I have been here since winter. There are not many of us living now. I know our stories were always shared over a fire instead of read from a page. I am probably breaking tradition doing this. But that elf woman at the library fort has a point; books last longer than people.
I am Nerys, daughter of the honored dead Taban and Meru, of the Greyfox. Jada, father's second wife after mother died, thought I could be a skald of the Battlesong. The chieftains sent some of us south last fall as emissaries. That did not last until winter. Now I'm here separated from all but a few survivors of my tribe.
This poem formed in my mind in better days. I was far from my forest and near these soft, weak southlanders. At least Shaundakul's wind spoke to me then.
* Shameless hacking of the YES song, Heart of Sunrise.Wind at Sunrise*
Wind comes to you and you follow
Guide you on to the heart of the sunrise
FAR-DISTANCE
How can the wind with its arms
All around me
Lost on a breeze and then after
Dream on on to the heart of the sunrise
FAR-DISTANCE
How can the wind with so many around me
Lost in the city
Lost in their eyes as you hurry by
Counting the broken ties they decide
Wind comes to you and then after
Dream on on to the heart of the sunrise
Lost on a breeze that you're dreaming
Dream on on to the heart of the sunrise
FAR-DISTANCE
How can the wind with its arms all around me
FAR-DISTANCE
How can the wind with so many around me
I feel lost in the city
Nothing much happened worth writing until this disaster.
Afterward, there was this.The Fall of Triel
Our own Tribes have been fighting a nearly continuous retreat from the Dark Horde since the time of the last summer’s long days of light. We fought and we fell back. The Thunderclap took the battle to the enemy yet failed to return. Surely they died in honorable combat, but victory was obviously not theirs. Our numbers fell smaller after each battle. So we moved and fought then moved again. The land we left behind to the Horde, the land of our fathers and mothers, is no longer fit for the fox and the raven. The cold air of the north winds no longer refreshes our breath. The vile enemy must be stopped.
The soft people of the tribes who hide behind stone walls called for the aide of strong warriors to defeat a common foe; the vile Dark Horde. Our chieftains of the Highmoor Tribes decided it should be in our mutual interest to join with them. After all, the enemies of our enemies should be our allies. Foeclever, Greyfox, and Battlesong members joined the others in their council hall to share ale and plan the battle to defeat our mutual enemy in honorable combat. Members of the Elf, Dwarf, Silver Rose and other tribes were also present.
It was immediately clear the other tribes did not understand the strength of our vile enemy. The members of the other tribes talked and talked and talked some more. They plan this and that or something else. It was all very confusing who would do what, if anything at all… except wait for the fight to come to a village named Triel.
Days later, most of the other tribes were at this small village of Triel. It was only farmland with a simple tree-trunk fort on a hilltop. It was barely worth fighting over except the thrill of a good fight and the food the farm provides. Every warrior knows you cannot continue fighting for long with an empty stomach.
The elven warriors raided the Dark Horde near Triel. Soon the glory of battle would fall upon us all. A few of our people added our strength to their strength; our steel to their steel; though the bravery of our hearts stood evident above them all.
Fire streaked across the sky. The Black Horde charged Triel. The defenders braced themselves for the coming onslaught. The battle was begun. Blades swung. Bodies smashed. Arrows pierced. Rage poured forth from the hearts of men, women and beasts alike. Blood flowed.
The first wave of the Horde was stopped in its tracks; then another and another. But treachery was afoot. Unknown to our most honorable warriors, the others paid warriors to join with them. I know noble listener, the thought of fighting for coin instead of the thrill of the moment, the lust for strength at the edge of a blade should be enough for any man or woman to treasure the moment. But no! Some pervert the honor of combat with the curse of coin.
Two archers stood together at the fort’s gate. One was a skald of the Battlesong. She was there to contribute to the battle while recording for all to know of our tribe’s heroism in combat. The other was an elf of her tribe doing her part with honor and bow. Together they held their post while continually launching arrow after arrow into the fray. Suddenly, there are attackers behind them. Mercenaries paid to aid the defense turned on their former allies. Swords slashed. Metal clanged. Wood shattered. The skald recalls something her mother told her many winters past, "Trust is the biggest liability of all."
The skald was me; Nerys, daughter of the honored dead Taban and Meru of the Greyfox, Skald of the Battlesong and Emissary of our Tribes of the Highmoor.
Hear my words my brothers and sisters. These soft people who sleep behind stone walls and write rules to their advantage may ask for our help. But know this now. They are not thinking of us when they ask for us to contribute our blood and honor to their cause. They are thinking only of themselves.
Ileleste and Nerys After Triel
Triel was lost. A small farming village of the rules-writers was destroyed by the Dark Horde. This fact we all know as told in the story, The Fall of Triel. That is the end of one story, but it was the beginning of another story.
Hours after the battle ended, the vile victors pulled two women from the wreckage. The dumb brutes of the Dark Horde failed to notice both were barely alive, each flirting with her last breath, then not. Though they were too weak to fight, they were too strong to allow themselves to die.
The river was stained red with the blood of the fallen. The two women were unceremoniously tossed into the cold water along with other fallen defenders of Triel. The skald's fur-lined leathers naturally protected her from the wet and cold of the distant north. Now her leathers protected her from the river's cold waters. She easily floated to the surface. Her partner however was weighed down by her heavy metal armor. After a few moments in the water, she struggled to breathe before the river finished what the Horde did not finish. Hands clasp. Air. Life.
They drifted together for several miles down the river and then gained a foothold on the shoreline. They dragged each other from the water. Their blood fueled the fire in their hearts and overcame the cold most would fall too. They spent the rest of the day tending to each other’s wounds while drying their clothes next to a small campfire.
Both lost their weapons in battle and provisions in the river. Now all they had was the strength of their hearts, the power of the feywild, the clothes on their backs, and most importantly each other. The two women slowly journeyed for days along the river bank. They constantly encouraged themselves to continue their difficult journey. If one fell, the other was there to pick her up. They improvised spears from sturdy branches. They shared hunting fish from the river and foraging roots and berries from the shoreline. Together they were stronger than either was if they were separate.
Half a moon later, the two survivors emerged from the forest finding other Children of the Tall Wood. They were safe now. Many unfortunate souls, most would say foolish souls, lost their treasures, their land, and their lives in the disastrous Fall of Triel. For others more strong of heart, they survived the disaster by working together as one. Such was the fate of Ileleste and Nerys After Triel.