A Land Far Away

*young elf sits by candlelight, her quill scratches on paper*

My very dear Father,

I have made it, I am here.

I don't know what I expected from the world of Men. I know what I was told I would find. "Every hand will be turned agianst you", is how you phrased it, as I recall.

It was not so.

You will remember my reasons for leaving the Isle. I wanted to find and help defend the Quessir who were still living among the other races. Quessir I did find. As I was sent off with only the armor on my back and my sword, they helped me to find food, and equipment. They helped me to be understood by the humans, as my mastery of that tricky language known as "Trade speak" is far from complete.

And....they were glad to see me.

The most wonderful suprise, I have found a teacher here. A priest of Corellon Larethian named Delawyn, and he also comes from Corellon's Grove. A miracle!

The humans are so much bigger than I expected, and nothing like I was told they would be. One told me she prizes honesty above everything. I spent an evening discussing sIege defenses with Man who was very astute.

Yes father, siege defenses, I have my wish. Your daughter will be aiding the People in war. Ah how much your tales of glorious Corellon Larethian thrilled me when I was a child. Well father, I have seen the disgusting spawn of Gruumsh. I have seen them fall to my arrows, I have lost friends to them. When not fighting, I do what I can to aid those in need, praising the First of the Seladrine as I go.

Honestly Father, I believe with all my heart that I am where the Coronall has called me to be. I hope that someday in the many years we have left that you can forgive me.

With love always,

Your Daughter Miriel

*reading over the letter, the elf holds the corner in the candle flame until it kindles*

Awesome insight to Miriel.

*sitting again and writing by candlelight*

Dear Father,

Last night was the worst of the siege I have seen yet.

Word came that orcs were attacking the northern fortifications in vast numbers. They northern line is for the most part held by dwarves. Yes Father, dwarves. They have their own community, as do the People, but all are working to defend this beleagured city of Shadowdale.

There was no time to brace ourselves when the first waves hit. Sudden, from two directions at once. I was told to stay behind the lines, and lay down fire with my bow. Delawyn went down, only to be saved by his friend Jen Wa, a mage. After slaying the first wave, the mage, Jen Wa had time to use her magics, Delawyn the blessings of Corellon.

Then the world went dark.

Dhearrow

Out of the darkness roared a spell of flame. It smote the gound near me, I survived burned....but two friends.... I squinted through blistered eyes to shoot at what dark kin I did see. Spells flashed on both sides. I saw Tarrent, the human I wrote you of, charge a giant.

A brief respite, time to arange the bodies of my dead friends, time to heal my burns, then a runner comes with news.

The souther defenses are under attack.

We race there, Delawyn, Jen Wa an I. Meeting another Quessir there, with a group of defenders. We helped ourselves to arrows and dug in.

Then the darkness, the drow had returned behind us. I was hit on the head, and knew no more.

I woke to find my head bandaged, laying in a makeshift camp. I saw my friends running by, and wound or no wound I followed.

The drow had set the human's orphanage on fire.

This is a place where children who have lost their parents, to war, to disease, are cared for and raised.

They were just children...

Delawyn ran through the burning doorframe. I screamed his name. He came back out saying that the stairs would not take his weight, but that he heard the screaming of children. Jen Wa burst suddenly into our midst, having tried to teleport the children out.

At her feet lay five dead, and one live child. Delawyn bade me to take the child and tend to it, in a glade nearby.

I healed his wounds, and as I washed his face with wet leaves, he stirred a bit. I hastily washed my own, for it would not do to look like one of the accursed ones, and my face had been covered in soot.

His eyes opened, he called out, he cried. Finally exhaustion took him.

Even in his sleep, he cried.

I looked down at the child in my arms. I had never held a human child. All of the things you said about them Father, came back to me. Their barbarity, their greed, their bloodlust.

But this was a child. A child who's life had just been blown appart not by humans, but by the cursed ones of our own race. This child was as yet innocent of the crimes of his race, yet he suffered because of the dhearrow. My voice, which had cracked yelling for Delawyn as the building burned, hummed one of your lullabies, Father, as I comforted the boy.

I decided I would see to this childs safety and comfort. We took him to the human temple, where I said I would visit him, no matter what the humans at the temple said.

His name is Josiah

With love, as always,

your daughter Miriel

*another letter is consigned to the flame*

*an angry scribble*

Dear Father,

I hate it when you're right sometimes.

I wrote you of the battle, so you know what an ordeal that was. I wrote of the small human who I see can see becoming something better than what you told me.

Then along came a human of the type you told me about.

It was the morning after the battle, I was still in my armor. I patrolled this human town. The northern defense, when Jhess died. The burned out orphanage where the children died, then the southern defense where only by the grace of Corellon Laerthian did I live.

I wearily stripped off my armor, my hair and skin still smelling of smoke, and put on the only gown I have. An ugly clumsy human made thing. Taking up a bottle of tea Lady Aszune had given me to soothe my throat, I went to go sit under a tree and drink it, and wait to see if Lady Aszune or Delawyn or Laurelin or any other kin should show up. I just wanted to see a friendly face before reverie.

What I saw was the face of a human, looking down on me and barking.

I didn't know him, I have trouble telling most apart. What I could follow with my incomplete grasp of the languages, he was saying that if I had so much time to sit when there was a crisis going on, he could find me something to do. He accused me of shirking my duty.

I thought of what I had done in the past five sleepless days. Of risking my soul to help a druid find an artifact that could help protect the forest. Taking the soldiers on the front lines fresh water. I thought of giving almost all of my precious gold to see that the refugees ate, and seeing that they were clothed. Heard counsel I had given, for defesive improvements and for lost kin. I saw in my mind the inferno the drow unleashed, heard the cries of dying children. The fighting, the near dying. All in the name of the Father of our Race.

I looked up at this human and my hands shook. That he could think me so lax in my duty. I tried to tell him that I had done, but the words came out jumpled. No point in talking.

I took my tea which I had never drunk, walked back to my rooms, and put on my armor. Perhaps another day without rest would show this N'Tel what a priestess of the First of the Seladrine was made of.

I ended up giving the tea to a human at the field hospital, as I set to work tending the wounded.

With much love Father,

Every your daughter,

Miriel

*the young elf crumbles the letter into a ball and hurls it into the fireplace*

Awesome Sauce!!!!

NIce work.....

I like

Great stuff Miz!
Keep it coming, and duck those fireballs!

-Bill

wvincenti wrote:duck those fireballs!

Don't cluster!
Pretty good writing too.

*there is a sad look on the face of the elf as she writes*

Dear Father,

I sit and write and I think of the Quessir I have met. Azsune, who fights like the wind, Emela who holds a high position in a human land, Laurelin who deals with a pain I could only imagine, Delawyn who carries the burdens of so many, Nuran the scoundrel, Khrysoon the jovial lazy one, Eirnaehel the honorable, Quillia the competent Steph the wounded.....so many others too.

They all seem to trust me. To think I have something worth offering.

But then I see your face, and hear your bitter words at our parting, and I am consumed with a self doubt I never knew before.

I hate this feeling.

I know in my heart I am doing the right thing. The Blessings I recieve from Corellon Laerthian grow stronger. My faith in the Father of our Race is undiminished.

It is my faith in myself you have undermined. I will fight this feeling, as I fight orcs, without mercy, without let.

I will heal myself and make me whole again. By the First of the Seladrine I swear it.

Ever Your Daughter,

Miriel

*this tearstained letter is ripped into small pieces before being consigned to the flame*

I like.

My Dear Father,

While swimming with a friend the other day, I remarked on how many priests of Corellon Laerthian there are in this small Dale of the Shadows.

"Who is the best?", he asked.

"Well" I answered, "Delawyn is the most powerful, and Isilia the most hight hearted".

Father, how does one quantifly something like that? How does one say all of the things the Coronal of Arvandor mean to us?

To me his is the Warrior of Light. He that places himself between his children and the foe. The mighty warrior who struck out the eye of Gruumsh.

To Isilia, he shows himself as the ideal of our race. She dreams of new elven kingdoms where all craft under his protection.

Delawyn is powerful, because he sees the purity of spirit Corellon Laerthain embodies. Delawyn is a natural diplomat between the other races and the People.

To the powerful magickar of our home, they see Corellon Laerthian as he who brought the art to the People. They invoke wonders in his name.

I remember how your face glowed in the firelight, Father, as you told me how the Coronal brought the People their greatest gifts...laughter, poetry and music. Your fingers on your harp, the sound of your voice...even now, after all that has been said and done..the memory brings tears to my eyes.

To all of the People, above and before anything else, Corellon Laerthian is the Father of All. We, who are created from his blood, his children, love him, revere him, respect him, and worship him.

And we know that at our death, we will be united with him. That is his greatest gift really. The surety of Arvandor. The People need not fear the ceasation of this life, because we know our Father will always be there to take us home.

I miss you,

Miriel
*After re-reading this letter, she sheds a few tears, then smiling, folds the letter and puts it into a pouch*

awwww, a keeper.

Somewhere in Arvandor Glorfindel is smiling.



-Bill

I heard Corellon's a n00b. But nice story anyway!