Note from the Author: I finally found the backups to this and other excellent stories, so would like to share them with you now. I would also like to remind you that these are not official histories, nor ever will be, so should not be referenced in any official GM events or game quests. I give these to the players of PS to read and enjoy. What you do with them unofficially in your roleplays is up to you.
Death of the Elven Homeworld
Original Scribed in 421 AY by Eduxa Xant-Areth
Copied for public use in 750AY
I shall briefly cover both Dermorian and Nolthrir histories in this text, since they are very closely connected. Much like the dwarves, the two elven races shared a homeworld and arrived in Yliakum through the same portal. Unlike the dwarves, the two elven races did not come through together. Rather, the Nolthrir made the passage three years after the Dermorians. As with all other peoples who came to Yliakum, they did not leave their homes by choice, but were forced to leave. This is not the history of two races, but three.
The homeworld of the elves was a rich and fertile tri-fold land. In its prime, the large Etralia Plains merged into the lush forests of Dermoria, which towered over deep bodies of water and lush wetlands that made up Nolthria. The three ecosystems merged and flourished, each supporting a prosperous and distinct race of elves; Etralnin, Dermorian, and Nolthrir. These three peoples worked in harmony to tend the balance of the land. The Etralnin rode beasts across the plains, encouraging the growth of vast fields of wild grains, roots, and grazing land for prolific herds of undomesticated beasts. The forests were the domain of the Demorians, who tended the trees and forest creatures to provide ample fruits, game, and wood for building the homes of all three races. Experts at the art of farming both the seaweeds and sea creatures, the Nolthrir made the wetlands and lakes their home. All resources were shared equally between the peoples, and nothing was taken without giving back to the land. All elves were nomadic in nature, building small towns within their environments, then abandoning them every few years to give them back to nature. In this way the land was aways kept in a cycle of rebirth. War and conflict were unknown to the people, and no weapon had been created for the purpose of battle or harming another elf in remembered time.
One generation before the portal opened to Yliakum, something unknown changed the balance between the lands and elves. Preparations were being made for the yearly Day of Rejoining in the central forests of Dermoria, just as it had for countless generations. It was the time of great sharing and trade between the peoples. The Dermorians worked diligently, as they knew the Etralnin and Nolthrir would begin arriving within the month to add their own bounties to the great feasts. Midday, a deep and unfamiliar rumbling rang out in the far distant plains, like thunder and one thousand rock slides combined. The Dermorians paused in their activities as the forests drew quiet. The forest awoke with the normal sounds and the elves continued with their labors. The rumbling was forgotten in the anticipation of the coming festivities. The Day of Rejoining came, bringing countless Nolthrir to the forests. They brought lines of carts heaped with the gifts of the water; fish of every description, shells, and seaweed crops useful for food and many crafts.
As Firstnight fell and feasting began, an uneasy feeling settled over the gathered elves. The Etralnin tables remained empty. A day passed, then another without any sign of the missing elves. Scouts were sent out on the eve of the sixth morning. Five days they journeyed, and five days back. They reported that they could find no sign of Etralnin activity in the last few weeks. Their towns were empty and their fires long cold. Midday meals were found dessicated and only half eaten. Even the beasts of the lands were absent. Life seemed to have vanished from the plains. The scouts could only find weeks old tracks heading further into the distance.
The elven elders gathered together to decide on a course of action. It was thought best that an expedition be made. Though the Nolthrir wished to be included in the quest, they knew they could not match their Dermorian brothers and sisters for speed and endurance over open ground. So it came to be that a group of one hundred and fifty two Dermorians left the confines of their forests to follow the trail of their lost kin. The Nolthrir returned to their waters to tend the coming crops.
Days passed, then weeks. A runner returned the second week to report dismal news. They had begun to find the bodies of dead beasts that looked as if they collapsed from thirst and exhaustion. Strangely, their drying bodies held no signs of rot or decay. No camps were were found. The third week brought news of despair. The first Etralnin dead were discovered. It looked as if they had tipped over and died mid step, and were left untouched by fellow hand, beast, or decay. Some looked as if they had been walked over by boots of unmistakable Etralnin design. More weeks passed, then months as the runners came further apart with ever worsening news. It seemed as if the entire Etralnin race was marching to its death. The messages suddenly stopped coming four months later after they reported coming to the edge of the mountains on the far side of the Etralia Plains.
The Dermorians waited another month for news, yet none came. After long debate, they sent another expedition to investigate. This party was much smaller so as to travel more quickly. Once again, the messages stopped coming once the party reached the far mountains. Resigned and unwilling to lose any more people to the unknown, the Demorian elders called off any further searches. They posted watches along their entire border and sent an occasional scout deeper into the plains in hopes of welcoming their kin back. Ten years passed without change. No life returned to the plains. Every year the Dermorians prepared the Day of Rejoining, and every year the Etralnin tables remained empty.
On the eleventh year, the deep rumbling once again sounded from across the Etralia Plains. The Dermorians did not know what to make of it, but hoped it signaled the return of the Etralnin, since its previous sounding had taken them away. Rumors spread quickly that it was indeed the homecoming of their lost kin, and a great celebration was planed by the people. The Elders urged caution and doubled the watches, but the people took no notice. Two months passed and the people's anticipation began to wane. Then one of the scouts from the plains came running and gasping with news that lit their hearts. A great mass of people and animals were coming, and would arrive in two days. Many Dermorans rushed to the edge of the forests to greet their kin home. Joy began to waver as the mass grew ever closer. No other scout that had gone out to meet the Etralnin had returned. A black soot drifted on the light plains wind. On closer inspection, the soot appeared to be dried bits of decay-blackened grass.
Finally, the Etralnin came into view of the Dermorians. The worry that had replaced joy soon turned to terror. The Etralnin skin, once a deep brown-red, had turned to the colour of ash and now formed deep hollows under their eyes. Their hair was completely gone, exposing the sickly skin to the sunlight. They rode their beasts, which also suffered from the same skin and hair affliction. In their hands were long, hooked spears that would be useless in a hunt. The Dermorians quickly found out just what those spears were good for as some of the more brave -or foolhardy- men went out to meet them, despite the foreboding feel to the air. The mounted elves did not hesitate in greeting. With practiced swings of their long spears, they cut the defenseless Dermorians down where they stood. They did not even pause to look at their victims or utter a single word, but kept moving forward at the same inexorable pace. Screams tore themselves from the throats of the watching Dermorians. Never before had they seen nor heard of one elf killing another. The sight threw them into panic, racing back into the safety of their trees. The grass behind the army slowly turned from a healthy yellow-green to the dessicated black and crumbled in the breeze.
If not for the vastness of their forests and their traditions of never building permanent towns, the Dermorans would have been destroyed in a few years. Instead, they suffered relatively few losses to the warped Etralnin, whose mounts and tactics were not suited to the thick forests. The Dermorians sent word to the Nolthrir, warning them to stay out of the forests. The invading elves never spoke, even when killed by a Dermorian. Some who came close enough and escaped alive even claimed they did not breath at all. Their faces were completely without expression. Many said they were the faces of the dead. Even though they could not kill the Dermorians directly, Etralnin had another weapon. Everywhere they went, and everything they touched began to instantly wither and die. Any Dermorians cursed with the touch would die in mere hours, their bodies reduced to festering, black slime. Grass took only a matter of minutes to perish, while trees would take days to crumble to black dust. Slowly, over the next fifty years, the forests of the Dermoria began to vanish. Given less room to hide every year, the forest elves began to suffer losses in greater numbers. Soon, they knew they would have nowhere else to hide.
The Elders finally gave the order to abandon the forests. They intended to find safe harbor with the Nolthrir, and perhaps even attempt to cross the Great Ocean. When the Demorian people emerged on the wetlands border the two realms, they were met with death. The once green glades had become black mires. The Etralnin laid in wait in the deep pools, reaching out to touch any living thing that came near. Gray hands sprouted from the muck in a cruel and terrifying parody of life. Hundreds of Dermorans died as they tried to pass. They had no choice besides turning back into their dying forest. They had reached the end of despair. Nothing more could be done. Hopeless and in a daze, they stumbled into a sheltered clearing holding the most unbelievable site. In their despair, they did not quite acknowledge or understand what they were seeing before them. One by one, their eyes turned towards the upright disk of shimmering light. Fear took hold of them at first, thinking it was another trick of the Etralnin. However, they felt a welcoming peace within the light. A few approached the portal and touched its rippling surface. After finding that no harm came to them, the Dermorians decided it must have been a gift of the goddess of nature. Gathering the last of their seeds, livestock and people, they entered the light and vanished forever from Dermoria. Several brave souls remained to attempt to reach their Nolthrir brethren.
The Nolthrir knew of the destruction in Dermoria, but did not understand its scope. Most knew little more than the Day of Rejoining had been canceled forever and something was attacking the forests. They refused to believe it was their elven kin, and thought the stories were exaggerated tales of wild animal attacks. Only the Nolthrir who traveled to the forest truly believed, and it terrified them. They urged the people to learn how to fight and defend themselves, which was met with outrage. They began to ignore all whispers of the Dermorians and the 'madness' that had taken hold of them, and moved further away from the borders. By the time the Dermorians found the portal, the Nolthrir had completely cut off all contact with them. This was unfortunate for them, as they would have been informed of the terror that was about to engulf their lands.
As the Dermorians left the world, the Etralnin had already begun to infect the wetlands of Nolthria. They did not travel the ways over the dry hamlets, but walked under the waters of the deep streams and lakes. As the Nolthrir had not yet been exposed to the magic of Yliakum that gave them their gills and webbed feet, they were not the prolific divers they are now, so had no clue of the death that passed under their boats. Only dead fish and blackened seaweed marked the plague's underwater march. The Nolthrir were caught unaware when the Etralnin finally struck three years later. Where the Dermorians had lost most of their population over the span of fifty years, the Nolthrir suffered those losses in a single night. They had nowhere to hide in their boats and floating villages. Not when death was coming from the water itself. Countless lives were lost as they slept. Screams rang out across the water to be cut short. Daybreak found the Nolthrir decimated and scattered.
Panic and fear took hold of the few thousand survivors. With nowhere else to run, they gathered their most prized seaweeds and fish spawn in sealed jars and set out in a desperate journey to find safety among the Dermorians. What they did not know was that every last living Dermorian had perished, including the messengers sent to tell them of the portal. The last of the Nolthrir came to what used to be the forests. Alomost nothing remained of the great trees; only black dust and oozing puddles as far as they could see. By chance, a boy found a piece of waxed parchment floating in a shallow pond among the skeletons of an unknown number of elves. The paper contained a map with directions to the Dermorian's portal. The Nolthrir held little hope that the magical gate still existed, but followed the map with feverish intensity. They traveled for two days nonstop before stumbling wearily into a clearing sheltered between a circular outcropping of rock. The grass and trees were still green, and there at the end of the clearing stood the portal. Cries of fear at the rear of their column shook the daze from those that had entered the clearing. The enemy had found them again. The portal began to shimmer and diminish in size. The Nolthrir ran to the portal and rushed through without pause. As the last of them fell through, pursued by the death-gray elves, the portal vanished completely.
As far as I can discern, no living thing remains in the lands of Nolthrir, Dermoria, or Etralia. Given the descriptions of the state the Etralnin were left in, I do not believe they were alive anymore. They were the victims of a death curse, no longer alive, but never able to rest; walking corpses. What caused and controlled this horror may never be known, but let us pray it never reaches our dear Ylaikum.
