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III. Of Elves and OrcsThe AlinyuThe elves of Alina awoke from their magical slumber to the complete
blackness of Nuin-Covl at night. Luna rose late that night, climbing over
the Mountains of the Unknown to bath the new world with her soft light.
They were struck with such astonishment as to remain staring the sky
until dawn, as the Glory of Sol burst over the horizon, with Luna still
shining vainly upon her sister Gaia. Sol spied Luna, and as the elves
watched, quickly overtook her, so that she stood between him and the
elves. There, on the day of the Awakening, the Sun and the Moon made
love and the first stars were born and scattered themselves about
Nuin-covl, their shine out-brillianced by Sol at day, but keeping their
mother fair company at night.
The elves of Alina established themselves in the vast forests West of
the Mountains of the Unknown, which they called Ire-dae (ear-ee-DAY),
and marveled for centuries at the verdance and lushness of the world
where they found themselves. None could remember from where he
had come, as if his memory before that Waking day had been wiped
clean, as if nothing had ever existed before then. They had been born of
the Earth, it seemed. And indeed Gaia spoke to them well, and so they
revered their mother, and the beings Luna and Sol who had so blessed
their Awakening.
They dwelt among the trees and in the clearings for nearly a millennium
before the elves discovered that they were not alone upon this world.
The short, curious gnomes wandered into the elfin realm first with their
peculiar gadgets and tinkering hands. They brought with them tales of
their cousins, the dwarves, living deep in the mountains, exploring the
terrors of the Underdark. There were tales of the halfling race, too,
merry dwellers of the plains and hills to the East of the Ire-dae.
And yet, in the same age that the elves’ world expanded so, it also
came crashing down. While it pleased the Kyie to see the races living
so gaily and harmoniously on his world, there is no pleasure without pain.
From the desolate foothills of the Ire-dae the orcish hordes swept down
into the forests of the elves, the plains of the halflings and bore into the
caves of dwarves, seeking plunder and blood.
All seemed lost. The orcs fell upon the world like a wave of rage,
and nothing stood in their way. The forests of the elves were set ablaze,
the careful crafting of the dwarves torn asunder and brutalized, the plains
of the halflings ravaged and scourged. A dark shadow cast itself over
all of Alina.
Hope came from the mountains at first, as the hardened dwarves
began to drive back the invasion behind their hero and leader, the great
Drüg (DROOG) Taybern. Backed into a corner by some three score
orcs, Drüg took his glowing, magical axe and bore into his attackers
with such ferocity that at the end he bore but a few scratches against
sixty bloody corpses. Though their losses were great, the Dwarves
fought for every metre of cavern space. Slowly the hordes were beaten
back from the Underdark. News of the dwarven victories spread across
the land and the lifted the hearts of the elves, halflings, and gnomes, who
turned to their goblinoid invaders with terrible ferociousness.
More heroes arose from the battles. Feuryn Gladé (Fi-RIN
Glah-DAY), the elfin warrior, fell upon the orcs from the trees with his
blade, Sanglé (san-GLAY). He led his compatriots back through the
forests, driving the orcs slowly back to the base of the Ire-dae. The
gnome illusionist, Wizt the Mad, taunted and tortured the orcs in their
flight, seeding confusion and dissent amongst the ranks from afar. But
most courageous of them all was Guill (GWILL) the Slingbearer of the
halfling people. Skilled in neither the sword nor in spellcraft, the simple
herder Guill took up his sling and commenced to fell the vile hordes with
nothing but leather and stones.
At last, the orcs were driven back to their filthy dens. The elves and
the dwarves, the halflings and gnomes, followed the monstrous hordes to
the edge of the desolate foothills, but pursued the orcs no further.
Exhausted and weary, they sheathed their weapons, closed their
spellbooks and returned, jubilant, to their homes. Slowly they repaired
and rebuilt over the devastation of the orcish hordes. But they turned
not a blind eye to the orcs in their horrid dens and swamps: patrols and
spies roamed always along the fringes of the orcish lands.
The orcs, for their part, sat in their dens and licked their own wounds
for many years. Yet, despite their ugliness and barbarism, the orcs were
not without intelligence, and more importantly, spellcraft. Their shamans
and mages gathered in the depths and stagnant fens of their realm and
conspired to summon a beast that would aid them in their next, and
victorious, war. From this twisted minds and horrid milieus came all
manner of beasts: goblins and hobgoblins, bugbears, gnolls and flinds.
Trolls erupted screaming from the tainted water of the fens and swamps.
Wolves were captured and augmented to be worgs, a vicious riding
beast for the vicious orc warriors.
Yet, despite the power of these atrocities, the orcish spellcasters knew
these would not be enough. The elves and dwarves were powerful, the
gnomes difficult with their magical trickery and the halflings simple but
determined when pressed. No, they needed a beast to inspire such a
horror in the hearts of their enemies as to send them fleeing before its
mere name.
So the Kyie summoned a dragon.