requiring conformity. It allowed the Elves to become who and what they wished, lending them a freedom unknown during their span of service to the General God. Chaos ate at the minds of its potentials as they stood their Final Judgment, opening their thoughts to its influence. The change was discreet, barely more than a difference of opinion, but that one change sparked an entire age of tears.

As the Elves settled into their new existence on Telath, the hint of dissention grew into strong rumor, spreading through the ranks of the ancient people. The slightest turn of a few hearts had stirred the interest of the Aeternian couple, intent upon spreading their entropic ways into the Beloved of Carmelya. Meephos, the God of Illicit Passions, and Haya, his Lustful wife, quickly planted their corrupt seeds within the open hearts, splitting the Elves in two. The touch of the Aeternians was not repulsive to the Elves, despite the lightborns' claim that it spawned only evilness within. Instead, the "tainted" Elves learned the true depth of their emotions and felt, at last, a richness and fullness to life through its passions. Suddenly reality became truer and life better. But even this realization could not halt the inevitable clash between those who had accepted change, and those who could not see its benefits.

It would be remiss of me to portray the Taint of Meephos as purely beneficial to the Dark Elves. Aeternian influence is not perfect, as few things are in this life. Its downfalls are as crippling as its benefits are useful. Often our lusts subject our reason to its desires, leading us to acts unbefitting our noble race. While ancient pride still runs strongly within our veins, our logic tells us that, if we are to triumph over the curse, we must accept the fault. Light Elvish ignorance argues against us, but we remain determined. We owe our hostile cousins nothing, and do not seek a path of repentance for their sakes, as if to apologize for their harbored grudge. We follow Justice to the sake of our own people, for generations before and those who will follow, that they will fully know the light of Ioannes all their eras and ever continue our fight to balance the opposite extremes within our hearts.

As division began to separate race, realm, and house, the Touched Ones migrated away from their original dwelling, persecuted by their own brethren for accepting ways other than tradition stated. Those Elves who remained called their realm Trelore, geographically and culturally distancing themselves from those they labeled "dark". These so-called "Dark Elves" found a home in a land they named K'Terak, forming grand cities in which to begin their new life. There they were free to do as they pleased, following either mind or heart without the restriction of overwhelming regulation determining each and every of their actions. The Dark Elves embraced their swirling emotions, enjoying the sensation of deep love, passionate anger, and even burning hatred. They felt each life event with every part of their being, enjoying the pure sensation throughout their very souls. True freedom was theirs; they were finally a part of Telath and desired no more.

Apologies; my preceding statement is not entirely true. Some desired no more from life than to embrace the passions they had come to love and live peaceably with the surrounding world. There were others that did not, however, harbor such idyllic ambition. Even the mere name of the detestable race becomes bile within my mouth. The Vysstichi, the Dark Elven name their actions earned in the patterns to come, had turned from Carmelya's protection to the arms of Xenarius, avowed enemy of our Mother Goddess. None have understood the reasons for their change, not even we Esh'lahier, who are considered closest to them in blood and mind. Barely a generation had passed before dissent grew in our ranks once again, stirring up mischief in our formerly peaceful lives. While we had embraced only the positive elements of our change, the Vysstichi had learned all too well the power and extent of pure hatred. Their hearts were filled with bitterness and violence. They saw our exile to K'Terak as a curse rather than a blessing. Carmelya held no reverence in their souls, nor did they seek the straight paths of Ioannes. They wanted revenge to satisfy the exaggerated injury in their heart.

These rumors did not begin for almost a lifespan after our initial exile. When they did come, however, we resisted this change strongly for we had seen the fault in such a position. While we knew well the nobility of the unleashed emotions Meephos and Haya had given our people, we also knew the pitfalls of trusting their motions too deeply. We saw K'Terak as our own beloved kingdom, a chance to enjoy mortal life as it was meant to be in harmony with our surroundings. We held no grudge against the Trelorean Elves for, in our minds, our exile to K'Terak was our Telathian Aetheria. Our views earned us the name Esh'lahier, separating our factions even further. Worry crossed our minds as we saw our darker brethren blindly descending deeper into the darkness of Aeternia and its infernal deities. War was on the horizon; we knew it well. Whether war would come between K'Terak or travel to Trelore depended on our choice. Our people would have to choose to follow the leadings of the dark Vysstichi or risk civil war between our peoples.

The leadership of K'Terak shook but did not fall in the first few eras after the Vysstichi turning. Our two factions held equal power in the elder noble councils; neither could gain supremacy over the other. By the end of the century, every Elf within K'Terak had chosen a side; the emotions in our hearts were too strong to remain neutral. By that same time, the Vysstichi ideals had spread to almost three fourths of the K'Terak Elves, significantly weakening our influence and position. We knew we would eventually be forced to concede to the Vysstichi, despite its inevitable cost. The Vysstichi cried for war from every street corner, declaring their humiliation due to their exile from what they called their rightful home. Already the Vysstichi noble houses had begun to amass stores of weapons and armor, training their servants in the art of battle. Hateful portrayals of the lightborns and even some of our own Esh'lahier people hung from every tree, calling for any self-respecting Dark Elf to satiate the Dread God's hunger for the souls of the dead: lightborn dead.

Our position was precarious. Waver, and we would be labeled among the lightborns and marked for certain extermination. Agree, and we would suffer the guilt of our kin slaying for as long as our memory held. We delayed as long as we possibly could without appearing indecisive, despite the pressure from the larger Vysstichi contingent to unite our minds. Secretly, however, we were making preparations of our own. The existence of the Medonian continent was not unknown to us; it had been a possible locale for our exile before we had found K'Terak and its much more suitable characteristics. As discreetly as possible, we gathered supplies from the mountains and collected them at specific places along the shoreline, lending us easy access to the ocean waters. Employing the best of shipwrights in our faction, we began crafting strong, sturdy vessels well-capable of taking us over the water to the larger continent when things in our own homeland inevitably worsened. We had heard the rumor that the Vysstichi had already begun settlements of their own on the continent, but we put it down to mere conjecture. The Jorel-lovers would have had little time or interest in traveling to a distant land; their focus had, instead, been upon Trelore. Two cycles before our acceptance of Vysstichi leadership was announced, we set ten parties of ten people each onto the boats, sending them off with what we deemed necessary to their survival. As the sun rose on the Solaria of each following cycle, we sent out ten more ships until the drop in our population became noticeable. The heads of our Houses finally recognized the Lord of the Elder House of the Vysstichi as king of K'Terak almost one hundred and seventy five patterns had passed since the first rumor of Xenarius's worship had stirred within our people. In one final act, the entire land of K'Terak was shrouded in darkness, like a crouching pantheri preparing for the kill. Hatred tainted every word spoken, twisting our once-light tongue into verbalized bitterness. And we, the few faithful, could do nothing to stop the shadow.

Fifty more patterns passed before our dark king felt his people ready to war against our light cousins. The sense of mutual distrust between the Esh'lahier and the Vysstichi still existed, but the Vysstichi knew only our combined strength could overcome the Trelorean defenses. The blessed trees of Carmelya fell under the axe as warships were built and readied, each one filled with hundreds of warriors ready for battle. The touch of the sword felt foreign in our hands; the blade hadn't been used since our first fall in our battle against the Cyraxians. Now, however, we were going to kill our own brethren. No reasoning could explain to us Esh'lahier the madness of this act. We had little choice in the matter; the Vysstichi hierarchy was certain to separate our people among the ranks, and few of us held position higher than the common soldier. As the ships slowly pulled into the shallow waters surrounding Trelore, excitement and dread intermingled in every Elvish heart as we heard the Treloreans' own preparations of their defense. Blood would be spilled that brightening. That blood would determine the outcome of our future perception by others forever. In one single act, we became wicked and evil to the rest of Telath. And perhaps, even to ourselves.

Many have chronicled the events of the Great War between the Elves, and I do not care to recount its facts once more. We battled for many a cycle within the Trelorean borders, sacking cities and raping our own cousins to feed our consuming hatred. Perhaps a more accurate choice of words would be "Vysstichi hatred". We Esh'lahier had no stomach for blood, particularly the blood of our own kindred. We hated the lightborns, it is true. We disdained their pompous, arrogant ways and their ignorant viewpoint of our Taint and our way of life. Still, we had no wish to slaughter them mercilessly. There was no Justice in our violent retribution of our wrongs; there was only bloodthirsty vengeance that knew no bounds. Our swords cut sharply through Trelorean armor, but we found no joy in the killing. Our ships grew heavy with the looted treasure, but we found no pleasure in its counting. The Great War was not of our choosing, but the few that would believe us were counted as our allies. Vysstichi evil had spread to shadow us as well, and there was no escape.

As time passed, however, and more of Trelore burned under our rampage, the Esh'lahiers' distaste for battle strengthened their resolve to stop the onslaught and remove themselves from the struggle. They knew the light elves would never accept them; in Trelorean eyes, they were traitors, their hands forever stained with blood ill-gotten. The land of K'Terak was closed to them as well; the Vysstichi would kill them in an instant as betrayers. There was but one option left: Medonia. The earlier Esh'lahier colonists had found success in establishing a strong colony on the foreign continent, reporting back to their brethren that they had begun work on a city hidden far away in an ancient forest. There the Esh'lahier could finally find the peace they had first sought on K'Terak, pulling away from the bickering between the Vysstichi and the lightborn. Not all the Pale Elves resided within the city, though; some had chosen to settle away from their brethren, leading to the emergence of factions within our own kindred. Still, the colonists had also warned that the Vysstichi and Treloreans had also built cities of their own, but they too were in the very beginning stages of creation. The emergence of the Esh'lahier upon the Medonian continent was still secret, enabling the Dark Elves to weave intricate protective wards around their city to safeguard them from the hatred of their cousins. The desire to see the city burned within every Esh'lahier heart still left within K'Terak and Trelore, causing even more uncertainty within the Elves' minds. They couldn't simply walk away from the battlefield without inevitable retribution. As soon as the Esh'lahier left Trelore, the Vysstichi would be aware of their plans to settle the Medonian continent and would, in all likelihood, pursue them with the same burning vengeance as they had attacked Trelore with. Tactic and strategy was needed in the Esh'lahiers' plans to abandon the Vysstichi. Those two ideas were notably well-suited for the descendants of the children of Phedos, and the Esh'lahier used them well.

The Vysstichi tales say the Esh'lahier abandoned their brethren on the field of battle due to some inexplicable whim or perhaps a soft stomach for battle. The lightborns say the Esh'lahier retreated due to fear of the Trelorean strength, knowing only doom laid in their future if they continued to stay. The Esh'lahier story differs from both. It is said in our people that the three Elders of House Linalantava, House Yeranthas, and House Areth'ya, met in a conclave of Carmelyan priests in Trelore. There, Orod, the God of Thought, met them and cleared their minds of doubts, granting them wisdom that exceeded even their old age. They contrived a plan to bring about the Vysstichis' defeat, therefore weakening their accursed brethren's ability to track the Esh'lahier to Medonia and also save Trelore from further destruction. In three brightenings, the Vysstichi planned to launch a full-scale attack upon the main city of Quel'anthas, intending to crush all Trelorean resistence in a single fatal blow. Every last resource available to the Dark Elves would be thrown into the foray without restraint. Then the Vysstichi would be at their weakest, what with lack of reserves or reinforcements to support their main strike. The darkening of the meeting saw the Lord of House Yeranthas, Bel'thanen, organize a small contingent of Esh'lahier Elves to sneak into the weapon stores, stealing out lower quality blades, bows, and arrows and dispensing them to each Esh'lahier Elf. Linelen, Lord of House Linalantava and the leader of the resistence, sent out word to every Esh'lahier troop within the Dark ranks, ordering them to switch the high-quality weapons of their Vysstichi counterparts with the lower-quality ones stolen from the storehouses. By the twenty-fifth candlemark, all Esh'lahier were to be at the shoreline. Aria the Fallen, Lady of House Areth'ya, had arranged for an attack upon the boat guards before the flood of Elves came expecting retreat. The Vysstichi had grown lax in the time of war; they did not expect any attempt of escape. They had seen the Esh'lahiers' weakness in battle and witnessed their uncertainty at wreaking havoc. They thought their Dark Elven brethren weak and worthless, incapable of anything of note. That underestimation of their brethren would cost them dearly, as history would tell.

The divinely-inspired plan followed each detail without complication. As the three suns dawned upon the land of Telath, the Vysstichi awoke to charred ships, dead guards, and a lack of thousands of Esh'lahier troops. Even this concern couldn't shake the dread persistence of the Vysstichi, nor quell their consuming hatred, now shared equally between lightborn and Esh'lahier. Their failure to conquer Quel'anthas City did, however, decrease their appetite for war. A lack of proper equipment and a surge in Trelorean pride had stunned the Vysstichi forces and, in a single forceful blow, thrust the Dark Elves out of Trelore and back to their homeland of K'Terak. The Esh'lahier did not hear, however, of the success of their schemes unto nearly an age later, as they sailed to the Medonian continent and settled their secret city, nestled within the Forest of Light.

My people named our Holy City Ethgan'tor, or Justice in our tongue. The scene it paints against the greenery of the forest under the early morning light inspires one to sing, dance, or tell a tale, even if one is devoid of talent. It represents all that an Esh'lahier is: eerie beauty, unseen strength, coursing passions, and overarching balance. It is the citification of our thoughts, our dreams, and our hopes. It is our future. There Esh'lahier reside among Esh'lahier, away from the hatred and ignorance that haunts our every step. There we can be who we were meant to be.

Perhaps, before I end, I ought to briefly explain the appearance of the Esh’lahier Elves, as it is a common question among the more ignorant races. Our separation from the Vysstichi in K’Terak and even during the battles of Trelore had been merely a distinction of ideas; we still remained similar in appearance. While in K’Terak, we and the Vysstichi had developed a strange second point of the ear, although few outside of the Elves would notice such a small detail. It appeared magically as soon as the rumors of the heretical worship of Xenarius spread throughout our people. We Esh’lahier thought it a sign from Carmelya herself at her displeasure at such lies. The Vysstichi, blind as they were, considered it a blessing from their evil god that they were the “chosen ones”. After we had retreated from the battle at Quel’anthas City and while we were still laying the lowermost foundations for Ethgan’tor, we received another strange appearance change. Our entire visage became deathly pale, devoid of color from the strands of our hair to the tips of our toes. Our eyes turned to darker, earthier colors, although the lighter shades still exist as links with our ancient Ke’tralan heritage. Such a strange act could only be attributed to the Gods. As it hadn’t caused us any discomfort or ill-effects, we assumed it to be a sign from Ioannes himself to represent the purity of our actions and the stark separation between us and our dark Vysstichi brethren, although we did not know of their own color change at the time. To us, it represented Aetherian forgiveness for our part in the Great War and, in honor of the god who had granted us such a pardon, we named and dedicated our city to Ioannes and his Just ways. He and Carmelya hold the greatest reverence in our hearts; we pray we serve them both well.

In the modern age, the lightborn city of Silrosia has grown strong, as well as the darker caves of the Vysstichi, though most of our ancient cousins still reside in our former homelands of K’Terak and Trelore. We Esh’lahier are still forced into hiding as we are shunned every time our pale skin is seen throughout the Empire. The lightborns will never understand, and the Vysstichi only know hatred. The other races only know what the lightborns tell them. This is why we are forced to live clandestinely, guarding the secret of our Holy City and its location with our very lives. The ancient magical wards along its gates still protect us from the touch of attack, and are often the only protection we receive from the cruel slings of our cousins. Some of our people have ventured into the lands of the Imperial and have even gained great position among them, but in their hearts the love of our people still remains strong. We have survived ages of war because of our unwavering unity. As Ioannes is our judge, we will continue to survive ages of hatred because of our continued unity. Justice guide us all to peace.