Daellean

Daellean.

The realm of the Elves, where the forests ruled and the elves served. The land was lush and verdant and green. Greener than any forest of Dessor or Skaerra for that matter.

Large and small trees weaved in and about through the gigantic forests that made up the realm. Vines wrapped around branches before dropping low, but not so low as to touch the shrubbery that surrounded the base of the wooden behemoths. The tall grass swayed with the gentle breezes of the inner world between the trees.

The canopies blotted out the sky with their leafage allowing only a few rays to pierce through. The land remained cool beneath the shadows cast by the larger tree trunks.

It began with Ciranthas, the lord of the forests and the demigod son of Aulliuth. The demigod walked among the Elves, but has since slept for years in his lone abode secluded far in the misty vales of the groves of Yhavann.

Surrounding Yhavann were the lands of the other Elven nations, such as Flyfendel, Alheras, and Kes. These realms had served as buffers to invaders for years.

It was at this time that a cadre of goblins wandered through the thick woods. Their race, though cursed with pointy features, were blessed with inventiveness and quick minds. At times, however, they could be reckless and irascible. The majority of them smelled of urine and grime, probably the result of living in crowded urban underbellies.

They wore scrapped together leather armor and every bit of them looked out of place in the forest except for their green skin. They wielded all sorts of machinations from maces to clubs to swords to crossbows to throwing daggers.

They followed behind by their fearless leader, Mzedi, who was taller than the rest of them by a head. Goblins often deferred leadership roles to the more physically imposing. Wandering bands of goblins were common.

However, a band of such numbers this far into Daellean was uncommon.

Mzedi sniffed ahead and he smelled a threat. He raised his palm to halt their advance. Their eyes shifted about until a noticeable white mist started to creep in around them.

Eerie shrieks perforated the stillness of the forest. Elves rushed from beyond the trees with swords drawn. Ranks in the rear, hidden by mist, loosed arrows. The goblins countered with their crossbow bolts, and those in the front charged at the elves.

These elves, however, were different. Their faces were marred with sickness.

The Red Wind.

It took on the form of red web-like growths on their faces, which appeared to leech the life from their bodies. Not so much as to prevent them from ambushing the goblins. Unlike the graceful and fluid motions expected of the Elves, they fought like dense and cumbersome savages.

They began to push the goblins back the way they came.

Until arrows flew in from just west of them and began to pin down their ranks down. The marred elves were taken aback but little could they do to stop it. The arrows pierced through their ranks as they tried to determine their assailants' positions.

However, as more and more of them fell, and the rain of arrows began to increase, one called for a retreat and the rest disappeared back into the forest.

A figure appeared from beyond the brush, hand on a lowered bow, adorned in golden glinted leafage armor.

Others followed in similarly ornate armor and armaments.

The leader turned to the others, "We must return and report this to Lord Oyenthius."

-

"The Red Wind grows increasingly powerful each day."

The Hall of the Ancients stood in the center of the city of Flyfendel, an architectural monument to the heydays of the old Sindrelei Kingdom. The white wood of the Kheln trees remained untouched as it had been built around them.

It was a singular remnant of the illustrious past among the many newer dwellings built around and above the trees. It was also the throne from which King Oyenthius ruled Flyfendel.

A gathering of attendant Sindrelei lords and ladies of the various Elven noble houses as well as their retainers made up the Council of Flyfendel. Diplomats to the Empire were also present. In addition to this, Lord Neminel of Nevreas, his guards, and some representatives from Kes had also made their way to attend. Though they were Tlamani, they were still descended from the First Elves like the Sindrelei. They were family, and the Red Wind threatened all of them.

King Oyenthius, a tall and pale elf with golden hair and diamond blue eyes, the signature Sindrelei appearance, sat on his throne as the council began. A wreath made of Kheln wood sat on his crown. Sentinels with long elven polearms flanked his throne seat. His first and third sons, the Prince Aeriand and Prince Tirinand stood off to the side decked in long flowing black capes that covered their armor.

Lord Ashoriel stood in the gulf between the Flyfendel royals and the rest of the Elvish nobles.

"It grows increasingly powerful," he spoke, "My daughter Melian has already succumbed," he said it not to garner pity but to illustrate the grim realities that everyone present could eventually face.

The face of Prince Tirinand fell, but only few could have perceived this. For only a few knew that he was betrothed to the beautiful maiden daughter of Ashoriel. Her fate troubled him.

Worry and murmurs broke among those present. The extinction of the elven race could not be more horrifying a thought to a people who inherited this world after the legendary warrior-prince Khaierion, who long ago fought off the Dark Ones as leader of the First Elves. Such a long and storied tradition ready to be sundered and grounded to dust was not a new reality.

King Oyenthius gestured to one of his captains, "Captain Ruindel, speak of what you witnessed today."

The soldier stepped forward and bowed before he addressed the others.

"Earlier this morning, we observed an advance party of goblins fall prey to an ambush by the taken ones. The taken ones routed the goblins and we intervened to drive them all back. They are hiding within the forests somewhere."

Oyenthius nonchalantly, "Tragic."

Captain Ruindel continued, "Our concerns are not with the taken, but with outsiders who perceive a weakness within our borders. They seek an opportunity to claim our sacred glades."

"Captain Ruindel, continue your vigilance on the borders should anything change."

The soldier nodded, bowed, and stepped back in line.

"I have sent a diplomat to the city of Gadros to speak with the Empire for aid," Oyenthius steepled his fingers, "However, if our apothecaries can not cure this disease, I am not sure what more the humans can do."

Lord Neminel, a dark haired and grey eyed lord of the Tlamani of Nevreas spoke, "These are indeed troubling times, moreso than in years past. Something is different now."

"Indeed," Lady Simrica added, "I see changes in the night sky, yet I can only tremble as the vision remains unclear and quiet to me."

Lady Simrica was a well-renowned seer of the Kalas forests, where those with an acuity for visions are sent to hone their talents in the sacred forests under the tutelage of Lady Simrica and other elders.

"Ciranthas has not awoken yet, which troubles me," she continued.

"Have you heard word from Anundhel?" Oyenthius turned to Ashoriel.

Ashoriel's brow creased, but he answered curtly, "No. No word."

The girl had departed of her own volition, seeking a cure through the alchemical arts, a path unnatural to elven-kind. It was a source of shame for Ashoriel, but he could only accept it. She was beyond the seas somewhere. Whether alive or dead, he knew not. He hoped she was alive, and hoped that she may find a cure where others have failed.

Red streaks of mist over dying eyeless faces. Black lightning piercing clouded sunless skies. The hand of corruption befouling a pool of water. The last breaths before death extinguished into silence. Guttural screams of the twisted. The shadow of a dragon.

Lady Simrica snapped from her trance and opened her eyes to the faces of Oyenthius and Neminel. They rushed to her side and helped her balance as she nearly fell.

She looked more pale than the white wood Kheln trees. Her legs feeble.

The lords and lady secluded themselves in a dark private chamber while the council entertained a brief recess before reconvening in the main hall.

Glittering jewels hung in between alcoves. The room extended to exterior balconies overlooking a small tributary that ran from the Silver Lake. Beyond this were the giant tree trunks of the Immlon Forest. The thick canopies of verdant green leaves surrounded their view of the sky like webs upon webs resting upon each other and permitting only the most persistent shafts of the light of the three sisters in.

The two lords helped settle Lady Simrica in a seat. Neminel paced in the background.

Oyenthius raised a palm and a green aura began to form as he held it before her. It was a traditional elvish healing spell that could ward off bits of fatigue. It would have to do for their private session to continue.

"What did you see?" Neminel prodded.

Lady Simrica blinked, but her breaths slowed. She felt drained.

Her first words seemed to crawl from her throat, "Blood. Blood of our people."

Lord Oyenthius turned to Lord Neminel, he could see the wood elf turn grim. He knew that it mirrored his own expressions as they too darkened.

She continued, "A dark storm gathering, a hand serving in the name of pestilence. Two more, I could not interpret."

She took slow breaths as Oyenthius maintained his spell over her. He could see some sweat beads forming on her face, the first in a long time.

"The last, I saw a dragon," the two lords turned to her as she said this.

"It seems we have exhausted all proper options," Sindrelei Princess of Sidya, Fylena Ithirn, stood at the center of the hall.

Two large Kheln trunks flanked her as though they were columns supporting the Hall of the Ancients.

The Sidyan nobles stood gathered behind her, and a company of Sidyan guards, whose armor glinted silvery white as the Kheln trees with lines and curves remiscnent of leaves, stood behind them.

Her beauty was matched by her skill with the bow. Many knew her for her poise and calm as well as her amiable demeanor. The realm of Sidya considered her its beloved child, but only after they had accepted her as their own.

The last queen, Reyna, perished when her ship sank in the Western Bay. The city of Sidya near fell to the hordes of the Goblin King Grodnar had one of the lords not discover Fylena to be the bastard daughter of the queen and the only living heir.

The queen had no other heirs, legitimate or otherwise. Despite some hesitation, the nobles of Sidya legitimised her, but due to ancient Sindrelei customs Fylena would only remain a Princess. She rallied the Sidyan elves and repulsed the goblin invaders out of the forest.

Fylena at this point broached the subject with the same poise with which she handled any bow and arrow.

"With regrets, Sidya has elected to close its borders indefinitely until this sickness has been purged or cured from our forests."

"'Tis your decree, so let it be..." Lord Oyenthius inserted.

"Pray tell me, Fylena, Daughter of Reyna Ithirn and Princess of Sidya, as to what may be achieved of such folly? 'Tis only but the expiation of our peoples at greater haste," Lord Ashoriel voice seemed near to break into yelling.

Anger seemed apparent, yet no high born elf showed their emotions, much less the lord of a realm.

"It is not our people that are dying, but yours, Lord Ashoriel."

"My people? You speak as though we are different."

"My patience yields to my wonder as to whether your delegation from Alheras bears the plague itself upon us."

"How dare you lay such a claim against my lot? Lest you forget that we aided thee once when Grodnar, third of his name, and his minions set about burning your forests. The many sons of Alheras has shed blood enough to turn the rivers red for the freedom of thy peoples."

Princess Fylena remained unfazed at that particular memory.

"My regrets and condolences to Alheras, but Sidya can be of no help to your plight. We must look to our ourselves," the Princess concluded with much more reluctance, but without as much emotion.

"How can you sit by and observe so coolly and without reflection? Have you no love for thine own kind? Are we not one and of the same blood as Ariniuen, first born of our kind? What sort of bewitched creature art thou?"

"Watch your tongue milord, or here may be the last place that you speak."

"Enough!" King Oyenthius commanded.

The Princess indeed had had enough. As if on cue, her entire cadre of guards locked into formation. As she turned around and left with her train of attendants and nobles, the guards turned around and marched after her, their boots pattering at even intervals out of the hall, leaving much frustration and concern in their wake.

Ashoriel and a few of his nobles and attendants departed for another chamber.

Lord Oyenthius watched their unity fracture slightly. It worried him much that they could not realize the actual darkness soon to befall them.

"I think perhaps the forum today concludes, seek out nourishment and repose, we'll reconvene tomorrow."

The king of Flyfendel and Lord of the Council, in autumn gold cloak, flanked by the princes Aerinand and Tirinand, departed with much on his mind.