Elven Myths Collection I
LACQ ELVEN MYTH
Waer'tor was an elf in the Former Days, but he was charmed by the Wolf People due to his fierce and wild ways. He lost all restraint and killed all the animals of the forest mercilessly, eating them raw, guts and bones and all. He had been touched by the warth of Ayodh, Elven Lord of Skulls, and there was no hope for him. He had deliberately defied Ayodh, refusing to murder an opponent in battle. After this, the only group that would take him was the wolf-pack, although even they were offended by his rampage.
The gods decided to meet halfway in regards to Waer'dor and turn him into a person with a wolf's head, and to keep him under watch at all times, and to keep him (and others) safe. But he was now hideous to behold, and he never made any friends, even in his pack, keeping others away with his fierce, hideous appearance and reputation.
Eventually, after many years, he was completely released, and he made his way up north. Who knows what kind of person he is now? Where does he hide? Is he still a danger? Does he run with the wolves among the mountains, or does he howl at the stars all by himself? Perhaps he has mellowed out? They say he holds some kind of secret, whether story, word, or item; a relic belonging rightly to the Elven people. Is there anyone that would venture forth and reclaim the secret? DESNA, MISTRESS OF THE SPHERES, and the BIRTH of the NIGHT At one time, let it be said, life came to be, and life flourished in the great fields and forests of the virgin world. The trees grew to great height and flowered in glory-clusters. The waters flowed like liquid crystal across the land, and the lakes were clear and pure. Deer and wolves had the forests, the eagle had the sky, and the lake trout swam the waters. Then of course the Elves came, and it was all so wonderful. But something was wrong. All the living beings knew it. After all this time, the world was beginning to dry out. The living beings’ eyes were overcome and began to blind. The heat on the land and sea was becoming unbearable. The Earth was dying from it all. The Elves looked up in the sky to see what might be going on, but they needed to shield their eyes. It was the sun; the sun was too dry, too bright, and too hot. And in these days, there was only daytime, so the sun traveled the sky without any respite. One of the Heroes had a suggestion. He said there was a goddess who lived deep in the earth, and she might know what to do. He had been down there and seen her there, asleep, with a kidlet in her womb. The Hero gathered a group of companions, and they made their way through caverns and passages, to find the goddess. They found it moist and dark and cool there, and they were pleased. Finally they came to the great cavern where the goddess slept. She was enormous, and indeed she had a child in her womb. It looked as though the child would soon be born. The goddess was curled up in a great ball, her womb glowing a silvery light. The Hero gently woke her. “Wake up, great one. The days never end, and the Earth is dying. Please help us.” He stood back then and watched as she opened her great silvery eyes and smiled kindly upon him. She birthed then a silvery orb, the beauty of which none there had ever seen. Then she handed the Hero her great velvet-black cape, and a bag full of silver spheres at her belt. “Here,” she spoke. “Take it all, and throw it up into the sky. You will see. We shall challenge the sun.” The Hero and his companions made it back to the overground as quickly as they could, and the hero did what he had been told. Tossing everything up, everything took its place: the goddess’s daughter the moon, her cloak the black sky, and her spheres the stars. In a moment, they illumined, with a gentle brightness, lovely to the eyes. And so night came to be, and it traded the sky every day with the sun. The sun, for his part, was actually relieved. He had grown weary, shining so bright and hot every day. The sun, in his gratitude, named the goddess–mother of the night–Desna, which in his own tongue meant (loosely) “compassion in darkness.” Desna is of the earth and of the air, and she dwells healthy in either setting.
Waer'tor the Wolf-Head, a story of the Lacq Elves
The gods decided to meet halfway in regards to Waer'dor and turn him into a person with a wolf's head, and to keep him under watch at all times, and to keep him (and others) safe. But he was now hideous to behold, and he never made any friends, even in his pack, keeping others away with his fierce, hideous appearance and reputation.
Eventually, after many years, he was completely released, and he made his way up north. Who knows what kind of person he is now? Where does he hide? Is he still a danger? Does he run with the wolves among the mountains, or does he howl at the stars all by himself? Perhaps he has mellowed out? They say he holds some kind of secret, whether story, word, or item; a relic belonging rightly to the Elven people. Is there anyone that would venture forth and reclaim the secret? DESNA, MISTRESS OF THE SPHERES, and the BIRTH of the NIGHT At one time, let it be said, life came to be, and life flourished in the great fields and forests of the virgin world. The trees grew to great height and flowered in glory-clusters. The waters flowed like liquid crystal across the land, and the lakes were clear and pure. Deer and wolves had the forests, the eagle had the sky, and the lake trout swam the waters. Then of course the Elves came, and it was all so wonderful. But something was wrong. All the living beings knew it. After all this time, the world was beginning to dry out. The living beings’ eyes were overcome and began to blind. The heat on the land and sea was becoming unbearable. The Earth was dying from it all. The Elves looked up in the sky to see what might be going on, but they needed to shield their eyes. It was the sun; the sun was too dry, too bright, and too hot. And in these days, there was only daytime, so the sun traveled the sky without any respite. One of the Heroes had a suggestion. He said there was a goddess who lived deep in the earth, and she might know what to do. He had been down there and seen her there, asleep, with a kidlet in her womb. The Hero gathered a group of companions, and they made their way through caverns and passages, to find the goddess. They found it moist and dark and cool there, and they were pleased. Finally they came to the great cavern where the goddess slept. She was enormous, and indeed she had a child in her womb. It looked as though the child would soon be born. The goddess was curled up in a great ball, her womb glowing a silvery light. The Hero gently woke her. “Wake up, great one. The days never end, and the Earth is dying. Please help us.” He stood back then and watched as she opened her great silvery eyes and smiled kindly upon him. She birthed then a silvery orb, the beauty of which none there had ever seen. Then she handed the Hero her great velvet-black cape, and a bag full of silver spheres at her belt. “Here,” she spoke. “Take it all, and throw it up into the sky. You will see. We shall challenge the sun.” The Hero and his companions made it back to the overground as quickly as they could, and the hero did what he had been told. Tossing everything up, everything took its place: the goddess’s daughter the moon, her cloak the black sky, and her spheres the stars. In a moment, they illumined, with a gentle brightness, lovely to the eyes. And so night came to be, and it traded the sky every day with the sun. The sun, for his part, was actually relieved. He had grown weary, shining so bright and hot every day. The sun, in his gratitude, named the goddess–mother of the night–Desna, which in his own tongue meant (loosely) “compassion in darkness.” Desna is of the earth and of the air, and she dwells healthy in either setting.
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