Post by Lilith Sunseeker on Jan 6, 2010 10:47:57 GMT -8
Deep in the Southern region of Illinor Forest the trees grow wild and angry. Slowly, as those ancient towering plants become more gnarled and grasping, one might notice differences in them from the oaks and ashes and birches of the rest of the forest. A lessening of leaves on the arching branches, roots fading into silver rather than bark, an angry and malicious whisper from deep in the heart of the wood. Streaks of metallic bark in all the colours of industry - matte silver, dull gold, rusty copper, scintillating bronze, steel gray. Deeper into the trees and this effect spreads; leaves are lost entirely, as is bark. A whole metallic forest. The trees in the Tangle are more like spires, twisting to impossible heights, their branches curling like corkscrews into oblivion. Craggy cliffs make up the rest of the landscape, their sides sheer.
There are natives to this region. They are called the Tangle Elves or, in their own rudimentary language, the Maersta Elves. They arrived in this inhospitable, dangerous land millenia past as recorded by the Founding Father, Erou Dawn The First Warrior.
The history of the Tanglewood &.Elves as recorded by Erou, The First Warrior (surviving extracts).
Seven founding fathers, seven founding mothers. I, their leader, the First Warrior of the Maersta Elves. My calling is Erou Dawn, seven hundred winters of age, the greatest warrior of my people and leader of the founding race of Maersta Elves. We are exiled from the Wood Elves by our own choosing; they have no need of warriors at this time of peace and we require a harsher land to maintain and further our skills. We differ from them in many ways; we fourteen have dark hair and slanted eyes, we are taller and more athletic than most, we are dark and silent and feared. They remain our friends and cousins.
***
On the nineteenth month of travelling we stumbled across our new home. It is deep in the Southern forest of Illinor, to think; after so long living nomadic lives ill-suited to our kind and walking lands far outside our forest, we return in defeat only to find our homeland only walkable leagues from the Old. Nonetheless we are here now, the fourteen founders, in a place we have named The Tanglewood for it's wildness, it's impossible labyrinth. It took us years to colonise this untameable land, to learn how to survive here. But we are resourceful people, as wild as this land.
***
The trees are made of metal. We cannot identify the type but it can be melted down (in small quantities at the tree's blessing) to form weapons of unexpected strength. The trees are sharp and it takes great care to survive among the branches. Even so our youngest, Herduw, was killed while hunting the metal beasts that live here. But though this land is harsh and cold on the surface we can feel that it lives, it breathes. We have come to love it.
***
My wife and I have had our first child, the third belonging to the founders in the many decades we have lived here. Her name is Lilith Darkheart, a warrior already. It is a challenge to raise a child among these dangerous trees but already the forest responds to us, helps us, trusts us. It senses our affection and returns its own, whenever it can. And who better to succeed at difficult tasks than the Maersta elves, hardiest of our kind?
***
I am old. More than one thousand years I have walked this earth, have lived and laughed and loved in Illinor. An elder now, with five grown children, my life has been a rich and rewarding one. I can feel now the slow, cold beckoning of death and I know my time approaches, as undeniable as the rising of the sun. I am not afraid. I grow tired, and rest would be welcome. And I have succeeded; I, Erou Dawn, The First Warrior. We are home here. We are living. We will survive.
Here ends the account of Erou, The First Warrior. Died age 1085.
This account tells of their arrival in the Tanglewood. Since that time those flesh and blood Elves have been changed, hardened, by this wild land. Their skins are dusky green copper, their eyes burnt honey. Their hair is as tangled as their land, black in colour. Dark warriors from the deep South. Talented hunters of metal beasts. Forgers of tangle-metal weapons. A frightening, feral race.
These are the natives, dark Elves of a dark land. The Tangle is arguably the most dangerous place in Illinor. The trees are easily angered and swifter to act than those of the rest of the forest. They are loyal allies to the native elves and dangerous enemies to intruders. Metal predators and their armoured, volatile prey stalk the craggy cliffs. The ground is choked with metallic trunks so life in the Tangle is lived in the branches of trees, thousands of metres above the ground, one slip away from a fall to certain death or fatal injury on the sword-sharp metal of the trees. It is a hard life for the Elves and an impossible one for someone straying in unguided and unprepared.
This is The Southern Tanglewood. Enter at your own risk.
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There are natives to this region. They are called the Tangle Elves or, in their own rudimentary language, the Maersta Elves. They arrived in this inhospitable, dangerous land millenia past as recorded by the Founding Father, Erou Dawn The First Warrior.
The history of the Tanglewood &.Elves as recorded by Erou, The First Warrior (surviving extracts).
Seven founding fathers, seven founding mothers. I, their leader, the First Warrior of the Maersta Elves. My calling is Erou Dawn, seven hundred winters of age, the greatest warrior of my people and leader of the founding race of Maersta Elves. We are exiled from the Wood Elves by our own choosing; they have no need of warriors at this time of peace and we require a harsher land to maintain and further our skills. We differ from them in many ways; we fourteen have dark hair and slanted eyes, we are taller and more athletic than most, we are dark and silent and feared. They remain our friends and cousins.
***
On the nineteenth month of travelling we stumbled across our new home. It is deep in the Southern forest of Illinor, to think; after so long living nomadic lives ill-suited to our kind and walking lands far outside our forest, we return in defeat only to find our homeland only walkable leagues from the Old. Nonetheless we are here now, the fourteen founders, in a place we have named The Tanglewood for it's wildness, it's impossible labyrinth. It took us years to colonise this untameable land, to learn how to survive here. But we are resourceful people, as wild as this land.
***
The trees are made of metal. We cannot identify the type but it can be melted down (in small quantities at the tree's blessing) to form weapons of unexpected strength. The trees are sharp and it takes great care to survive among the branches. Even so our youngest, Herduw, was killed while hunting the metal beasts that live here. But though this land is harsh and cold on the surface we can feel that it lives, it breathes. We have come to love it.
***
My wife and I have had our first child, the third belonging to the founders in the many decades we have lived here. Her name is Lilith Darkheart, a warrior already. It is a challenge to raise a child among these dangerous trees but already the forest responds to us, helps us, trusts us. It senses our affection and returns its own, whenever it can. And who better to succeed at difficult tasks than the Maersta elves, hardiest of our kind?
***
I am old. More than one thousand years I have walked this earth, have lived and laughed and loved in Illinor. An elder now, with five grown children, my life has been a rich and rewarding one. I can feel now the slow, cold beckoning of death and I know my time approaches, as undeniable as the rising of the sun. I am not afraid. I grow tired, and rest would be welcome. And I have succeeded; I, Erou Dawn, The First Warrior. We are home here. We are living. We will survive.
Here ends the account of Erou, The First Warrior. Died age 1085.
This account tells of their arrival in the Tanglewood. Since that time those flesh and blood Elves have been changed, hardened, by this wild land. Their skins are dusky green copper, their eyes burnt honey. Their hair is as tangled as their land, black in colour. Dark warriors from the deep South. Talented hunters of metal beasts. Forgers of tangle-metal weapons. A frightening, feral race.
These are the natives, dark Elves of a dark land. The Tangle is arguably the most dangerous place in Illinor. The trees are easily angered and swifter to act than those of the rest of the forest. They are loyal allies to the native elves and dangerous enemies to intruders. Metal predators and their armoured, volatile prey stalk the craggy cliffs. The ground is choked with metallic trunks so life in the Tangle is lived in the branches of trees, thousands of metres above the ground, one slip away from a fall to certain death or fatal injury on the sword-sharp metal of the trees. It is a hard life for the Elves and an impossible one for someone straying in unguided and unprepared.
This is The Southern Tanglewood. Enter at your own risk.
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