Legends and Lore of Elanthia
(Three Tales as told to Lord Prestius)

In the Beginning

"Things were not always as they are now," the old elf said. I smiled expectantly, for all of his best stories started this way. He was very old and pale; his rheumy eyes barely opened to slits. If the hair of his long, gray beard didn't stir occasionally, I'd have thought he was dead! We sat in his ramshackle house as we had many times before, sharing a mug of ale and a warm fireplace. But the highlight of my visit was always a tale.

"What do you mean by that, friend?" I asked. Few people ever paid much attention to him, so all it took was this same-asked question to set him to talk. "Tonight I will tell you how the Gods of Lornon helped create the world we now know.” So began this evening's story:

When Elanthia was first created, it was very much like blank pages in a beautifully bound book, a canvas in an ornate frame devoid of any pigment. The Drakes were gone, but the world was still young and the Arkati were busy flexing their newfound freedom and muscle.

So it was that an elf and his wife lived in a pleasant enough place, along with their four children. They always had enough to eat and lived in comfort. It was a simple life, and all was well. This was not to last, however as the Arkati had other plans for them.

One day while the wife was out collecting wood at her favorite spot by a lake, a large serpent appeared in front of her. Unawares to her, Luukos had enchanted the snake and was working though it. She was entranced by the large writhing beast, which suddenly transformed itself into a handsome young man and seduced her. She was unsure what to think but went back home in the evening with an armload of wood and said nothing to her husband. The children, however, who were playing on the other side of the lake that day, had seen it all. She warned them: "Speak a word of this to anyone and a terrible fate shall befall you!"

This went on for some time, and after a while the woman fell deeply in love with the man-serpent. She began to hold back a few sticks on her trip home and with them she built a shrine to Luukos.

After many months of this, the husband became suspicious that his wife was gone longer and longer each day and was bringing back less and less wood. Ivas herself had put these doubts in his head. He asked the children if they knew what was going on, but they lied and told him no, for Ivas had come to each of them separately and cautioned them to keep it a secret.

The husband had had enough, so he followed her one day down to the lake and hid behind a strange wooden shrine. The he heard his wife say, "Come to me; I'm waiting." To his astonishment and horror, the water broiled and out came the snake! The woman shed her cloak and slipped into the icy waters bare. Soon the snake was coiled around her, both in rapturous bliss.

The wise Fash'lo'nae knew that there was soon to be trouble. He appeared at the house as an old man, stooped over carrying a bundle on his back. Seeing the children he warned them, "Your father is going to do a terrible thing, and your mother is going to be quite angry. You are all in danger." But the old man had a solution for them and gave them each a gift with which to defend themselves. To one a green stick, to another a smooth stone, to the third a ram's horn, and to the fourth a moist square of moss. "What kind of weapons are these?" they cried. "Impotent talismans and stupid symbols!" But the old man merely smiled and left without identifying himself or his purpose.

For the husband, seeing his wife with the man-serpent and the wood-built Luukos Cairn was too much. He set fire to the Shrine and, wading into the water, slew the two lovers in the middle of their act. In a rage, he chopped the snake to pieces with his broadsword and cut the head off of his wife. The waters about him turned red with a mixture of mortal and immortal blood. As the sanguine fluid of Luukos enchanted the woman, her body and floating head became alive! The jealous husband became frightened by this and ran towards the house to warn the children.

"Run, run!" he said as their mother's body came crawling after him. He ran up the river and out of sight with the body of their mother following close behind. Zelia then blew a cold wind with her icy breath which launched to strange chase into the sky.

The body gone, the head came after the children, screaming in rage, "You have betrayed me! Death for you!" They ran, and the head rolled after them. They ran for many leagues, keeping a distance between themselves and the horrible rolling creation, but after a while they became winded and were slowing. Their mother's head was catching up, making horrible noises and threatening great harm. Suddenly the first child remembered the old man and his strange gifts. He plunged his stick into the soil behind him. Suddenly, where the stick had struck the ground, a great forest grew! This slowed the rolling head of their mother considerably, and where her enchanted blood seeped on the ground many animals appeared.

But on the head came, gaining on the children. So the second child threw his rock in the air and where it struck earth huge mountains appeared, scraping the sky as far as the eye could see. This was quite an obstacle for a severed and bleeding head but over it rolled and where the blood seeped, many birds and other creatures of the air were created.

The children, however, were trapped by their own creation, for the mountains had hemmed them in! But the third child threw the ram's horn against the great mountains, and many valleys and chasms appeared. They ran though these canyons to escape the trap, but the head easily followed. And where the blood of their mother seeped, great rivers and waterfalls were created.

The valley led onto a great plain, and by this time the children were exhausted to collapse. Onward came their mother's head, screaming and yelling at them in a terrible voice, "Betrayers! Traitors!" Finally, the last child squeezed her brick of moss, and out of it came huge oceans that finally drowned this evil creation. And where the head came to rest, great fishes and beasts of the sea were created.

The children looked back on the lands that had been born from Fash'lo'nae's gifts with delight, for the world was indeed a beautiful place! "Let us separate and explore this new land," they said. And thus were created the different races of the world.

And to this day, the body of the wife still chases her husband in the sky, for her body is the moon, and he is the sun. If she can catch him, she will kill him, and it will always be night. If she does not catch him, it will always be both day and night as it is now.

"So, Prestius," he said, "Remember that all of what appears to be evil can come good, and that which is good can cause evil as well. Look around you! Do you not see Dragonsclaw Forest? Or the great sea outside of Darkstone Bay? Or the huge mountain ranges up by Pinefar?"

He smiled sleepily and said, "As you see, things were not always as they are now."

With that, the old elf abruptly dozed off, and I, after helping myself to another mug, wandered back into town.

Of Quaffs and Cures

I stumbled into the old elf's house, a bit flustered. I'd had a rather nasty encounter up in Darkstone Castle and had a few holes where my ribs used to be. Since I hadn't run into any healers on the way through town, I reached into my satchel and pulled out a few herbs to chew on while we talked.

Eyeing my use of medicinal plants, the old man smiled a wrinkled smile: "Things were not always as they are now."

"What do you mean by that, friend?" I asked. This ritual repeated itself every time I visited. I knew there was story coming, so I ladled two mugs from his beer barrel, handed him one, and settled in for the tale.

"There was a time when we people knew nothing of the healing properties of the plants around us." The elf leaned back and stroked his long, scraggly beard. Thus began the story of how the mortals came to know the medicine plants:

There once was a village that had many great families. They were brave and fierce hunters and knew the lands well. But when a warrior was wounded badly it usually meant death or worse; a life as a cripple. For even though they were a knowledgeable folk, they knew nothing of the ways of the healing arts.

One day, an old and bedraggled man appeared in town, bleeding from his feet and hands. He stumbled from house to house looking for help. But the townspeople were proud and when they saw him they dismissed the withered old man without aid, saying "Go away, old beggar, we have no time for you!"

At the end of the town lived a woman who was quiet and simple, Syhia Kintaru by name. Her husband knew the ways of sorcery and used them to provide for his small family quite nicely. But the townspeople considered them a bit strange. "The Kintaru clan will never be one of the Great Families in the Inner Circle of the village," they stated matter-of-factly.

When the old man approached the Kintaru's humble house, Syhia felt badly for him, knowing full well the feelings of an outcast. She invited him in to enjoy the warmth of their hearth and brought him food and drink. Then to her surprise he told her to go to the field behind her house and gather the leaves of a certain plant there. She did this, and when he ate them, his feet and hands were healed!

He stayed there for a little while, and in a few days he was taken with a fever, and again he told the women which plants to gather. She did so, and it was not long before he was well. This went on all summer. Many times the man would fall sick with some new illness or would be injured by an animal in the forest and each time he would tell her the proper herbs to use. Sometimes he would have her make a potion using a strange blend of liquids; other times he would have her apply a compress of paste made from leaves. As time went on, she began to learn all the secrets of both foraging and healing.

One day the old man confided in her, "My name is Kuon and I came to your people to show the good of plants. You were the only one to welcome me. No one but you showed any kindness to a poor and ailing stranger. Imaera has blessed you. Outside your house you will find a young oak sapling I have made to grow, and it will soon be the tallest tree in your town. This is a sign that you will become a great family in the Lands. All the people from the corners of Elanthia will come to you for help, and you are to welcome them without question and show them the ways I have taught you. Teach to them the roots, plants and leaves they can use to heal themselves."

With that, the stooped and rheumatic old man magically transformed into hulking youth wearing a shimmering cloak of amber and brown. He went to the rest of the village and in a fit of anger slew the greatest warrior from each families of the Inner Circle, for we all know of Kuon's terrible temper. Then he strode purposefully down the path out of the village and into the forest, a trail of flowers carpeting the road underneath him as he walked.

The old elf drained the last drops from his mug and banged it on the oak table. "More ale, Prestius, and be quick about it!" I jumped, startled at his sudden outburst. On the way back from the kitchen with our drinks I asked him, "Where is that oak tree today, old one?"

He smiled a little sideways smile and rolled his eyes skyward. "You silly boy, do you not have eyes? You see fools trying to fly from its branches every day!" And I laughed and smiled, knowing all about the place.

Hobgoblin Boulder

"I must rest," the old elf exclaimed. We had been walking a good part of the day and were almost home. "You know, old man, we have our Navigator's rings set for your front porch. And you know you have taught me great magicks. With a Word and a Wave we would be transported back to town." I could have been crawling on my hand and knees with a Troll King on my back and still have beaten him to the next turn in the footpath. I sighed, realizing that this was going to be a long trek, indeed.

"Bah," he scoffed. "If you don't walk around, how are you to learn the stories our land has to tell? Prestius, if you merely run from place to place, or condense yourself in fog to travel, you are missing the very soul of Elanthia!"

I pondered this as I looked for a suitable spot to take respite. We had encountered a few beasts and many hunters along this route but nothing much to be concerned about. Presently we found a place where the trail split around a huge mound of granite.

"Here's a boulder we can rest on, teacher," I said and I helped him climb upon a great rock. I pulled an earthen decanter of wine from my backpack and poured us each a cup to quench the thirst of our dusty walk. The great stone was warm from the afternoon sun and we settled in to rest.

The elf gazed at the view from our perch and said, "Things were not always as they are now, Prestius."

I smiled. "What do you mean by that, friend?"

"Take this boulder we are sitting on now. Many come here to rest their weary bones as we do now and do not know that deep inside lies a secret. For at this peaceful spot there was once a great and bloody battle!"

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrow. "Tell me more."

The old elf nodded and pulled deeply on his wine before settling into his tale.

A band of Dark Elves once roamed these woods. They were, as you can probably guess, great sorcerers. They studied in the Caves not far from here, learning all they could about the arcane arts. All in all, they pretty much kept to themselves and gave little bother to anyone. It was little known however, that they did all the travelers through woods here a great service, for many of their experiments involved the dangerous beasts in the region. "Practice makes perfect!" they'd say as they tortured and maimed the dull-witted hobgoblins and crafty gnolls in the area in their pursuit of greater knowledge. Because of them, the trails and roads through this part of the forest were always safe passage though no one could ever figure out quite why this was.

One day a troupe of clerics came down this way. They were on a pilgrimage and intended to commune with Koar that very day. The spot they chose seemed quiet enough and they began to prepare a ritual. As they knelt to pray, a great hobgoblin chieftain with a massive gleaming claidmore crept up in the bushes. These priests of Liabo had no idea that they were about to become the "guests of honor" at a hobgoblin feast!

The Sorcerers were on their way back from a hunt, and saw the giant hobgoblin with his sword poised to behead the lead cleric, who was kneeling in deep meditation. Together they called upon the Grandfather and chanted an incantation. With their arts they ripped a hole in the very fabric of the air!

Well as you can imagine, the sound was horrific. The air shrieked past the Clerics, pulling at their clothes and sucking white talismans and staves from their hands and bodies. These struck the Chieftain Hobgoblin with such force that his body was rent into thousands of tiny pieces and he was sucked into the void itself! The obliteration was complete!

With that, the lead Sorcerer waved his hand and in a sweeping gesture, sealed the rip. Unfortunately, all the Clerics had seen were the Sorcerers' frantic gestures and the ensuing void defiling their Gods. They gawked at the symbols of Luukos and Fash'lo'nae on their belts and the demonic tattoos on their arms. "Evil Magic!" they cried. "How dare you insult our Gods this way?" The Sorcerers tried to explain what had happened, but it was to no avail and the Clerics ran back to town to raise the alarm.

"There is a band of evil shamans outside our town!" they screamed. "Avenge the Pantheon of Liabo!!" And so the townspeople gathered in force and went into the forest to seek revenge.

When they reached the group of Dark Elves, their eyes filled with rage. "We will kill you all!" Again, the Sorcerers tried to reason by telling what had really occurred, but the townsfolk would hear none of it. They attacked with such fury that the small band was overcome and much blood was spilled. "Oh, Grandfather and Teacher, you have forsaken us," they cried. Bravely they stood and many townsfolk were slain, but in the end the great Sorcerers were all slaughtered.

Now, Luukos had heard the Sorcerers' cries of panic and went to find Fash'lo'nae. "Old Man", he said, "Do you not see that our followers have been slain?" Fash'lo'nae shrugged, "Such is the cost of knowledge." He dismissed Luukos and went back to his studies.

"Well," thought Luukos. "I don't mind my followers dying, but if they must die, I will be the one to do the killing, not some sniveling supplicants of Liabo! And if Fash’lo’nae will not act, I will!"

So Luukos went in the form of a vruul and flew to the camp the townsfolk had set up on Hobgoblin Ridge. There in front of the tents were the heads of the Dark Elves stuck on stakes outside of the tent. Attached to the stakes were the Sorcerer's symbols of Lornon, but the clerics had defiled them by painting them white and inscribing them with the Runes of Koar.

"We'll see if Lorminstra can save you from this", Luukos grinned. He waved his hand with a huge sweep and the entire camp was encased in a giant rock! He then left a spell on the boulder saying, "No hobgoblin will ever tread here again."

The old elf handed his cup to me. "This wine tastes like it was aged in rolton leavings," he scoffed. "I've a flagon of a nice dry varietal back at my house",

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. Even the rocks have stories! Imagine, this very boulder holds the souls of so many!" He winked at me and we blurred suddenly, only to find ourselves basking in the sunlight on his pleasant porch.