Archive Entry Create
Title: Journal for Leila
Area: Storylines

Bio Info:



Her mind hadn't wandered too awfully far and she read over the few lines she'd finished. Most was an introduction for Leila, telling her of what would be written and why. Those were for no one's eyes and ears but her daughter...and whomever else Dustbunnie might choose to show. It was now that she came to the heart of the material...or perhaps, the basis of everything that would come. The need for the Mysts, naive as it might be...drastic measures usually were. Then would come Khadiss, the first man to Hear the Mysts...to feel them..to be touched and changed by them. And then, eventually, her own story. But that was more difficult to write.She leans her head back a little and briefly examines what she'd written so far, then nods to herself and continues. The words were not all her own. The story was not her own. But she would tell it as best as she could remember, and as close as she could to how Preirin had first recited...

Faerie...the Mysts... How does one clearly explain? The Mysts are a magical boundary, dividing Faerie from the land of men. The one we now exist in. They were erected by the great Sages of Faerie after too many disheartening, brutal encounters with mankind. This is long before the time we live in now. Long before any of us existed. Long before most dragons today were alive. And the story only exists by being passed from the lips of one elf to the next because one's history is a necessity, though told wrong it could breed all sorts of atrocities.

Here she stops in her writing and bites her lip. To have known Preirin and Serric...to have seen some of the others who came and went, the slender elven children..to have traveled in their lands...the thought of what had befallen so many centuries ago was still upsetting...whether they were her people or no. She glances down to the delicate chain upon her ankle and smiles wearily. He'd always said she must be fae.

There was a time before the land of men and their derivitives... And this was when Faerie spread its borders far and wide. It wasn't the tyrannical monopoly of land that one might see today. Where each inch is fought over and the people within wage their own small battles for the smallest scrap to call their own. The elves were gentle and peaceful...and most still are. When the Land of Men was born, by whatever act of Fate, the elves approached them with joy and curiosity, offering the gifts of wine and gold, beautiful jewels and the teaching of skills. The men reacted in both awe and horror, some dazzled by their beauty, their knowledge and wisdom...but all thought them gods and feared their wrath. That is...until the first Fey was slain, and his blood poured forth before the Human who had killed him.

The death of one fey proved to the men that their fears had been wrong. The Fey were not gods, they were not immortal or creatures to be awed. Rather, they were weak and to be envied for their riches, their grace, beauty. The gold and riches were no longer looked upon as celestial gifts, but simply as items Humans did not possess...and therefore were free for the taking. The slaughters began...

The Humans moved forward quickly into Faerie, thieving, raping, mudering, razing villages and forests. As Faerie's borders diminished, the Land of Men advanced like wildfire. The gentle Fey were at a loss. Such had never occurred and it was a long while before they fought back out of sheer desperation to preserve not only themselves, but all they held dear... The land, the creatures, the peace. It was the dark elves who struck first, long before Lloth and the Underdark, when they still lived amongst the other elven people. They created their bows and magical weapons to defend their homeland and as their support grew, as others joined the fray, the first Human-Elven war began. And the fey wept.

This part she remembered...word for word. How could one forget the imagery...or the bitterness with which they were told? Even now, so many years later. The elves and humans were still uneasy with one another, holding onto their pasts, one with the knowledge of being wronged, others with the knowledge of wrongdoing... But she'd understood. She could see the way people were now.. They'd not changed. Not as a whole. No one had. Her ears droop a tad and she leans over her book once more, the shadow of one ear obscuring the page she'd just written.

Upon it's end, Faerie had diminished to about a third it's original size. It's glens and brooks turned to blackened and bloodied fields of war. The Hamlets and townships that once were so fair, now were infested with Humans like rats in a sewer. The wild creatures, the Unicorns and Gryphons; Dragons and Faeries, were all driven back to near extinction. Creatures of the Darke soon emerged, Ogres and Goblins, Trolls and Ghouls. More and more as the worlds became more split with every thrust and swordstroke.

The seven wisest of the Fey...The Sages mentioned before, Leila... were summoned. Together, after much discussion and turmoil, the great Barrier Mysts were formed, protecting Faerie and its inhabitants and creatures from the invading hordes of Humans and darkness alike. The Fey themselves could walk through the Mysts as as easily as if it were merely fog, but to the Humans the colorful, swirling lights were as solid as granite and as deadly as lightening. To enter the Mysts was to die...so against what the Fey had hoped.

She pauses a moment to sigh, clearing her throat gently and glancing around. She felt almost as though she were being watched, and she eyes the dark forest so far beyond. Her thoughts traveled, imagination flew, but before long she closes her eyes and shakes her head, returning her focus to her words.

It was decided by the same Sages, and agreed upon by the King, that no elf would cross the Mysts and enter the Land of Man. The races would be separate, and all the remained a part of Faerie, would forever be out of reach by the hands of men. But with their fighting, the dark elves had learned hate...and they defied the orders, intent on revenge. They went in increasinly frenzied bands to attack those that had taken so much from them. The other Fey revolted against this and demanded it cease, as the council had bidden. The ire and frustration of the dark elves was turned inward...and Fey fought Fey.

She takes a deep breath and wrinkles her nose. Why was it so difficult to write of someone else's history? Much less someone she'd not seen in years. Had it been years? She pushes her ears back gently from her face, fingers tracing a short lock of hair. What in the gods would he think if he saw her life now? Perhaps he'd be disappointed. At times she was. She shifts one more, twisting a little to rest her book upon the porch boards. She clenches and unclenches her hand for a few moments, freeing the flow of blood, then takes up her pen once more to finish the very last of what she'd started. Or perhaps, the first of what she'd begun.

The divisions..could she remember all of the divisions? Maybe not. But a few... The internal fighting, the first of which Faerie had ever seen, spread as quickly as the Land of Man had and soon Faerie was overtaken by war. Sylvan, High-Elf, Gray and Moon-Elf all fought for a restoration of peace, an end of communication with mankind. Their foes were the Dark Elves, the Noruni, Strider and Wildland Elves..a few smaller clans. More and more races joined in, no longer simply the elves, but the creatures that had once lived so peacefully...and under such turmoil, it was nearly impossible to know who was allied with who. In the end, the deaths of all in this,later to be named Great Elven War, more than tripled that of the Human incursion. The lands of the great central plain grew ruddy and sparse...and remain so to this day. Nothing lives there. The blood of so many lives lost soaked deep into the earth and flooded all life away. It was nearly four centures before the War came to an end, before the last elf died at the hand of his brother. The Dark Elves were blamed for the war and banished from the surface, from the sunlight and life that elves are known to love. They live now in the world of Darkness beneath Faerie... The Underdark...winding their way through a maze of tunnels and caverns at once as dark and as beautiful as they once were and are today. Other races, also blamed...gradually disappeared, becoming known only as the 'Forgotten' races. They disappeared deep into the heart of Faerie, establishing small villages and homes in the forests and mountains of their homeland, far from where they had lived and died. The Elves of light...the remaining Sylvans, Moon- Elves, and High Elves were left to rebuild, a process which I've seen even today has yet to be completed.

Perhaps I jump ahead, Leila, in telling you that now elves and men live together. That you will see them pass by on the streets and forests. You will see them love and hate as everyone has learned to do. But remember they live beyond Faerie. They are true elves for their ancestors were of Faerie, but those who walk with men now are far evolved from the gentle creatures I knew. From Preirin and Serric, who were torn over the growing troubles with their lands and people. This is not to say the elves you will meet lack grace...and dignity, pride, craftsmanship, elegance, memory... But their eyes are wide open now. There are only a few clans left cut off from the rest of the world, living in a miniature Faerie of Men's lands...a cheap copy of what I've seen. What I hope you'll never see. The elves here have nearly all forgotten their history. They engage in the practices that had once set man apart from elf...Perhaps it's not all bad...

Her pen trails a long line of ink as her hand stills. To continue would mean to lament what she'd seen lost. To know so many neither sought, nor cared to seek the heaven they could acquire and she could never be a part of. To continue would mean she'd pour forth her heart and soul and she was neither ready to write such, nor to allow it to be stated in print. No evidence.

She read over the last page of what she'd written, waving an ear over it to quick the process of the drying ink. She'd rambled on far more than she'd meant to, but it was Preirin's story and it deserved to be told with grace. There was no way to copy it, no way to force it into anyone else's terms. How could one steal a history and twist it to their own use? Perhaps before Leila struck out on her own, she'd copy what she'd just written and offer it to the girl. Should she come across an elf with green eyes as fair and warm as the meadows...She closes her own gray orbs and props her elbow up on the stoop, resting her forehead in the palm of her hand. She was too far into the past now. She though she'd escaped it's grips long ago. She'd moved on...finally...but during her own trouble in her life, it always returned. She'd never be rid of it. Perhaps when she wrote it would help. But gods, just a history hurt.

She laughs wearily, knowing she must look almost as though she'd collapsed upon the stairs. It was as draining for her to write as it was to deal with the rest of her life. And to know it'd never been something she was good at. Her words were clumsy compared to those who'd first spoken them. But they would suffice, and perhaps some day Leila would hear from someone else who could tell it properly. In the end, it was easier to write than to speak. She releases one final long sigh and then looks up dully to the kitchen door looming before her. Strange...it'd taken her all this time to write and there'd been no disturbances. No interruptions...only the one, and that had been before the worst. Then again, if one looked at Ciraa....you were nearly always ignored if you were engrossed in something else. The patrons wanted others to talk, to interact, to join in laughter and love and arguments and hatred. Perhaps the worst of her knowledge of Faerie was not all that she had lost though her experiences, but to know all that the world had lost. And that had it not, she could have been somewhere different. She could have Been someone different. The last of the ink had dried and she caps her pen and slips it away. The book was closed then, tied neatly with a dark blue ribbon, and she then remained still, fingers drumming absently against her chin.