Chapter 1. Author's note
Much of Elyren’s childhood lies in secrecy, as none of those who lived with him survived to tell accounts. My account shall be similar, for I had never been with him in childhood, and only had the blessing of hearing his words on that matter. My first exposure to the hero was in his fourteenth year, a year before his folly claimed lives. I have chronicled a hundred stories across the eons, both before and after the present continent has been formed, named Cea, divided and united sixteen times in the past millennium. Periods of war had come and gone, yet the worst that life offered had seemingly taken a backseat to a utopia in the great lands, a stable empire taking the place of the small states that quarreled within themselves.
My stories tend to border on biographies of late, yet since this is a historic document, it shall be vetted by the lords and ladies of the Emperor’s decree and shall be proofread before it reaches the libraries of the newly established city of Amres. the city stands on the ruins of Teloren, and before that, of Romasa, the cities destroyed in antiquity by the eastern invaders. Each has happened millennia apart, yet I remember as if it were yesterday since I am the Immortal Varta, also named Visra and Vertate by historians.
My detail upon Elyren’s life is full of names and unnecessary words, by which I insist on the historical accuracy of my depiction. Elyren was mortal, like all of those who dominate the world, yet a distinct characteristic made his impression last upon the world. Historical accuracy, as previously mentioned, is of prime importance, since Elyren made a mark on the politics, on the culture, and a certainly unforgettable impression on religion as we know it.
The Legend of Elyren shall be deconstructed herewith, and so shall the seventy-five myths that have changed the story their ways. Elyren shall be immortalized in these pages and this manuscript will be protected till the ends of time.
Elyren was born noble, yet not what his father had expected. He was fair and hairless, like any other child, yet a birthmark had spread over his leg, long and dark, shaped like a dagger without a pommel or guard. Doomed was the child, said the physicians, who deemed the child to die in a few years. A disgrace was he, said they, a child whose life may not bring happiness, but much more sorrow when he eventually left the world.
His father, the Lord of the state at the fairly large town of Yoren, later (Eighty years after Elyren) named the Vales, was haughty, yet a caring father, nonetheless. He cared much for his kin, and his love never missed a mark, neither on Elyren, nor his four siblings, older than him.
Elyren shared certain features with his elder sister, of whom he was fond of. A great poet was she, and next in line for the Lordship of Yoren. Her name was Solere, after the beauty of the waterfall-laden town her mother grew up in. Elyren’s love for Solere was of historic importance since she was the one who inculcated in him a devotion to Threla, the Goddess of Magic. She deserves a special mention since history has forgotten about her in the three hundred years after Elyren's unfortunate and tragic death
Threla is a deity of Cea for a very long time. My personal views have little value upon the flow of this story, but as described by those scholarly and wise, Threla is benevolent and modest; her assertions in magic have been long since lost, and her requests insist upon the recreation of magic in the distant future when a great war shall begin. Threla has had roles in the stories of the Elokkene, the founding of Romasa, the ascent of the Lady of the Night to Godhood, and of course, she shall be the lady of worship in this tale. Elyren was her avid worshipper, and he was the prime specimen for her to view the world as it is. And so I shall begin the story of Elyren, his names are as recited. Arcasu, the killer/tamer of the Arqa. Suvarca, the chosen of death. Arellis, of the house of Arell, to which he belonged through his father. Lormeya, son of Lorma, his wise mother. Threleya, as named after the goddess, Threla, to whom he was like a son. And thus begins the story, after the evocation to his patron goddess, the story that shall be cherished by all.
Elyren lived a glorious life at his father’s castle, where he was educated in the arts and sciences, the crafts of the ministry where he shall be a part of, in the near future. His father, the wise and distinguished Lord Arell, named Turer, Arellis, and Renneya, decided for a court magician to render his services when the children of the Arellis household were of age, that they would show interest in magic. of the court magician and his magics, shall be discussed in detail in sections of my work which follow.
Magic, as described in the works of lore, lay in the beauties of the forgotten. A language, a stone, an idol, all shall carry magic if only the person who went through them knew where to look for. Magical skills were very easy to grasp a hold of, yet of late, by which I mean the last ten-thousand years or so, magic has taken a turn to sadness, as lesser and lesser trained magicians tend to survive as if they were a species too vulnerable to the elements.
Certain historical figures may appear in these pages, and their honor, greatness, and unfortunately, to their descendants' chagrin, their perversions, and dishonorable maneuvers in the downfall of Elyren shall be detailed without prejudice. An apology shall suffice, rather than a suppression in the voice of the harbinger.
Alas, poor Elyren never was able to use Magic until his death, forty-five years after his eighth year of life. He may now be regarded as a magical figure, with local temples glorifying him as the god Lormeya Elyren. But as per his own words, which I quote, "Threla's blessed, without magic. Isn't that the irony of ages, Varta?" It seems fair since I had taken upon the name Varta when he had met me.
Perhaps death does offer solace to some. Even when he was celebrated for his deeds, never was he happy until his death at the hands of his most beloved.
For all men die, as do all women, but survive do the ones who are virtuous.