Book of Old elvish poetry, history and mythology, first translated from Nalorn into Southern Elvish, then Common Elvish and Demerien.
Texts:
In the primordial darkness, before the stars shined and water flowed through the deep places, there was only the source of mana, the blood of life. Flowing from the source, mana divided itself into two halves: The Yang, which always desires to emanate forth and birth the multitude of things, and the Yin, which always desires to return and be made whole with the source again.
Yin and Yang mixed and merged to create the sacred realm, spiraling outward from the source. The sacred realm is the womb of angels, where first where born the twenty two archangels, greatest of the spiritual hierarchy. Their children where the angels, and soon they birthed their own children, the many pantheons of gods and goddesses.
In time mana began to flow out of the sacred realm filling the void and creating the universe, finally becoming the six worlds and their pathways. Always mana flows from the source and out of the sacred realm to cycle through the worlds of existence and be absorbed back into the source at the end of time.
As the worlds formed and took on their characteristics, the Archangels moved through them and beheld the various shapes and energies which had come to manifest. In time the channels of mana ebbed so that the angels, being vast in scale, could no longer travel between the worlds but where trapped forever in the sacred realm, all but six who were chosen to stay behind, each assigned to guard over one of the worlds.
In the sacred realm the archangels became divided along the lines of Yin and Yang, some angels, eventually known as the Archons, sided with the Yang energy and wished to rule and dominate all life, the other became known as the Anarchem, and sought only the freeing of restrictions and boundaries, desiring only for all things to ultimately return to the source.
Tensions became outright conflict as the mana flow ebbed, the two halves of the sacred realm became partitioned camps, nearly separate worlds in their own right, the Archons launched a mighty war to subjugate and destroy the Anarchem for good. The war spread throughout the worlds, erupting in conflict across many lines, the machine world at war with the forest world, the infernal realm at war with the abyssal realm, the ghost realm at war with the Middle realm.
The king of the Archons, a great warrior angel named Molach, sat on his throne for countless ages of the peoples, alone and silent, he contemplated how he would make his war upon the free peoples of the worlds. Finally, arising, he signaled his mighty general, Aries, the god war and murder, to make ready his armies and prepare for the great battle to come, for Molach had foreseen that in the end, a final confrontational battle between creation and destruction would be fought.
The Archons rose for war, the hundred thousand angles donned their shining armor and strapped on their swords, they blew fell notes through iron trumpets and smote the ground with great staves which cracked the earth to bellow forth monstrous plumes of ash and smoke, choking out the sun and bringing ruin on the green and growing things.
The many gods and goddesses came riding forth upon their chariots, lashing frantic steeds into a frenzy, leading hordes of gnarl toothed ruffians and gleaming knights alike, the armies marched and tread the land into a muddied pulp, they moved across the worlds and made the will of Molach known to all.
Through this the Anarchem had not been idle, for now they rallied all toward their side with mighty call, and fear of the ruthless empire of angels now spread far and everywhere. Thus the enemies of Moloch rallied and had secret council, for long had discontent been brewing. There was the Abyssal Tethys, who's realm long provided draft to thirsty forest, who's depths hide secrets from even the Archons prying eyes, who's tides can dull the hardest stone and rust the purest metal. There was the rotting Mycos, who's mycillium has long dug deep into the forest floor, whose roots will turn the soil as farmers plow and yield the mana up for viny growth. And there was Death, who's sickle cuts the ripest fruit, who's army is the mightiest of all, for it is an army of the dead, an army of the ghosts.
The councils of war are heard by the mighty Anarchem, who's names are hallowed. They sit in repose, cool figures cut of marble and of stone, clad in gem and gold, they shine as the brightest sun, yet are dull as the widest ravine. Unfathomable they are, as uncut wood, never defined, they cannot be seen twice in the same way.
Yet there they sit, high on their thrones, mighty, regal, yet, they do not lord, for they are the lords of none, they sit high only to see all who live bellow . They think not of themselves, only of how they may complete what is begun.
Approaching throne, first, the mighty Tethys speaks, his voice is like the torrents fall, the crechendo of a thousand miles of rivers journey to the mighty sea, as wind that blasts unhindered cross the ocean's endless surface, he speaks:
"Thus, have i journeyed far to bring you the mighty Anarchem, what tidings of the Ocean realm as can be summed into the speech of lonely depths. Such creatures dwell in deeply palace as would bring to horror all who dare oppose us in our tides, i pledge my current's course to carry forth the many aquatic guardians to wash and flood away these imperials most foul."
The Anarchem nodded and where both joyous and yet grim, for they who love the green and grown delight not in death and dying, yet, with grimmed hearts they steel themselves to tear away that which tyranny has sown. For all the forests favor falls upon the mighty angels eight.
Says the mighty Mycos
"What wonder In the world, this is yet a passing prison, for what ax can cut, what sword can hew and fire burn are but a bitter passing passion. Such deeper strength as found in rooted foundations are the very fortresses of war which those defending nature and her blessings seek. So find with the forests heart a place to hid and make your war upon the enemies so cursed."
The Anarchem are pleased, they nod and murmur in approval. Thus the third and final approaches now. The grinning death. His sickle sharp. His cloak a shadow.
"From darkness comes the hope of all for deadly curse is now a blessing, what could wear away at tyrannies sharp grasp but the dulling dreary death that stalks and wearies mighty hero and humble beggar both the same. Your words are heard upon my ears, for ever has the hand of death been cursed enemy of empire, both loving violence yet fearing for it in the end. With this i pledge to you oh wise and giving Anarchem, my army of the ghostly dead, and all the legions hell can muster, for we attack the very heart of empire, that which feasts on living flesh and dines on bony marrow, yet, they cannot pass the vale of death and still are broken by its promised ruin."
Death steps back, the Anarchem sit pleased and for a great while take a council in themselves.
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In the land of old Adradia, when the enemies of elves threatened the very survival of all, Prince Alethien the brave rallied his people and led them over the sea to distant Nalornar, a new home for the elves away from danger.
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After the fall of Nilanor and the capture of their uncle, the king, the twins Mendelthan and Gindelthan became filled with despair and rage, in an act of desperation and fury they road alone on black horses into the heart of the Fae empire, cruelly striking down any they encountered, they road virtually undetected to the place called Thasgonar which was a great mine where the Fae worked prisoners to the death. There they set free 10,00 Elves, Smithkin and Gnomes who rose in a great fury and tore down Thasgonar, burning its every structure to the ground, they set out led by the twins and met a great force of Fae just north of Iron lake. With surprising fury they set upon the Fae and tore them down, fleeing they were driven into the water and drowned or escaped east. This was the battle of Ford crossing, after which escaping prisoners crossed the Iron river and fled south beyond the mountains to settle the land of Inadell.
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And Ithidor prepared his gear and supplies, he was nearly to depart when a messenger of the angels bid he come before them once again. In the great hall sat the mighty Anarchem, and before them were three messengers, and at the bidding of the Anarchem they stepped forward one by one and presented gifts to Ilthidor. The first messenger wore a green cloak, he gave the elf a small wooden box, inside of which was a fine powder which was spore of the mighty angel Mycos himself. The next messenger stepped forward, his cloak was dark blue like the abyss, he gave Ithidor a small leather bag, inside of which were two perfectly silver scales taken from an ancient sea dragon. The last messenger stepped forward and his cloak was black, the held forth a leather bound book, within its pages were the black magic and all the secrets of the land of death, for it was deaths own spellbook. Ithidor bowed and took the three gifts, then ___ spoke. "Ithidor of Elvenkind, who has journeyed here to the sacred realm as was always your destiny, the time has come for your return to Middle Realm with these three gifts and spread them as seeds planted deep, for it has come time in the passing of things that the bonds of empire must be loosened by willing hand. Return wence you have come and lay the roots of your cruel torturer's demise!" Ithidor bowed and made haste, he was lead by a golden owl sent by the hand of fair ___, with its guidance he found his way through hidden paths that winding lead from the sacred realm of angels back into the land of living peoples.
At last he came to once fair Galanor, Nilanor lay in wretched rubbles ruin, but still a tunnel's passage lay preserved and down a flight of stairs he climbed, into a secret temple chamber. Here upon the alter he placed the Book of Death and there it sat, forgotten but in legened's rumored whisper, until such times as it would find itself in hand that it was meant for.
Now Ithidor went south and climbed the mighty mountains peak which once had been the Southern boarder of his native Galanor, and looking out over southern lands a plan came to his mind. He took the box of spore and carefully he poured the powder into the snow and burried it in icy sleep.
Finally he wandered east and reaching foamy shore, he found a cave carved deep in rocky cliff, and here he placed the scales, left glimmering in a ray of evening light. He journeyed on, out of myth and memory, never to be seen again, and long lay the works of his hand, until finally the days of purpose came at last.
One evening, two lovers, ___ and ___, were walking on the beach when they saw a silver glimmer and climbing through the cave found the silver scales, glowing like jewels, they were entranced when they beheld their beauty, but when they touched the scales they were each transformed into the likeness of a fish, with scales and gills yet still Elven features, feet and arms with great fins and a long fish tail, they fled the sun and swam out to the sea, finally making their homes in the deep abyssal depths. Their children became the Merfolk.
One summer's heat came melting up the slopes and finally in rush of water bore those seeds down into eastern valley. They grew a mighty jungle of a most unreal tone and shape, which seemed to spread a meter every day and was so thick it could not be moved through. The people of Onaria where blissfully unaware of this growth until one hot summer it crested the mountains peak to the north of elvish lands and spread into the valleys. Only most bitter elvish magic could push back its ever creeping crush, and quickly they fought it back over the peaks, yet when they pushed down the far mountain side a great hoard of monstrous being set upon them from the jungle, they were of twisted and varied form, some long striding things and others lumbering and powerful. They hunted the survivors over the mountains and only after long battle did the elves again secure their northern boarder. They did not again attempt to cross into the hive lands. East and North the hive pushed until it came into the Fae dominion and they fought long and bitter wars between each other.
Legends of the book of death passed through the ages, finally to the ears of a cruel human magician named Grale. He lead his followers north and to the ruins of Nilanor, and finally he found the secret passage and the hidden temple, and took the book of death from the alter where it lay. With the spell books power he went on to founded a mighty kingdom west of the Thallendel. But the book would be his undoing, for he could not stop himself from delving ever further into its secrets. Finally he unleashed a portal which had opened upon the underworld itself. And through it poured an army of such hideous monsters as he had never imagined. They were like great jelly fish with blood read tentacles reaching ten feet from their bulbous bodies. The had great bat wing which they flapped to lift their light bodies, they had great cruel hands with claws like knives, they gripped great axes or wizards staves. They were arrayed in regal garb and adorned with jewels and other ornements. Humans, Fae and Elves alike they killed and raised as undead servants, unleashing a great war upon the world.
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