History and Memories

Thirteenth day of Solae, 1485
 
I went to see the axiomyte last night, after everyone else had retired for the evening. I hoped that he would receive me, and would be able to answer some of the questions that have been burning in the back of my mind ever since my last conversation with Filandrel.
 
He seemed unsurprised to see me, and he stopped his work, wiping his hands as he asked why I had come. I blurted out the questions that I want to know… questions about the First World, about the Intoners and the Queen of Air and Darkness. I asked him if Filandrel told me the truth when he said that magic used to permeate the very air to the point where one could walk its currents up to floating cities.
 
The axiomyte then led me to his personal library, and pulled a scroll out, offering to tell me a bit of our history. The scroll that he opened was one that I’ve seen many times before… I found my mind drawn back to memories of the time right before I first saw that scroll… I was surprised, because I haven’t thought about the time before Filandrel brought me to Egig Ero Fa in quite some time.

I had just reached my fourteenth year when I met Filandrel for the first time.... I remember sitting in my father's workshop, watching him work as I so often did whenever I had the chance. He had promised that if I watched him attentively until I turned fifteen, he would teach me to use his tools. One more year, not long at all, and it would be my hands that carved and fashioned the furniture that would grace the halls of Alcarin’s nobility. Just one more year, and my father would take me as an apprentice.
 
“Thavron?” The door opened and my mother came in, her beautiful face alight with excitement. “Filandrel is here and wishes to speak with you.”
 
That was a name that I didn’t recognize. When my father dusted himself off and left, brushing a kiss on my mother’s cheek as he passed, I moved to follow him. My mother stopped me, telling me to give them a minute to speak, as she brushed wood shavings out of my hair.
 
Finally, my mother let me go, and we walked back to the house together. I could hear voices inside, but aside from recognizing my father’s timbre, and another unknown to me, I couldn’t hear what was being said. I got the feeling that they were talking about me, because as soon as I walked in, the newcomer stopped talking. That was the first time I ever met Filandrel…
 
He was an older elf, I wasn’t sure how old, but he looked to be considerably older than my father… he wore his dark brown hair braided away from his face, his hair was peppered with silver streaks, which I took to be a testament to his great age. He rose and bowed slightly when my mother entered, greeting her respectfully. He must be one of my father’s friends from the capitol, I figured. I didn’t know what he could want with me, but I soon found out… I found myself staring into deep green eyes as he introduced himself with a friendly smile. Filandrel, Magister of Conjuration at Egig Ero Fa.
 
I had heard of the academy, naturally. But I still didn’t quite understand why he was sitting at our kitchen table, wanting to speak with me. None of my father’s clients (for that’s what he must be) had ever taken an interest in me before… I took a closer look at Filandrel, his deep blue robe was decorated with silver glyphs and runes… elegant in its simplicity – that, and his lack of perfume, already set him apart from any of the other Alcarin nobility that found their way to my parents’ door. I immediately liked him. He was interesting, different. Unlike anyone I’d ever met before. And, surprisingly enough, he was there for me…
 
Filandrel explained that he was looking for a student, and based on what he had observed of me, he thought I was an ideal candidate for the opportunity. The proposition that he offered us was that he would take me to Egig Ero Fa. There, I would study to become a wizard. And, if I showed continued aptitude for conjuration magic that he was confident I had, I would become his apprentice.
 
My heart soared at the thought! Me, a wizard! Studying magic at the prestigious Egig Ero Fa! The look on my parents’ faces was one that made me pause. My mother looked almost wistfully hopeful, but my father looked devastated. “No.” I rarely ever heard that tone coming from my father. He was serious.
 
Filandrel smiled and nodded, understandingly. He thanked us (myself included) for our time, and said told my parents that he would leave them to discuss it and come to a decision. He left then, promising to return in one week’s time. As soon as Filandrel was out of the house, he said an incantation and disappeared. It was the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen in my life. Where did he go? Back to Egig Ero Fa, I assumed. Or maybe off on some grand adventure… my imagination ran wild with the possibilities as my parents began to argue.
 
I don’t remember ever hearing my mother and father disagree on anything as much as they disagreed on Filandrel’s offer. Late that night, when I was practicing my meditation, I could hear them talking…
 
My father’s voice carried an edge to it. “She is fine where she is at. Inara’s place is here, with us. Not off chasing magic up in that school and losing sight of who she is.”
 
“Thavron…” my mother’s voice was barely audible. I recognized her tone, she used it whenever she was trying to convince my father of something and he was being stubborn. “Think of the opportunities this could offer her… imagine it… she would receive the best education. Be apprentice to the Magister of Conjuration himself… would you really deny Inara that opportunity? One that you never had? You have the shop and you have your work, but this is an opportunity for our daughter to have more. To raise her position in the world. To be able to make the choices for herself that we were never offered…”
 
“Arasil… he will take her away from us… do you really want to lose our daughter so soon?” His voice was breaking. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I covered my ears with my pillow and gave up on my mediation for that night, falling instead into the sleep of my childhood.
 
Filandrel arrived exactly one week later, as promised. My father wanted to turn him down immediately, but, probably through a combination of my mother’s influence, respect for Filandrel, and his love for me, he let Filandrel explain to me exactly what he was offering. He told me that what he was offering was the opportunity to choose what I want in life… to be free to make my own decisions about the course of my life based on what I wanted, rather than just follow the path that my family’s trade had laid out for me. “If you decide that you want to take advantage of this opportunity,” he said, “you will be able to learn things and do things that are likely only in your imagination now…”
 
I don’t really know exactly what it was that Filandrel said that made me want to go, but again, Filandrel looked to my parents and told them he would be back again in another week to speak with us again.
 
My parents were quiet that night… I almost felt like they were both avoiding any conversation for their own, individual reasons. My mind was too full of what Filandrel had been saying to pay the uncommon silence much mind. I hardly dared to hope that what he spoke of could be true.
 
Over the next week, I know my parents talked about it privately, and on the sixth day, they both sat down with me and asked what I wanted. I could barely look at my father when I admitted that I wanted to go with Filandrel, afraid to see the hurt on his face. But, I could see his pride, even through the sheen of tears in his eyes. My mother was openly crying as she pulled me into her embrace. She whispered that she was proud of me and always will be.
 
The following day, Filandrel arrived and he and my parents ironed out the details of my apprenticeship…
 
The axiomyte’s words pulled me out of my memory. I haven’t thought about that part of my life for years… Careful to avoid getting any dirt on the scroll, he offered me a history lesson… one uncensored by the politics of Egig Ero Fa.
 
He confirmed what Filandrel had told me about the abundance of magic in the First World… magic so readily available that you could walk up the magical currents in the air to floating cities made of glass… he told me of the Intoners trying to bring order to the chaos with their song. The Queen of Air and Darkness listening too much to an entity that he said is called either the Flower or the Great Tree… he said no matter which name you refer to it by, it is the same… a dark entity of some type that influenced the Elves so long ago.
 
Titania sacrificed herself to save our people from the Queen of Air and Darkness, and eventually, her soul manifested in the form of Baba Yaga. He was unclear as to how this happened, as he said that he does not know.
 
The axiomyte then told me of the Drow Schism. How they were so desperate to bring back the First World that they broke the most sacred laws of our people – consuming the flesh of fae, among other taboos. He asked if I’ve ever met a drow, and so I told him of the boatman below Crastvongrad that I met a few months ago.
 
We talked for some time, about many things. He apparently knew Filandrel when they were young, and they both escaped from the First World together. He said that when our people first arrived, we were taken in by men, and in exchange, taught them magic. Some think it was a good idea, but he said that others, like Filandrel, view it as a mistake because men are too greedy, and lack the foresight to use magic properly and responsibly.
 
I was greatly enjoying the conversation, well, as much as one can enjoy a conversation when they learn things that they almost wish they didn’t, due to their horrible nature…until Dekar arrived. Apparently, Dekar wants the axiomyte to fashion him an artifact that is powerful enough to kill gods. When the axiomyte warned him of the dangers of such an artifact falling into the wrong hands, Dekar largely seemed unconcerned by it.
 
Oh, fuck no. I asked the axiomyte then, how the ramifications of such an artifact would compare to that of Lara Durdain’s Staff of Changes, When he said that it would be similar in power and dangers, I turned to Dekar and adamantly told him “no.”
 
I understand that it is Dekar’s decision to make, as he is the one in possession of the components, but at the same time, I don’t think he is fully capable of truly comprehending the ramifications of this… if he was, I don’t think he would be so quick to seek it out. At least, I would hope not… with how eager he is to get his hands on this artifact…
 
I asked him what happens when he eventually dies. He insisted that he doesn’t plan to. But he is a man… he will die… whether it be tomorrow or in fifty years… everyone dies. What happens when Dekar dies and the artifact is just out there for someone else to pick up? Something horrible, that’s what…
 
Dekar left shortly after the axiomyte told him that if he provided the components, he would forge the artifact. I understand that the axiomyte likely has an insatiable drive to create magical items and artifacts, but seriously? I was hoping for a bit more discernment or restraint on his part… I like Dekar a lot, and I have a good deal of respect for him as a person, but I fear the ramifications of such a powerful artifact weapon in his hands. He is too brash.
 
After Dekar’s departure, I asked the axiomyte how well he actually knew Filandrel. He said that they fled the First World together when they were young. Last he heard, Filandrel was somewhere in Latria, but he correctly assumed that he was back in Alcarin now. The axiomyte mentioned that he and Filandrel had created the Well of Sorrows that lies north of Runestone… and that they sacrificed three thousand Elves in order to save the rest, creating the well to anchor this world away from the first. “The last thing they saw was the mountains and the sky…” he told me. “It was the least that we could do…”
 
I was speechless… how does one reply to that revelation? The axiomyte bid me farewell after that, saying that even he needs to rest… I imagine that after that, he probably didn’t want to speak to me more on this night… I cannot imagine… I am still haunted by the fifty-seven elven lives that are on my conscience from the battle against Mustafat… but three thousand?…
 
I left then, easily catching up with Dekar, which leads me to think that he might have been waiting for me to come talk to him as we walked… I don’t know. But anyways, I tried to dissuade him from his current path, as it will most likely lead to consequences that none of us are prepared to handle… I reminded him of the long-term consequences of Lara Durdain’s curse, with Mustafat and the beasts. But he just scorned my concern, telling me not to lecture him on the history of the elves.
 
I don’t remember exactly what I said in my anger, but it must have been rude or hurtful, because Meriwald opened his beak to say something to me and I turned my anger on him. I’m not proud of it, but I was so angry. I demanded to know what his problem is, because Meriwald has been nothing but an ass to Grimaldus ever since we reached the east, and even worse since we have been in Wei Jang.
 
I felt a sting of guilt when Meriwald said he is afraid that I’m feeling too much for Grimaldus. He said that it grosses him out… until I retorted that he never had a problem with Ravlor… That is when I think that Meriwald actually told me the truth.
 
He said that Grimaldus is a man and is going to die, and if I care too much about him, then I will hurt too much. He doesn’t want me to get hurt, and with a pang of guilt, I realized that he is also trying to protect himself… because of our bond, he feels everything that I do… he is trying to keep us both from pain. And while I appreciate the sentiment, perhaps I’m okay with the potential for pain… sometimes it is better to have experienced something, or someone, even if it will hurt later; than to be too afraid to care at all… which is basically what Ravlor told me when we talked last… that I should see what happens with Grimaldus, because if I don’t, then I will likely regret not knowing.
 
I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so I asked Meriwald if he would please go talk some sense into Dekar… likely a mistake, but I really didn’t care at that point… I wanted to be by myself for a while…
 
Unfortunately, when I got back to the suite I’ve been sharing with Grimaldus, I found it to be full of people. Everyone was there… I walked in just in time to see Grimaldus cut his hand and drip the blood into a bowl over a fire. The room darkened and a face was formed in the flames… I recognized from the context and the expressions of everyone around me what he had done… he was communicating with Shard, the Blood Lord. Fuck. I don’t think I’m going to be able to get a good meditation tonight… not in the very chamber that housed the vampire’s essence, if even through the flames and only for a minute… Indeed, Inira seemed to be the only person happy about it, she had an awed expression on her face when Grimaldus grabbed her hand and bade her to speak into the flames. I shouldn’t be surprised, after all, for she had the rare opportunity to speak directly with her god.
 
The others though, they seemed either indifferent or almost as uncomfortable with the situation as I was. There is at least some comfort there…
 
As I sit here writing this, I find that my meditation eludes me… it is not just the unease at Grimaldus’ communication with the Blood Lord, either. I haven’t thought about the day that I first left my parents house with Filandrel in so long… I wonder how they are doing, I probably should have gone to visit them when I was in Alcarin before going to Runestone, but I don’t know what stopped me.
 
Well, yes, I do, if I am willing to admit it to myself… I didn’t want to see the pain in their eyes when I told them that I was going off to a likely battle again. I think my mother’s heart broke when I returned home after the war, so changed. My father retreated into his workshop and didn’t speak to anyone for a day and a night.

I spent the day sitting on the same stool I had as a child and watched him work… the silence was healing in a way, for me. I don’t think he felt the same though, because after that first day, he began talking, trying to get me to talk about what had transpired. It was only a few days later when I was wandering through his workshop in a daze that I found it… a wooden casket hidden away in the back corner, elaborately carved with owls bearing an uncanny resemblance to Meriwald. Twisting wooden vines and leaves covered the entirety of its surface. A sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach as I realized what this was… my coffin.
 
“We heard what happened to the students at the Twin Rivers…” my father’s low voice said behind me. “I was not going to let my daughter have anything but a final resting place made by my hands…”
 
When I turned around, I could see the devastation on his face… they had thought me dead…
 
I need to stop now, or my past will keep me up all night and I won’t be able to meditate at all this night…