The Green Isle (1243)
As so often, a gentle and pleasant wind drifted across the forests and meadows of the Green Jewel, the realm of Queen Amlaruil Moonflower. It moved through the ancient trees and across the open fields, a quiet reminder of the calm that had long settled over Evermeet. On such a day a child was born. From the union of Calaeron and Myrielle came a young gold elf, a rare blessing among a people for whom the birth of children had become uncommon.
As was the custom among the elves, the event was celebrated by their community, not because the child was thought to be special, but simply because a new life had joined their people. Calaeron and Myrielle lived in a small settlement not far from the shining city of Leuthilspar, whose white towers rose above the forests of Evermeet. Calaeron served there as one of many warriors sworn to defend the royal domain. Like many of the gold elves, he was reserved and disciplined, a man who rarely showed strong emotion except among those closest to him.
Myrielle was different. She was one of the copper folk and possessed remarkable skill with the bow. Her nature was warm and open, and she carried a gentle smile with her wherever she went. Yet behind that warmth lay a quiet longing. For some time she had wished to visit her kin again, who lived across the sea on the mainland of Faerûn.
For many seasons she spoke of returning, and for just as long Calaeron refused. The world beyond Evermeet was far more dangerous than the island, and traveling with an infant seemed unwise to him. He wished to wait until the child had grown older. But in the end, his love for Myrielle outweighed his caution.
And so they made their decision. They took a ship from Evermeet across the sea to Faerûn, bound for the shores of the Sword Coast. And with that voyage began the first journey in the life of the young elf, who had only just opened his eyes to the world.
As was the custom among the elves, the event was celebrated by their community, not because the child was thought to be special, but simply because a new life had joined their people. Calaeron and Myrielle lived in a small settlement not far from the shining city of Leuthilspar, whose white towers rose above the forests of Evermeet. Calaeron served there as one of many warriors sworn to defend the royal domain. Like many of the gold elves, he was reserved and disciplined, a man who rarely showed strong emotion except among those closest to him.
Myrielle was different. She was one of the copper folk and possessed remarkable skill with the bow. Her nature was warm and open, and she carried a gentle smile with her wherever she went. Yet behind that warmth lay a quiet longing. For some time she had wished to visit her kin again, who lived across the sea on the mainland of Faerûn.
For many seasons she spoke of returning, and for just as long Calaeron refused. The world beyond Evermeet was far more dangerous than the island, and traveling with an infant seemed unwise to him. He wished to wait until the child had grown older. But in the end, his love for Myrielle outweighed his caution.
And so they made their decision. They took a ship from Evermeet across the sea to Faerûn, bound for the shores of the Sword Coast. And with that voyage began the first journey in the life of the young elf, who had only just opened his eyes to the world.
Faerûn
The small family boarded a ship with bright white sails and lines which resembled the natural outlines of the waves. Though modest in size, it was exceptionally fast, and before long the mainland came into view.
They landed at a small bay between Baldur’s Gate and the Trollbark Forest, not far from the city of Daggerford. The task of finding their way fell to Myrielle, who moved with the precision and grace of a wood elf accustomed to the paths of the Green and those of the meadows likewise. They passed briefly through the Trollbark Forest and skirted the edges of the Misty Forest.
All the while, Myrielle revealed just how much she missed the High Forest and the towering trees of the High Trees region, trees so massive they resembled mountains more than anything else.The higher her spirits rose, the more silent Calaeron became, his concern for the dangers of the wild never far from his mind. Dark tales of Dhaerow, who emerged from the earth to ambush unwary elves, had long been told, and he could not ignore them. Yet Myrielle’s enthusiasm and skill always dispelled his worries, at least for the moment. After crossing the Delimbiyr River, they finally reached the Great Everwood under the cover of night, the dense forest welcoming them quietly as they entered its shadowed depths.
The Great Everwood - A journey's end
It had been arranged that the small family would be guided deeper into the forest by their kin, members of Myrielle’s own tribe. Many areas were not only difficult to navigate, even for skilled trackers, but could be deadly. Myrielle was well aware of the dangers. The meeting place was all too familiar to her. A clearing, bordered by smaller trees yet no less grand in their presence. These were the same trees she had first seen when she had dared her first longer journey alone. Surely they had grown since then, she thought. By the Eye of the Foresthunter, she shared the concerns of her Soul-bound, though she masked any unease with a radiant smile. That smile first fell upon the young elf in her arms, a child who bore so much of his father, green eyes like Calaeron’s, but in whose brows she saw her own reflection. It was in that glance that she saw both her partner and the love they shared.
It was a night shadowed by memories of her childhood, surely one that lay more than three hundred winters behind her. The air was pleasantly cool, though not so cold as to numb the skin of the elves. Still, she drew the cloak tighter around the small child in her arms, then handed him to her partner so she could climb a tree and make sure of their position. Her senses were as sharp as ever. She had not lost her way, yet… she remembered the auditory signals that should have reached her, like the sharp whistle of an owl. She expected that signal from her kin. It was custom, a form of communication that reached beyond the limits of sight. The goal of their journey lay ahead, a few arrow-shots to the north, she was certain of that, and yet the sound was absent, every note that should have sung through the leaves of the trees was silent.
Although nothing had yet revealed itself to pierce the veil of danger, she began to shiver. She climbed down from the tree that had served as her lookout and shared her concerns with the sun elf. His expression grew grim. She knew that look all too well; rarely did it appear without warning of death. She studied him for a moment, then her gaze fell on the child in his arms. Emerald eyes met hers, and a broad smile spread across his face in response to her own, a smile she could not help but return. Calaeron, love I cannot even offer to the green of the forest or the light of the stars, give me our son. May the forest hold its branches over him.
She stepped to the tree she had recently stood upon and wove a kind of harness, fashioning an improvised cradle from branches into which she placed the young elf.
Her gaze turned to her life partner, who murmured softly, ancient words, as he drew his arming sword. In the stillness of the forest, the litany of arrows rang out, only to be pierced by the whir of a crossbow bolt and a painful groan.
The clash of metal on metal cut through the night, as did the whir of arrows and bolts. Several dozen heartbeats may have passed. All of it accompanied by cries of pain and an elvish dialect, strange and rough compared to the sounds of those who walk beneath the warming rays of the sun. That noise, one would have thought, might have awakened the instincts of a child, even provoking uncontrolled cries of pent-up emotion. A wail that trained ears could have heard across great stretches of the forest. Yet the crying never came.
The Great Everwood - Preserved by the shield of the forest
Just as the winds carried the noise of battle across the forest canopy, so too did it disappear. Only the wind itself remained, gliding through the canopy of leaves and occasionally rustling in the undergrowth. An hour of silence surely passed before soft footsteps quietly approached that promising place, followed shortly thereafter by mournful and fervent weeping.
Then the dam that had held back the young elf in his seclusion broke. He cried and howled, not understanding the circumstances that had unfolded before him, merely caught up in his own confusion.
The infant's cries did not go unanswered. In response, soft words whispered in elven song and those almost silent footsteps approached his improvised nest.
With a soft rustling, two heads appeared before the young elf, one belonging to a woman who resembled his mother, but her face was marked by grief, redness from tears flowing down her eyelids to her cheeks. Next to her was a solemn-looking wood elf. It was the latter who lifted the infant, still wrapped in a forest-green cloak, and left the scene of the carnage at the elf woman's side, passing by the slaughtered herd, which was marked by the sanguinary forest soil. Two motionless bodies, children of Green Isle, as well as the obsidian-colored figures clad in black and purple leather.
The Great Everwood - A seedling from distant meadows
Before the young sun elf heard these stories whispered in rumors, his foster father Lyreth thought it appropriate to anticipate these legends and explain their origin, which is why he now walks among the branches of the Tall Tree Region and the face of his parents is only an early childhood image which, if Lady Moonbow wills it, will remain in the realms of his reverie, or so he thought. That thought anchored him here among all those copper-siblings whose family ties he had grown to love, and yet a rage channeled itself within him that overshadowed those bright memories.
The Great Everwood - The Sword's Path (1263)
The young sun elf, still a child, was raised by those who call the green meadows and forests their home. While his adoptive mother, Aelrindra, tried to gently encourage him to follow in her footsteps and pursue archery, for which he showed neither talent nor dexterity, his now father, Lyreth, taught him how to handle a blade. In doing so, he allowed him few moments of rest, sometimes roughly, sometimes almost fanatically driving the boy to practice with mock battles. The apprentice often suffered scrapes and bruises. Aelrindra considered these injuries foolish and they were often a source of contention between the two soulmates.
The young gold elf quickly realized that his wood elf father's rough behavior was not born of animosity, but rather of a desire to prepare him for the perils of the outside world. In many moments, when the back of a sword struck him once again in a practice fight, he recognized a deep melancholy in his teacher's eyes.
Where his foster father was quick and elegant, the young sun elf was mostly rough and relied on his strength to break through defenses. An affinity that would accompany the elf for even longer.
If the young elf was not engaged in physical training, his heart found joy in wandering through the thickets. Yet he did not always walk the forest at random, for more often than not his steps led him along a familiar path to a small clearing, framed by weathered stones. From among those rocks sprang a modest spring, above which a gnarled tree spread its branches and leaves.
An old wood elf woman there as he so often did, her back turned to him, so that the young elf could see little more than the sky-blue flutter of her cloak. It was a curious sight amid the dark tones of the Green Sea that surrounded them, so the young elf thought.
The moment the sun elf spoke to the older elven woman revealed itself to him as one that would take deep root in the landscapes of his mind. At that time, the young elf saw little. The mystical presence that surrounded him was part of his natural reality and took little pleasure in granting him more attention, yet in that moment he sat upon a rock beside her without asking for permission and observed. Several tens of days passed before the words were addressed to him, telling how it came to be that a gold elf had ventured so deeply into the realms of the Everwoods. The soft trickling of the spring beside him accompanied the cascade of words that left the young sun elf.
In the course of time, it became clear that his tales were rewarded with teachings about the Seldarine, the names of those who served the Coronal of Arvandor.
The Great Everwood - Epiphany (1268)
It was beneath a star-laden sky that the towering boughs of the Everwood rose above the young gold elf. Too soon, so it seemed to him, was he drawn from the peace bestowed by the Daughter of the Night Skies. Whether it was the whispering wind that stirred his blood, or the moon’s pale radiance that bathed the faintly damp forest floor in silver, he could not tell. Yet the restless pounding of his heart urged him onward, away from the place where he had found his rest.
His measured steps quickened, becoming a run as he crossed the twilight-veiled reaches of the Tall Trees Region, guided only by starlight. The land shifted beneath his hastening stride: gentle slopes gave way to treacherous rises, to paths choked with stone and twisting roots. In that restless flight, his foot slipped, and he was cast down an embankment, awkwardly, helplessly, with no chance to turn or soften the fall.
The brilliance of the heavens vanished, swallowed by the black embrace of night.
Yet the darkness endured only briefly. Upon the far edge of his awareness, a pale line emerged along the horizon, sharp and slender as the flight of an arrow, piercing the veil and unveiling the immensity of an unknown forest beyond. Then darkness returned once more, settling over his thoughts as his inner sight drifted upward, framed by leaves of deep green and the distant glow of the sky.
With a sudden gasp, his body answered the call of waking. Convulsively, breath and sensation returned to the limbs of the golden elf as his eyes opened with effort. A dull, throbbing pain blossomed at the back of his head, momentarily eclipsed by the rush of thoughts that followed. As though guided by the wind moving through the branches above, his right hand found its way to the wound. Warmth spread beneath his touch, flowing through body and spirit alike, a quiet reassurance to the young elf.
Yet beneath that comfort lingered a fragile certainty, born of the dream’s final moments, as though the Reverie had shown him how the long song of his steps would one day fall silent.
He was now aware, each time his heart beat, that his blood seemed to resonate with the one who had created him and all other elves. At the utterance of his name, a wave of confidence and joy washed over him. And yet and yet he was astonished by the power revealed to him, the power that healed the wound at the back of his head through a surge of warming energy that flowed from his hands as if cast in the clear white silver of moonlight.
He gave himself the name Nuar’verthal, words that truly resonated within him in that moment, as did the soul that flowed through him with its presence. May Corellon, the Coronal of Arvandor, Bearer of the Blade of Sahandrian, Father of all elves, henceforth guide my steps. May I walk in equal measure along the paths that protect those who share his blood, and honor the artistic essence that, through his spirit, nourishes the realms of his people.
And yet, within the still-youthful mind of the elf, there joined a strange premonition, one that never fully yielded to his euphoria.
The Great Everwood - Of Forests of Providence and shadows of the past (1300)
Where the light slips through the canopy of leaves, shadow too settles upon the brown and green of the forest floor. A modest wisdom, perhaps, yet one his foster parents taught him early. Which juices drawn from fruit may be safely drunk, which mushrooms may be eaten raw. Which clearings you may seek, and from which creatures you must keep your distance. Always the quiet dichotomy of light and shadow that awaits anyone who walks beneath the roof of the forest.
The gold elf heeded this wisdom most of the time, though the recklessness of youth so often tempted him. And when he did give in to folly, it was often because of the nature of his companion upon the path, Lethariel, there was in her a restlessness that the forest itself seemed to encourage, a quiet daring that made caution feel, for a moment, like an unnecessary burden.
Lethariel had hair black as the raven’s wing and eyes nearly as dark, and a laughter that, so he believed, outshone even the quiet glow of the stars. In her presence he found a quiet solace. Where the shadows of his past briefly yielded to the light of her heart, he felt a deep release from the tightening grasp that so often followed him, even amid the warmth of the People who had taken him in. The tribe had given him shelter, guidance, and a place beneath their boughs, yet some part of him had always remained set apart, as though a thin veil lay between his spirit and the peace they offered. But when she walked beside him, when her dark eyes carried that living spark and her laughter wandered freely through the trees, the weight he carried loosened. For a while, the old shadows drew back, and the forest seemed less like a place of quiet watchfulness and more like a path that might truly be walked without fear. In her song lived the courage of Corellon, of that he was certain.
It was she, too, who, after hearing the tales of Nuar'verthal, came to long for the sight of the Green Isle. The tidings had stirred something bright and restless within her, and she spoke of it often as they wandered the shaded paths of the forest. With shining eyes she would dream aloud of the adventures that awaited them should they set out toward the Sword Coast, those distant lands she knew only through the voices of traveling taletellers.
She spoke of the short-lived folk, the countless humans whose numbers, she claimed with a hint of wonder, rivaled the stars in the night sky. Of the vast sea whose waters stretched farther than any forest trail, and of the proud ships that sailed beneath the banners of the navy of the Queen of Evermeet. All these visions she laid before the young sun elf like treasures gathered along the road. And more than that, she spoke of the ancient paths that once had been walked by his parents, paths that in time must have led westward, toward the same distant shores.
Between her eager dreams and the quiet pull of that forgotten heritage, his resolve slowly took shape. He began to believe that the road to the Sword Coast might truly be meant for him.
Yet half a century would pass before the elf chose to walk beneath those stars of which his companion had so often spoken.
Beyond - Curse the Father, who denied his Children aid (1358)
((WIP))
- 1359 - The Longest Year begins (magic vanishes)
- 1363 - “The First Spell” is cast (magic begins returning)
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