Post by Aux-ash on Aug 5, 2008 14:10:55 GMT
Tylarnan, Eshent'ur, northern continent[/U]
Bright summer days in the elven capitol is a true sight to behold, the light filtered in the foliage paints the entire city in emerald with a occasional ray of light passing the leaves altogether and functioning like spotlight for works of art or stages.
Everywhere along the main streets and squares artists and musicians work their craft while philosophers discuss and the elders teach the young the extent of their knowledge. Many a human would describe the dreamlike city as a paradise, a place where no one knows grief or sorrow and were everyone are beautiful.
While in the eyes of elvenkind the city pales in comparison to the now deserted canopies of Nerek'talar many now recognize it as their home, and with time most do not doubt it will take the place of their lost homes in the treetops.
Life in the city is easy and giving, there have never been any shortage of food or water and most of the citizens can go on with their merry lives never having to worry about anything.
Central to the city is Voycha'al Nerek (dream of the woods), the palace district. All the major roads of the city leads either from or to this area where the richest live around the grand palace. Around this district are five others. In the west lie Gallamë'al Suvé (Hill of wondrous sights) and in the north Ner Tor (emerald cliffs), homes to the many elves living in the city.
In the south lie Vyshantore (the circles of learning), where the young receive their training and education and in the east lie the centerer of the trade and commerce of the city, Ner'al Tymie (cliffs of progress).
Most visitors only see these areas of the city and never learn of the sixth district, mostly because most elves try to avoid it and only go there when they must. There are few roads that lead down into the ravine between Ner Tor and Ner'al Tymie. Within this ravine lie the final of district; Gavre'al talar'me (ravine of the unfortunate/those who are lost).
This area is a mix between dwellings and a trade district, it is the seat of the little heavy industry that the city have. Blacksmiths, tanners, carpenters and miners all live and work in the district. But also the outcasts of the elven society, the so called Talar'me, live here. The ones unlucky to be born below the elven standards, those who were unfortunate enough to receive disfiguring injuries and those who simply does not fit in.
This is also the home of war veterans that survived crippled and the rowers of the boats used for the evacuations of Nerek'talar. Those who gave everything they had and survived it, doomed to a existence outside the elven society.
Many of the young venture down into the district these days, to catch old war veterans and try to get them to tell a story of the war against the harpies.
------
Phy'cuenye climbed onto a pile of boxes, his knee reminding him that his youth was over and that he had better start being careful soon or he'd be sorry. He stood up with his straight back and looked out over the crowd that had started gathering.
His good friend, Sorogan, was standing beside him and yelling for all to come and listen, as the crowd gathered he ceased yelling and looked at Phy'cuenye as a gesture for him to start.
He took a deep breath, not just so that he could speak loud and clear but also to brace himself. What he was about to say was not easy, but it had to be spoken.
Elven<Elves!
My apologies for disturbing your daily routines and your quests for understanding our past, but there is a blight that threatens our glorious civilization and our very existence.
35 years ago we suffered the most terrible of fates, our kin was stolen from us and the plague we know as the harpies was set upon us. Despite our heroics and valiant efforts we could not stop their advance and we lost the homeland we all held so dear.
We all came here, to survive and rebuild our lives. We built new cities to replace the ones we lost. We built new homes to replace the ones that burnt. We joined new houses and families to replace the ones that fell. We returned to the lives we knew.
But as we did so we turned our backs on the greatest threat of them all, we chose not to see it and remained ignorant of it. This threat was the same that led to our escape from our homes and our flight here.
But, I hear you say, we are not ignorant of the harpies and if they come we will be ready for them. It is not of the harpies I am speaking of, nor is it of their mysterious master. We are aware of these threats, I agree, but we are not prepared for them should they come again. We are in fact just as prepared as we were 35 years ago.
The great threat is that of our own vanity. Our culture is obsessed with beauty. So obsessed we cannot see anything else than our pretty mirror images. We sacrifice everything just to remain beautiful, not caring for the importance of that which we lost.
I regret that I was once like that, more interested in polishing my Shue'orom armour and shining my rank insignia than learning my way around a blade.
When the harpies came I fought as valiantly as any of the fallen and all of the heroes that live in this ravine. But it still cost me my place in society. Sometimes I ask myself, as many do down here, I wonder if it had been better if I had died as well?
I have realized the folly in this. We are the true heroes of our people, we carried the others to safety. We shed our blood to cover our fleeing kin. We shot down the harpies that tried to reach the boats. It is thanks to our strength that our people live.
I can now see it clearly, our society and our culture must change. We can no longer allow ourselves to look pretty in a mirror while the body and mind withers. We can no longer allow our most able bodied to be cast out. We can never again allow the harpies to catch us polishing our armour, perfecting our poetry and painting our paintings.
I will not allow that to happen again. I will dedicate myself to strengthen our kind, to perfect my skills in weaponry and bolstering my resolve.
All of you are free to join me, talar'me or not.
Strength to elvenkind!>
Cal oro'lamië vecna'al! (I am a soul of iron)
Phy'cuenye raised his arm, holding a spear horizontally in the hand. He felt a rush of adrenaline surge through his body as some in the crowd started to cheer, it had begun. Once again she shouted at the top of his lungs.
Cal oro'lamië vecna'al!
Bright summer days in the elven capitol is a true sight to behold, the light filtered in the foliage paints the entire city in emerald with a occasional ray of light passing the leaves altogether and functioning like spotlight for works of art or stages.
Everywhere along the main streets and squares artists and musicians work their craft while philosophers discuss and the elders teach the young the extent of their knowledge. Many a human would describe the dreamlike city as a paradise, a place where no one knows grief or sorrow and were everyone are beautiful.
While in the eyes of elvenkind the city pales in comparison to the now deserted canopies of Nerek'talar many now recognize it as their home, and with time most do not doubt it will take the place of their lost homes in the treetops.
Life in the city is easy and giving, there have never been any shortage of food or water and most of the citizens can go on with their merry lives never having to worry about anything.
Central to the city is Voycha'al Nerek (dream of the woods), the palace district. All the major roads of the city leads either from or to this area where the richest live around the grand palace. Around this district are five others. In the west lie Gallamë'al Suvé (Hill of wondrous sights) and in the north Ner Tor (emerald cliffs), homes to the many elves living in the city.
In the south lie Vyshantore (the circles of learning), where the young receive their training and education and in the east lie the centerer of the trade and commerce of the city, Ner'al Tymie (cliffs of progress).
Most visitors only see these areas of the city and never learn of the sixth district, mostly because most elves try to avoid it and only go there when they must. There are few roads that lead down into the ravine between Ner Tor and Ner'al Tymie. Within this ravine lie the final of district; Gavre'al talar'me (ravine of the unfortunate/those who are lost).
This area is a mix between dwellings and a trade district, it is the seat of the little heavy industry that the city have. Blacksmiths, tanners, carpenters and miners all live and work in the district. But also the outcasts of the elven society, the so called Talar'me, live here. The ones unlucky to be born below the elven standards, those who were unfortunate enough to receive disfiguring injuries and those who simply does not fit in.
This is also the home of war veterans that survived crippled and the rowers of the boats used for the evacuations of Nerek'talar. Those who gave everything they had and survived it, doomed to a existence outside the elven society.
Many of the young venture down into the district these days, to catch old war veterans and try to get them to tell a story of the war against the harpies.
------
Phy'cuenye climbed onto a pile of boxes, his knee reminding him that his youth was over and that he had better start being careful soon or he'd be sorry. He stood up with his straight back and looked out over the crowd that had started gathering.
His good friend, Sorogan, was standing beside him and yelling for all to come and listen, as the crowd gathered he ceased yelling and looked at Phy'cuenye as a gesture for him to start.
He took a deep breath, not just so that he could speak loud and clear but also to brace himself. What he was about to say was not easy, but it had to be spoken.
Elven<Elves!
My apologies for disturbing your daily routines and your quests for understanding our past, but there is a blight that threatens our glorious civilization and our very existence.
35 years ago we suffered the most terrible of fates, our kin was stolen from us and the plague we know as the harpies was set upon us. Despite our heroics and valiant efforts we could not stop their advance and we lost the homeland we all held so dear.
We all came here, to survive and rebuild our lives. We built new cities to replace the ones we lost. We built new homes to replace the ones that burnt. We joined new houses and families to replace the ones that fell. We returned to the lives we knew.
But as we did so we turned our backs on the greatest threat of them all, we chose not to see it and remained ignorant of it. This threat was the same that led to our escape from our homes and our flight here.
But, I hear you say, we are not ignorant of the harpies and if they come we will be ready for them. It is not of the harpies I am speaking of, nor is it of their mysterious master. We are aware of these threats, I agree, but we are not prepared for them should they come again. We are in fact just as prepared as we were 35 years ago.
The great threat is that of our own vanity. Our culture is obsessed with beauty. So obsessed we cannot see anything else than our pretty mirror images. We sacrifice everything just to remain beautiful, not caring for the importance of that which we lost.
I regret that I was once like that, more interested in polishing my Shue'orom armour and shining my rank insignia than learning my way around a blade.
When the harpies came I fought as valiantly as any of the fallen and all of the heroes that live in this ravine. But it still cost me my place in society. Sometimes I ask myself, as many do down here, I wonder if it had been better if I had died as well?
I have realized the folly in this. We are the true heroes of our people, we carried the others to safety. We shed our blood to cover our fleeing kin. We shot down the harpies that tried to reach the boats. It is thanks to our strength that our people live.
I can now see it clearly, our society and our culture must change. We can no longer allow ourselves to look pretty in a mirror while the body and mind withers. We can no longer allow our most able bodied to be cast out. We can never again allow the harpies to catch us polishing our armour, perfecting our poetry and painting our paintings.
I will not allow that to happen again. I will dedicate myself to strengthen our kind, to perfect my skills in weaponry and bolstering my resolve.
All of you are free to join me, talar'me or not.
Strength to elvenkind!>
Cal oro'lamië vecna'al! (I am a soul of iron)
Phy'cuenye raised his arm, holding a spear horizontally in the hand. He felt a rush of adrenaline surge through his body as some in the crowd started to cheer, it had begun. Once again she shouted at the top of his lungs.
Cal oro'lamië vecna'al!
