In the ancient past, long forgotten even amongst the elves and the
truth of which is only revealed within these pages there were
four tribes. The four tribes were lead by one court, presided over
by a king and a queen and a council of 8. They lived mostly
isolated, except for those who saw to the governing of the land
and its inhabitants. The court was in the fair city, Dragaera.
Dragaera is a graceful and magestic place of unbelievable
beauty. Four great plazas (one for each tribe) border the royal
palace with market places in turn surrounding them. All was set
within the most ancient and beloved forest of the known realms.
The earth, itself, is said to have welcomed the embrace of Dragaera,
offering forth the marble and wood used in crafting that fairest and most
noble of cities.
For countless generations, so many that even the elves themselves
forgot, peace reigned and the four tribes prospered and grew. No one
is sure when, but it must have happened gradually. Maybe the trees
told them, or the wind. New races now inhabited the world. Races
that were loud and destructive and lacking the ability to understand
the harmony... the balance that existed in the world. The new
races brought with them, spawned from nothingness and with startling
rapidness (or so it seemed to the long-lived elves) beings, which
like the elves were immortal (or nearly so or so it seemed) but
who were childish, giving in to their every whim. Not all of these
new beings were 'good,' either. They reflected the attitudes of
those who worshipped them. This was all new and almost bewildering
to the fair race. However, as none of this directly involved them
and their balance in the world was still strong, they didn't
give it more than three or four generations of consideration before
dismissing it as irrelevant.
But it wasn't irrelevant. The most renowned historians of the day
agree that that period was the turning point. The end was upon
us, but we were too blind (perhaps, arrogant?) to see it. For these
new races and their immortal creations brought something intangible
but all too real into the realms. Somehow, no one will ever
know how, a god (for this is what the new races called these immortal
beings... or so the wind whispered to the elves) was created through
her own thought. She willed herself into being, but she was weak
and without substance because she had no followers.
The Sundering. Though all elves now knew the basics of worshipping
'gods,' it is still hard to fathom that this could actually be of
benefit to anyone but the 'god.'
This new, self-willed god was weak. She could intervene
in the world only in the smallest of ways. Her voice couldn't even
be carried on the winds or even through the trees, which even the
youngest elven child can do. She had to actually be near to one for
one to feel her presence. She tried for many years to gain followers
among the new races, but they were unreceptive to her enticements.
She had a reputation for cruelty and the new races were frightened
of her. They called upon their gods to protect them from her.
She was blamed for every drought, death and misfortune that happened
for years upon years. She was driven into exile by a concerted
effort of the other gods.
The prevailing theory is that she found a haven in the city of the
Aerdna. She directed her presence inward (as in deep meditation) for
countless generations, but the essence of her began to seep into
her environment. The Aerdna began, over the insuing years, to
withdraw from court. Only the two council members and their
clans would actually be in Dragaera at any given time. Eventually,
they withdrew entirely from court. A hastily convened council
met and decided to send representatives to the Aerdna in an
attempt to rebond the four tribes together.
The representatives went to Aerdnaia but were barred from entering.
They found a wall around the Aerdna city! Returning to Dragaera,
they reported this puzzling phenomenon to the council. After
very little debate (a mere 73 years past, signifying, a very hasty
decision was made), new representatives were chosen and sent out to
gain entry to Aerdnaia by unorthodox means. This second party gained
entry into the city and found it much changed. Where once graceful
sandstone spires soared into the air, now granite and obsidian held
sway. There were strange spider carvings woven into the architecture
everywhere. Even the city, itself, was shaped like a web, spiralling
out from a central point. Traversing the winding streets, they headed
inward, to the heart of the city.
The heart of the city was grotesque, a monstrosity of dark granite
and obsidian with blood red accents. Shaped like a spider, climbing
a web up into the air, legs hooked in to guard the towering
doors at the front, the building standing at the heart of the city
was horrifying. The party left to find shelter in the woods outside
the city, hoping that the softly spoken trees would calm their
nerves. They hoped also to find the strength to enter that building.
The next day, they re-entered the city, full of fear and trepidation.
Slowly, they made their way to the center. Standing before the
spider building, they gathered their courage and walked up the stairs
to stand before the doors. As they stood there, uncertain of how
to proceed, the doors swung inward, revealing a black darker than
the worst nightmare filled night. The air was thick and moist,
making their skin clammy and their hair lank. They entered the building,
sure that they would never leave.
Stepping into the inky darkness, they paused in the vestibule waiting
for their eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. The doors swung
closed behind them. Walking down a long hallway they felt a hum
vibrate through the air. The hallway spiralled around the building
into a vast central chamber. In the center of that chamber was a
sunken altar. On that altar was a throne and on that throne sat
a woman. Her skin was dark and her eyes were widely set and slanted
slightly. Her hair was white and coiled around her head in a sort
of crown. Surrounding the altar were stone benches arranged in tiers.
The benches were full. The Aerdna were humming and staring with
awe upon the face of the hideous woman on the throne. Her head was
slightly lowered as if she were deep in thought. As they stood there,
she raised her head and smiled... a hideous parody of joy crossing
her face.
She spoke in a low, raspy voice, her words strangely slurred, "You
look upon my people." It sounded almost defiant, as if daring the
strangers to dispute her. They didn't. As one, they started backing
out of the room, but she laughed and they were stopped in their tracks.
Three of the four fell, silently to the floor, as if their bones had
just melted. The fourth turned and ran, the woman's laughter echoing
and echoing through his mind. He ran out of the building and through
the streets and out the gates.
(**reference: "The Perversion of the Aerdna" for a more detailed
account of the city of Aerdnaia **)
It is likely he ran all the way back to Dragaera. It is my belief
that he was trying to outrun the laughter, though he ever did.
He died in that central room along with the others, but the laughter
kept him animated until after he brought his disjointed tale back
to Dragaera. The council debated the issue for the next two generations.
They knew after hearing the report what must happen next, but they were
unwilling to commit themselves to such a heinous deed. After much heated
discussion, a vote was called and the council of six now, along with the
king and queen, voted, five for, three against, a declaration of separation
of the fourth tribe. This was tantamount to a declaration of war and
not made lightly. There had never been 'war' amongst the elves, though
they knew of the concept from observing nature and from the
new races.
(**reference: "The Sundering" for a more detailed
explanation of the meaning of a 'vote of separation.' **)
The remaining three tribes amassed at Dragaera and prepared to
march against the Aerdna. This occurred fairly rapidly, most
every 'adult' of the elves gathered by the end of the next
generation. They marched on Aerdnaia and a fierce battle
ensued for the next two generations. The once glorious but
now hideous Aerdnaia was all but obliterated. The war spread
south into the lands of the new races. The new races themselves
were drawn into it. Fighting on both sides, the new races
complicated matters. The elves, the three tribes and the Aerdna,
were disconcerted by the capricious, unsteady rashness of the new
races. Their tactics were unpredictable and lead to catastrophic
bloodshed. During the war, the Aerdna god, Cyrcia was absent, but
the Aerdna were not chagrinned at what was obviously the loss of an
important weapon (later, it was learned that Cyrcia predicted the
defeat of her followers and was preparing a new place for them to
dwell... underground in the darkness she preferred.).
(**reference: "Cyrcia: Building an Empire" for more
information regarding her 'lost' years. **)
By the end of the second generation, it was obvious the Aerdna
were losing. Their numbers dwindled until one day they were
all just gone. They had fled. The elves seemed empty; their
victory was hollow, as they had known it would be. The tribes
had been sundered, the few survivors of the Aerdna gone, never
to return. The world was in complete devastation. The balance
of nature was in utter chaos. The new races had been all but
eradicated from the realms. The elves prepared to depart the
new lands, ashamed and broken. The council met and decided that
a few should remain behind to guard against the return of the Aerdna
and to help rebuild the lands of the new races. Those that
volunteered were revered for all knew that they would never be
allowed to return home.
The elves returned to their lands, using almost every ounce of
strength they had to persuade the earth to obscure their tracks
and set wards against intruders. Returning to Dragaera, greatly
reduced in number, they convened one last council of the three
tribes. This last council resolved to disband the court as The
Sundering had destroyed the solidarity that linked them together.
The present king and queen, disheartened by what had befallen their
people, for they were the embodiment of all the tribes, left
Dragaera and the wind never carried their voices again. One by
one the tribes left Dragaera until none remained. The city,
itself, so beloved by elves and nature, remained, though. It
will always stand as a monument to a past that is better
forgotten.
Serisin, Tribe Sinaku