Laniil entered the library. It was a tranquil evening, every student was back in the dorms. The study room was completely empty. Even he rarely visited the librarians anymore, and never so late. Sitting proudly at the heart of the academy’s southern wing, the library was a depository of thousands of works from hundreds of sources on more subjects than Laniil would ever know. Some were even original texts hand-written thousands of years ago.

It was one of these, the oldest in fact, that Laniil was looking for. One of his yearly rituals was revisiting it, see what good his experience could do for his understanding of it. Or at least, so he explained. It had been a long time since he had learned anything new from this small manuscript. He had never really known why he returned, truly. Of course, it was a fascinating tale, and one of the greatest pieces of elven History. Surely it was the best way to keep the events fresh in his mind. History seemed to repeat itself these days, after all. His more uptight side had him believe it was but a strange and even unhealthy obsession he was cultivating. He would often fear that his curiosity was his true motivation rather than his need for knowledge. Laniil had far too many vices to keep under control and temptations to silence already.

His steps were loud, uncharacteristically so for someone living in the city of welcome. They echoed throughout the empty great hall. So much so it could almost cover the battering of rain drops against the glass dome above his head. This was the way he and his comrades should walk: like Dragons. As they would soon fill their godly shoes.

He went to that bookcase he knew so well, climbed the ladder and pulled out what he was looking for. The only binding this document was given was a single leather strip tied around loose old pages. The original was over ten thousand years old, but even the copy had seen quite a few kings come and go. Only through steady maintaining of it had it been preserved. By holy decree, this text was to recieve no more treatment than those necessary to keep it intact for three millenia. Laniil knew that it would not be long before this last authorized version of the text would crumble into dust. The sad thing about records like this was that elves sometimes lived longer than parchment. A shame, but there was nothing to do about it.

He took a seat at an empty table and looked at the pages. As usual, while reading the foreword by Saint Ankyhir himself, Silia brought him a hot cup of tea. This charming lady was always ready to serve the teachers when they visited. He took a sip and let his eyes drift back to the words.

Report for the future generations by general Nadalviin an Vadilir of the great draconic army.

Coming from an elf, these words may seem strange, but it looks to me as though the world turns so fast that it is leaving me behind. I feel old. Dying, even. So, as anyone living their final days does, I look upon my younger years with envy. Back in these glorious days that are long gone.

A century before my arrival on our new land, an expedition led by the noble Sdhaï Nama1, crossed the northern seas. When it returned, so many years after its departure, we learned just how wrong it had gone. Of the three ships which sailed North across the sea, only one returned, bringing home less than a quarter of the thousand elves who had left our shores. Among them, thank the Light, were the three Dragons as well as my old master.

When he returned, he told me of the horrors lying beyond the sea. A creature which lived in a sky that knew not the light of day. Daily, spawns fell from its gaping mouth and brought chaos and suffering upon the lands. I had a hard time believing him. Although I knew him to be a serious elf, I still could not imagine such a monster existing.

But the great flying princes called the world of the long-living to holy war. All throughout the lands, there were talks of the great invasion fleet being built. Just a year later, I was one of the five generals asigned to lead the combined elf forces. Standing on the bridge of a ship headed towards the unknown.

When the Dragons called us to their cabin, it became obvious to me and my master that they had long known of the Enemy’s existence. What they told us, I cannot dare write it, not even here, as I swore to never reveal it to anyone. And even though I am already breaking an oath to them with this report, I only do so to do my duty to Elvenkind.

We landed on the beautiful beaches of the soon-to-be Dragon’s bay. An army of three hundred thousand elves settled all along the shore and prepared for a battle that never came. For months, our goals of conquest turned to those of colonization. We built the foundations for the city of Silea Nama. All of it was made of wood, of course, but it was a start.

After two years of peace and quiet in this supposedly hostile land, all generals were summoned to hold council in the fort. The Dragons had decided to finally advance now that we had secured a foothold on the new world. After the preparations were done and we were once again on the warpath.

Towards the woods we marched. We knew they had to be dangerous, as they had been off limits from the beginning of our operations. Princes’ orders. It did not take us long to understand why. As we marched into the large forest which lives in my nightmares to this day, the sky suddenly darkened. The sun itself had just died before our eyes. Night fell, but this was no ordinary eve. Darkness was warded by no star or moon, yet no clouds covered them. The entire world was now wrapped in shadow. Only the black light remained. The purplish gash that had torn the world apart. Just as it was described. We called it Oleravak, the Land of the Other or the Other-World. There was no denying it was just as the Light preached. A creature of true evil.

In the forest, though, was when the hellish nature of our host revealed itself. It started relatively calmly. After some scouts disappeared, to avoid further problems, the Dragons ordered the entire thing burned down. I along with a few others expressed concerns over this method. However, as soon as the forest awoke, all of us knew it had to be done. There was nothing natural on this land. The plants, themselves sought to bring us down and devour us. The trees moved and their toothy maws bit and chewed my troops. Their branches impaled our forces like a thousand spears. Their roots brought us to our knees, strangled and buried us alive. When this hell was finally over, there was nothing but a wasteland, the pyromancers had done righteous work indeed. Some of the higher branches still held the burnt corpses of our soldiers. Even though we had won, no one celebrated the end of this hell. I convinced the Dragons to waste time and give these poor souls their last rites. The least I could have done for them after all this.

Our march was stopped many more times by similar obstacles until we found the greatest one yet. Because forests can burn, beasts can be killed, but nothing brings mountains down. Do not misunderstand. I do not mean the mountains rose from their slumber to slaughter us, thou I admit it was among my fears. Not, this was but a very simple mountain range. That had no clear road through and stretched for miles and miles. For months we searched. Although there was a path around, it would have taken us far too long. But Dalsanim Faelderiid, my master, found a way. Gathering all our mages of the Sight together in a single ritual, he had them scout out the entire range and found us a path to carve. This earned him to be forever remembered for his wisdom. And so were the conquered mountains named after this virtue.

Our army passed only to find more hell beyond. I could not describe all the things I saw on our march North. We faced all the brutality of Oleravak on these lands already ravaged by infighting. The tribes of nomadic wolf-like creatures that populated Ildaar had been stuck in a decades-long war. Each worshiped one or multiple of their so-called Voices from Within. Their gods from Other-world. We took advantage of their petty conflicts, picking them off one by one. But even then, every campaign, every single one, had to turn into a long slog that took far too many of our soldiers away. But it was childsplay compared to the strength of their combined tribes. Indeed, they united under one of their warlords. A beast standing taller than three elves that could take out entire chunks of a phalanx in but a few swings of his scythe. The enemy saw him as an avatar of the Oleravak and gained renewed strength upon his arrival. So this war turned even more sour. For months, we had to give ground, leaving thousands of corpses on our trail. All of them were eaten or used as trophees to put fear into our hearts.

We were pushed back to a hill that we had fortified. My army was assigned to defend it while the rest of our forces prepared a counter-attack. We held out for a few days before their strength proved too much for us. We were slaughtered on our walls and in the courtyard. But during this final stand, three shadows flew overhead. For the first time I observed the true forms of the princes. The great flying creatures tore through the enemy ranks, allowing us to retake the walls. From there, I saw the devastation they were capable of. Where once there were plains of grass covered with foes was now a sea of flames. The Sun itself had struck the earth and purged it from the enemy. Then the black fire of the moonlit sky made the rest disappear. They tore our enemies apart and burnt their remains to ashes. On this day I understood those who saw them not simply as princes of the Light, but as Light itself.

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What has become, for the youth of the world, an obvious fact, was in my time very highly criticized, it has to be said. But to those few survivors of the massacre, like me, Draconic divinity became unquestionable. Their might had brought to heel. They crawled and shrieked away from their Light. After that, many things changed. Our fervor, our grief and our anger brought us to see this war as a truly holy endeavor. Divine punishment we had the obligation to deal to this land. So we burned, we killed, we purged. Armed or defenseless, flesh and seed, we turned it all to dust. I have no shame having taken part of this holy vengeance. It was what I had come here to do. The few that remained escaped deep into the great mountains which we never found how to cross despite our best efforts. I hope they rotted or froze.

The Dragons believe speaking of this war is dangerous. We were all under an oath to never speak of this era to those who came after us. However I cannot stay silent any longer. The foundation of our country, the last bastion of elven civilization, needs to have a clear History. And my final days before joining the Moon, will be dedicated to this task. Defying Their will is something I wish I could have avoided. But I have no choice.

After the battle on the hill, the war was quickly won. The Sun shone through the tear and the sky was once again beautiful. Our colonies blossomed while the Varin and their gods fell from grace. Their priests dead, the daemonic hordes of Oleravak disappeared. Out of their ruins, a bright kingdom emerged. The Temple wrote the holy texts, the king was crowned and given the Tome of Knowledge so that he and his heirs would always have the foresight of a true ruler. The great river cutting our country in half was dubbed Dalsanim, to honor the greatest elf to have ever lived, my old master. Each great city accepted a deity as its protector saint and each trained an order of Vard to uphold order and protect lands, folks and faith.

As for me, I have never stopped being a general in a war that ended long ago. The only thing I may yet give the world is my story which has now become our History. Hail the Dragons and the elven peoples. Let them all bask in the Light of the Sun. May the sky never tear again.

Nadalviin An Vadilir

Laniil stopped reading here. The other documents in this bundle were chronicles of the Post-Catastrophe Era, as well as the early years of the Terror Era, or the Age of Men as some called it. But Laniil had had many lectures on these things. This first text was the only one left which spoke of before the Catastrophe. And the only one the academy refused to teach. The scholar brought the bundle back to the shelves and went for the door.

The rain was not letting up. Autumn was almost over, the cold winds were rising. Laniil grabbed his staff at the entrance and put his coat back on. He pulled his hood over his head and ran out into the courtyard. Maybe he should have waited for the rain to stop. Once outside, he was immediately drenched. In this weather, he was the only soul to be found in the otherwise rather crowded area of the academy. Laniil would miss the school of magical arts. It was small and certainly wasn’t as prestigious as that of the capital, but it had its charms. He had spent most of his childhood in this place, so nostalgia most certainly was a factor in the feeling. He often wondered how things could have been different. Despite knowing full well he had no luxury to ask himself these silly questions. His mind, nonetheless refuted reason on this matter.

Laniil took shelter under the entrance arch. The gatekeeper greeted him and opened the gate. Laniil bade the elf farewell and once again faced the storm out in the streets of the Haven City. The eastern jewel was no doubt to him the fairest city in the world. Its somber and sober streets let the pale silvery buildings shine all the more. The great white domes which crowned the high towers were much alike the moon hidden behind the clouds tonight. Dark draconic statues were perched on each of them, in honor of the great Namahaiul. They kept a watchful eye on the night sky, so that a tear may not disturb the peace on the earth. The city itself was the shape of the crescent moon, perfectly embracing the coastline. In this rain, Laniil could not hear the sound of the waves crashing against the docks. The empty streets, however, were a nice change of atmosphere. While the citizens were the most quiet and respectful of all Ildaar, nothing could top this peace. And even with the rain, walking at night in the Haven City was a unique and wonderful experience. One Laniil fully embraced fully, as it would be his last opportunity to do so for a long time.

The future of Elvenkind was in front of him. The Dragons were pushing him towards it with all their trust and he could not have been more proud. Such a mission was close to a prophet’s, and it was given to him. He’d accepted with no hesitation, of course, but he always wondered if he was truly worthy. With all his training, he was still but an elf. However, there was no place for doubt. The very thought of a world once more plunged into darkness revolted him. To him, this mission was a vocation. A battle he would lead with all his resolve and strength. It would see the Three Stars rebuilt as the Dragons envisioned them when they were first brought to Light. And he had promised himself he would live to see it all accomplished.

Arriving in front of the West gate, he found two of his companions: Vilindar and Ashanvar. His two greatest assets, his best mages and best friends. He was glad to have them by his side. Though they both wore black robes with purple reflections, eternal proof of their belonging to the cursed eight school of the Arts, they also held staves carved from ebony, proof of their mastery over it.  Vilindar showed proudly a wooden medallion marked with the symbol of a flame. Another mark of his belonging to one of the schools. This time Pyromancy. It was not rare for the members of their order to follow two schools, but Vilindar was a master in both. But, even he had to bow down before the sheer talent of Ashanvar when it came to the somber spells of Oleramancy.

If he had to explain who they were inside the organization, he would say that Vilindar was the bright heart and Ashanvar was the talented shadow. The first worked brightly with faith and determination in his heart. The other showed more hatred for the foe than any other. Though Laniil had learned that nothing was more important to Ashanvar than devotion to the Dragons and to the cause. Laniil could see the both of them smile under their hoods. He definitely shared this sentiment wholeheartedly.

“Brothers”, Laniil saluted.

“First Brother”, Vilindar replied with a light respectful bow of his head.

“Salutations, Master of the Conclave.” said Ashanvar, delivering one of the many salute of the Nael.

He put his hand on his heart then presented it to Laniil, palm facing towards the sky. The people of the Citadel never bowed, but they made these gestures to greet one another according to rank and due respect. The one he had just given was meant for the Great Priest of the Citadel and the most important people of elf society. To be offered such a sign of respect was an honor Laniil took a long time to truly appreciate. In the beginning, he found them to be a lack of manners. As, customarily in the Haven City, one bows to their betters. A total lack of bowing was utterly improper. But with his growing friendship, also grew his knowledge and appreciation of nael culture.

“Everything is ready. We leave today. I hope the rest of our brothers have been informed of this development?” he asked his lieutenants.

“As per your orders.” confirmed Ashanvar. “Do we have Their blessings then?”

Laniil nodded. He could not help but notice his friend’s light change in tone. It was rare to perceive this kind of excitement from the usually stoic elf. This pleased the Conclave’s leader.

“So our words and actions now bare holy will. Let neither be in vain.” warned the dark mage, his voice stern once more.

“Oh, light up, will you? We still have time before our full plan goes into motion. I am sure you are glad to finally be going home.”

“I would rather be focused on the mission, Vilindar. Although you are right, my gladness is of no importance.”

Laniil held a chuckle. Vilindar had always tried to see his order brother unwind. It was good to see that the situation had not hampered his mood. 

“I trust the two of you will do your part with marvelous efficiency, my friends. I go to the capital and our communications will have to be few and far between.” Laniil reminded with friendlier intonations, preferring to speak to them as usual, rather than formally.

“We will not fail you.” they both assured with a single voice.

“Then we shall meet again when the time is right. For Dragons, kin and kingdom. With us we bring the Light, I pray for our victory over those who refuse to see it. ”

“For Dragons, kin and kingdom. May Knowledge guide our actions, may the Sun brighten the path ahead, and may the Moon ward us from the horrors of the night.” Vilindar prayed.

“For Dragons, kin and kingdom. The Conclave is now on the hunt.” Ashanvar concluded.

1 Sdhaï in elven refers to a reptile, generally a snake. Combined with Nama, the word for holy, or “of the Light”, it refers to the three Dragons.