The name Láurala is derived from a few words in the elven language, but it is boiled down to the words "to create" and "to grow". It is a technique where the practitioner sings to create their work, let plants and crops grow, fuse stone and clay together, things which aren't meant to be but wrangled and convinced that their new form might be a good idea.
This is Láurala. This is about a song; about a song which is crafted to enforce the will of the singer. It is about creating something new or shaping things into something different.
Come with me.
Láurala was used back in the day, shortly after the Creation, that the capital of Aeloria was founded. In the middle of the forest, in a small clearing, the Elves came together and began to sing. Since they were direct descendants of the Eternal Life they knew what they could do and so they sang. They sang and prayed, convinced the stone, the grass, the trees, the vines to form, to collaborate.
Slowly the city formed and now stands proud and high, formed by words, will, song, resonance. There are still corners where one can hear the Elves of Old, singing, whispering, feel them dream.
But how to use Láurala? First of all: one does not need a teacher. One needs guidance to start, but after the initial introduction it is self-teaching. Láurala is a highly personal thing, a deeper connection to the project, the resources, and nature altogether than one might anticipate.
A guide might point one in the right direction, but to start, to hone, to craft, to grow... there is only one direction: forward.
One needs an idea. A project. Be it a potted plant - don't put plants in pots, you cruel creature! - or a vase or something entirely different, it doesn't matter. Small projects like creating a boat, an oar or a sail, maybe a writing quill out of clay and wood are a sound idea for the start.
Then one needs the resources. Fallen branches, leaves, bought, found or self-made clay, whatever the project demands.
The last ingredient? The song. It can be a lullaby, only written for this purpose. It can be an Epic, made to churn stomachs and rouse the masses. It can be everything in between or nothing at all. It can be as crude or elegant as the Singer wants or needs, because it is their song. The song is their will, it resonates with their wish and their being. It is their being, wrangled and pulled out into the world; their emotions are pulled from their being, forced into crude, cold words. Either written or memorised, the song is what gives purpose, shape, existence to the project.
The first Láurala will fail. The next attempts will also fail. They always fail. Láurala is a time-honoured ritual; it also takes time to craft, to sing, to practice, to get the desired results.
The Singer needs the surroundings to create. Either in the ritual of Lúorda or in total privateness, the Singer has to be sure the environment is set up the way they need it.
They gather the resources, mostly around them or in front of them on a table. Some Singers add torches, bonfires, candles to the ritual for effect, others sing in total darkness or behind a curtain. Sometimes Elves are drama queens, yes.
A Song starts. It is a highly professional choice; one that works best and resonates with the Singer and the resources. It can be a short one, it can be a long one. It will be as long as needed, sung as slow or fast as the resonance keeps happening.
During the course of the song the resources start to resonate, to react to the words, to their meaning. Depending on the material it will react slow, fast, in-between.
After the creation process, while ending the Song and Láurala, there should be something newly created or something shaped differently after the Singers design.
The celebration is small. Mostly. A glass of wine, a pat on the shoulder, a blanket, hugs, kisses. Deep, relaxing sleep. A place for the project, aftercare for resources and Singer. Whatever is needed after the surprisingly exhausting process.
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