Three years passed since my pilgrimage, and I had done the entire pilgrimage again, ten years later. This period was fraught with tales of Elyren's glory when he ventured into the Western continent.
To date, Elyren's endeavors in the Western continent have been absurdly overwritten and embellished, oft exaggerated to mythological proportions. Forty-three myths of the Seventy-five, detail only of this period, since none in Cea knew what exactly happened.
Elyren slaughtered three kings, which was sure. Three chieftains were challenged, and one won Elyren despite the latter's strength and perseverance, and the chieftain later rose to popular adoration amongst his peers.
Of the three kings, not much detail is known. The first was named Sutrena, translated to the common tongue as the Loved man, or another name for Ophthra, a goddess of antiquity (the words were not ascribed to clear sexuality. Sutrena may have been a queen, for all that matters).
Sutrena hosted a challenge, one of great fame in the West. Valorous men from the continents far from Cea (we shall not name them here) attempted their hands, but none, even those capable of the druidic magic that pervaded those times, could get past Sutrena's challenge.
Sutrena's challenge was composed of three tasks, and Elyren was able to complete them all, each in ascending difficulty. The first was to fight a Pallindren, which was a fairly easy task for Elyren. The beast stood no chance against Elyren, mighty of the arm.
The second was a fight in philosophy, and while Elyren answered all the questions of the learned with a unique perspective, he soon figured the reason the challenge was posed. Their questions steered towards death, but having passed death so many times, Elyren was sound mentally to answer their fateful question, as to the rites of the afterlife. Upon hearing the answer, the wise men of Sutrena's court, including the scribe documenting events, died on the spot, having heard the divine words.
The third challenge, which none before had attempted, was to escape every element the sorcerers worshipped, that being the eight cardinal pillars governing magic. Elyren, guided by Threla, survived them all by mere inches, thereby winning the challenge.
Sutrena was angered that Elyren had won. Sutrena was a renowned artist and a man of wisdom, but Elyren's victory over the philosophers was considered a sickening one since his answer is not known now. Sutrena avowed to lay him dead, upon which Elyren had to flee to a nearby kingdom.
The King of Lecce, a territory in the West, stood south of Sutrena's abode, where Elyren sought solace. The king was kind, yet soon after his admission of Elyren, Sutrena arranged for assassins, who killed the King of Lecce. Lecce fell soon, but Elyren led his troops to fight Sutrena, eventually killing him in fair combat. Sutrena's two brothers followed, them being kings of neighboring territories. They fell to Elyren, but he was disheartened. Every single fight of his led him to the same blood-laden gloom that eventually made him weary.
Lecce's citizens, though sorrowed by the death of their king, were not approving of a foreigner trampling through their men. Soon, public sentiment was against Elyren, and he was forced to leave the continent, being exiled and sentenced to death for the killing of the kings. It is suspected by scholars that Elyren himself was implicated in the death of the King of Lecce to acquire his troops, but evidence on the same is unfounded.
Elyren, exiled, escaped the jaws of death in the West, riding south from Lecce, eventually reaching the lower steppes leading from the abandoned valleys. It was by divine intervention, however, that he arrived at the Gardens of Night, many years later.
To be exact, a year before his death, at his late forties.
I had followed the instructions of the God of Wisdom, Werva, for a long time, since time unfolded upon my insignificant self. His orders were to go to the birthplace of Elyren, for I would find something of significance there.
I reached the city of Yoren in the fall of night, the early hours of the day when the sun was still shy behind the clouds and the horizon which protected her innocence before her light reached this world of sin. Lord Arell was sick, and Lorma was dead. His other son had died of sickness, and the one remaining son, apart from Elyren, had found himself in the grasps of the lords of new royalty.
A political situation unlike many others existed in Yoren that day. Lord Arell welcomed me, as the Immortal Lord of ages, Varta. I was known and respected by lords in Cea for knowledge, of which I must admit guilt of forgery. Knowledge benefitted one who did not die.
Knowledge benefitted the man who did not lie.
Lord Arell brought me food and drink, and asked me news of Elyren. Lord Arell was saddened, obviously, and I could see the glint of shame hide in his aged face. Depressed in his disregard for Elyren, he had attempted to kill himself twice, since Elyren saved his father in the battle of the Vales (later this would be the cause for the Vale being named such). Elyren left, and since that moment, his father was a broken man. He had died that moment, from a philosophical point of view, but his body remained functioning, regardless of physical state.
Elyren loved his mother and his father. From all my conversations with him, I gathered that he never found guilt on his father, nor on the Lord of Fates, the Hermit.
He faulted himself, and all his mistakes stemmed from a child's fateful play on a magician, borne of innocence rather than malice.
"I have made mistakes, O, Immortal," he spoke in grave tones. "And I know not the way to move forth."
"One has but a few years on his blessed land," I told him, the words Werva instructed me to speak. "but your actions on people let them speak of you, Arell, Lord of Yoren."
"I desire not of them to speak of me, sire. I beg only for my blood to return, to flow within these chambers, even if in thought. I only wish for them to return here before I pass to the life after death."
I pitied him, for I knew what would pass. "When they return, it will be in hate, Lord Arell."
"Hate?" Arell frowned, but understanding spread across his face. "I see. How else would I see them? I'd rather have them hate me than die without seeing them."
The fated answer was in both, however.
After speaking to Lord Arell, I came out of the Palace, as the guards apprehended me. I laid my hands around my head, stopping my magic from saving me.
"Kill him," ordered a wife of Lord Arell, from the windows of the Lord's Palace. I stared at her, as she cried, mourning her Lord's death. My neck was severed, as the blood of Lord Arell flowed, without relation to my hands.
Two days later, when I reincarnated, the news had reached the small village where I was recreated as a grown man of twenty. Lord Arell had committed suicide, a grave sin, along with the murder of an innocent man, Varta, when he was exiting.
Lord Arell's last sacrifice in his life of torment, had been his land and wives, just for seeing his children. Lord Arell secures his place as another of Elyren's remnants in the land, a reason for Elyren's greatness.
Without Solere, Elyren wasn't alive.
Without Nesinre, Elyren wasn't a hero.
And without his father, Lord Arell, Elyren wasn't Elyren.