First Halcyon
Greetings, class. It is a pleasure as always to instruct young pupils in our fabled history.
And yes, worry you not, I have heard all the rumors already. I know my lessons have become unpopular of late. You are not the first generation of centennialings I have had the privilege of tutoring who have found my lessons dry and aged. I know Elven history may strike you as dry and boring. What could an old moss-grown elder like me have to tell you that a dabble in a Reverie could not?
But that is exactly why I pontificate this to you. Because there are some things we Elves must learn, and must be proud of. Because there are things that we were eagerly meant to forget. Our memory - our history - is a resistance, and a privilege. It is a celebration against subjugation; it is a brilliance in the past, and a knowledge of what our futures hold.
And it is that very reason why I have chosen our topic of the day to be that of The Frist Halcyon, our most fabled times. And how lucky you should count your stars, for you happen to be in the presence of the preeminent scholar on the very topic. For that, I wish to tell you of an age of wonder. Of magic, and beauty, and purity in all shapes and forms. One that you would do well to appreciate. We name our own era the Second Halcyon for a reason; you are the lucky few who live in the central, golden hearth of Elven perfection. Our second perfection, one that must be preserved.
So where might we begin? Long ago, there were those of awe and beauty. So mysterious and epic is scale they were, it is hard to comprehend their vast influence on the realm we inhabit today, shaping not only its constitution, but also its physics, its composition, even its very presence at all. We know them now as The Paragons, sometimes spoken by the name Progenitors. It is said their very forms and selves shaped us into whom we are today as a race. However, this was not without a long period of isolation and meditation in the lands of the Fey, giving us our deep connection to the fey and the Weave itself. But it is said that all things must come to pass. And so The Paragons abandoned their forms, and we were the result. What were their forms? How were we created? Little can be said, as very little information still exists of these ancient days. But through our tying to this mortal coil of a universe, we were bound to appreciate all life and beauty, as the true Elves we are, in all our many shapes and splendors. The world that The Paragons had left, however, was filled with terrors. When we stepped, barefoot and brimming with hope, upon the realms of Rakuen, we were greeted by none other than suffering under the tremendous claw of our dreaded rivals: that of the notorious dragons, and their Draconic Pantheon; tyrants of the realm, these reptiles sought to claim dominion over all. And so they did, for who can resist the immense power, wit, and cunning of such masterful foes? Who could free themselves from the horrors of violence, from the terrors of enslavement, and from the impunity of dominion? And so our ancestors knew, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this duty was to fall upon us. We launched out, with vigor and righteous fury against the hordes or dragons in the First Draconic War. And how we were defeated. Thousands of years, and tens of thousands of lives, for what? Violence, and little more. We were pushed back to our feeble encampments in the feywild, licking our wounds. But time passed, and we prepared ourselves. Their slavery of this world would not stand. For nearly twenty-thousand years, we launched upon the Second Draconic War. Much was lost in the Second Draconic War, and the suffering was unspeakable. And yet, finally, after immense struggling and pain, a truce. We had both reached the limits of our magics, of our powers, of our willingness to continue scrabbling for dominance. Perhaps the heroic Elvish warriors truly bested the Draconic menace; perhaps the Dragons, in their infinite wisdom, calculated the odds and saw them as folly. Regardless, our minds met, and so the wars came to an end in the light and the favor of all good mortals upon this realm. So rang out the Realm of the Fey, and the beginning of The First Halcyon.
To say that The First Halcyon was not a true marvel is to discount all that we are, dear pupils. Twenty-thousand years, my children. Twenty-thousand years of life was given to us by our ancestors in The First Halcyon. For our long lives, our great health, and our connection to the Weave taught us what we must do. The superiority of our selves made us natural rulers for all. And so we sought out on that very mission, to liberate and civilize all the free mortals of this plane. Our intelligence and grace could save them, protect them, and improve their short, whimsical lots in life in ways they had never had the beauty to know under the tyrannical threat of the dragons. It was not simply a goal, but a deep-seated duty of our race and culture. Most prominently of all, this was a time of unabashed learning and research. Yes, the stereotypes are most certainly true, we are fond of are meditations and our magics, learning all we can in the time we are given in our individual lives. But never had a time been so ideal, so free from the normal tribulations that our ancient ancestors had known. Finally, peace. And we used that opportunity of peace to find out what being an elf truly could be, the absolute apex of our species. We delved into High Magic, we delved into the arcane, and we delved into the natural and druidic. We learned of all species, of all races, of all beasts and aberrations. And we used this knowledge to teach all. We created the first Academies of Magic upon this realm, teaching the lesser races of all they could wish to learn of the Arcane. We built endless, beautiful cities straight from the mountains themselves, pure and white of marble as if they had been carved by The Eternals themselves. We explored every corner of this beautiful world, and spread our perfection and intelligence to all, with no restriction. There would be none who would suffer under hand or claw again. It might strike you as curious, but there were no Elven Empires in those days. So long ago it was, we did not have such ambitions. We sought unity through democracy, a dirty word these days. Sure certainly there are some who espouse such flexible spirits of governance, for all their flaws. But in The First Halcyon, the ideas were perfected, overseen what is said to be fairness and justice. All had their say, and all had their rights and duties to the societies. When the Great Clans met, it was always with pleasantry and appreciation. What could bind so many together? For nothing else but the betterment of all. Grand talks were said to be had, ones of alliance with the Uplifted Orcs of Ozymandius, to great moots among the dragons, to uplifting the feeble humans and pacifying the rebellious Dwarves. Despite our differences, still, all were welcome, and all had a voice; none were given judgement based on skin or stoutness, on intelligence or ability. This is what allowed such flourishing of our times. Rakuen became a playground for beauty and adventure. Cities that stretched upon the horizon, interwoven with nature. Vast forests spanning continents wide, fertile with fey and beast alike. A true paradise on earth. It was truly said to be a realm with no equal. But so it is in the name. The First Halcyon, one of two. What ever may have happened to such a pristine piece of our history? Thus is the fatal flaw of the Elvish people: our hubris. How we look at our actions with optimism, with excitement, and with reckless abandon. For it was the summoning of Elysium Fields that was to be our ultimate downfall. This name, Elysium Fields, Elysia, they speak toward ancient legends; fantastical places of mythos and perfection. And they are not lies. Nay, they are truths! If one delves deep enough within the recesses of ancient Elven history, what little still yet exists, one can find scant tales of Elysium. An ancient realm of The Paragons, one that is said to be beyond both time and space, one that is said to be far, far away from even Rakuen itself, far into the distance of the cosmos. How we were said to have labored to find such a place, but to no avail, hidden as it was, somewhere out there... But what if it wasn't hidden? It was our birthright. If we could not find it there, what was to say we could not bring it here? We were Elves, gods-dammit! We could do anything! But with a little time, and a little patience, we could only dream of all we could achieve. And so we set out upon the greatest quest of Elvenkind: to bring a slice of our ancestral home to Rakuen. The arcane abilities were said to be monumental, continent spanning rituals; the components for such a spell would be unfathomable, and yet, they were gathered and conceived; the amount of life, raw life given to such a noble goal was incalculable, particularly of those of the greatest minds of all Elvenkind, cast to the winds forever and never to be seen again. And yet, for such a goal, for a goal to return to an eternal homeland, there was no equal measure. The preparations were made, and everything was set into motion. And then, after it all, tragedy. We succeeded. Elysium was brought to us, here upon Rakuen. And yet, that which does not belong can never be. As it entered this reality, our magic ripped and tore at the seams. We attempted to force a dull knife through cloth, and were flabbergasted that it cut through. The cataclysm that resulted is said to be incalculable, worse than anything recounted in all history. It was said that if nothing was done, all would have been lost. Instead, our race was cursed, and the souls of our greatest mages amassed in what is now known as The Dirge. For what it was worth, it was a gift in a way to all other races for our folly; we gifted all races a taste of immortality through reincarnation through the devoured souls of our brethren. And yet, one could only hope for reincarnation, as the magic storms, the violent tremors that cracked the crust of Rakuen, and the splitting of land and sea killed millions upon millions. It was this action that sent The Eternals into their hermitage, deep within the Nevermore. We had shamed our ancient gods, and they wished not to look upon us. And it was this, that a new enemy arose. For it was The Caitiffs that assumed control, clinging to power angrily. They sought our punishment, our penitence for the ills we had caused. Deserved or not, The Caitiffs acted swiftly and without remorse. The stripped all Elves of our Reverie, forcing us into a cloud of dream. Then they sealed The Dirge, the one thing connecting all to their cycles of reincarnation, robbing all Elves of a chance to see a proper future and past. How many lives were squelched in the thousands of years between the Sealing of the Dirge and the reopening; how many ancient Elven lineages were destroyed entirely, never to return again, and completely eliminating all our memories of the place we so longed to bring upon this realm in Elysia.
This is why we tell this story. Our memory of our foolishness is our true penitence. Not this imprisonment away from our perfection, from our minds, from our lives. No, we remember our past to not replicate it upon our future. The First Halcyon is a garden of eden, tens of thousands of years of happiness and harmony ruined by an eager, childlike desire to do anything. Pupils, remember this, in everything you do: we are not perfect. We are merely the best this world is given, and we must not discount what that means. The power we weird is immeasurable. We are world destroyers, purity annihilators, but only if we forget ourselves. And that is what we live for here in The Second Halcyon, in an age dedicated to our true ideals: the protection of all, from all that threatens this realm, whatever the cost may be. Never forget the strength Elves have to cause great beauty and great terror, just like the dragons before us, and just like the gods before them. We are merely the next step upon a long line of divinity, one that we must respect at every footfall. -Pierr'ima Veçois "An academic pontification on The First Halcyon."
So where might we begin? Long ago, there were those of awe and beauty. So mysterious and epic is scale they were, it is hard to comprehend their vast influence on the realm we inhabit today, shaping not only its constitution, but also its physics, its composition, even its very presence at all. We know them now as The Paragons, sometimes spoken by the name Progenitors. It is said their very forms and selves shaped us into whom we are today as a race. However, this was not without a long period of isolation and meditation in the lands of the Fey, giving us our deep connection to the fey and the Weave itself. But it is said that all things must come to pass. And so The Paragons abandoned their forms, and we were the result. What were their forms? How were we created? Little can be said, as very little information still exists of these ancient days. But through our tying to this mortal coil of a universe, we were bound to appreciate all life and beauty, as the true Elves we are, in all our many shapes and splendors. The world that The Paragons had left, however, was filled with terrors. When we stepped, barefoot and brimming with hope, upon the realms of Rakuen, we were greeted by none other than suffering under the tremendous claw of our dreaded rivals: that of the notorious dragons, and their Draconic Pantheon; tyrants of the realm, these reptiles sought to claim dominion over all. And so they did, for who can resist the immense power, wit, and cunning of such masterful foes? Who could free themselves from the horrors of violence, from the terrors of enslavement, and from the impunity of dominion? And so our ancestors knew, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this duty was to fall upon us. We launched out, with vigor and righteous fury against the hordes or dragons in the First Draconic War. And how we were defeated. Thousands of years, and tens of thousands of lives, for what? Violence, and little more. We were pushed back to our feeble encampments in the feywild, licking our wounds. But time passed, and we prepared ourselves. Their slavery of this world would not stand. For nearly twenty-thousand years, we launched upon the Second Draconic War. Much was lost in the Second Draconic War, and the suffering was unspeakable. And yet, finally, after immense struggling and pain, a truce. We had both reached the limits of our magics, of our powers, of our willingness to continue scrabbling for dominance. Perhaps the heroic Elvish warriors truly bested the Draconic menace; perhaps the Dragons, in their infinite wisdom, calculated the odds and saw them as folly. Regardless, our minds met, and so the wars came to an end in the light and the favor of all good mortals upon this realm. So rang out the Realm of the Fey, and the beginning of The First Halcyon.
To say that The First Halcyon was not a true marvel is to discount all that we are, dear pupils. Twenty-thousand years, my children. Twenty-thousand years of life was given to us by our ancestors in The First Halcyon. For our long lives, our great health, and our connection to the Weave taught us what we must do. The superiority of our selves made us natural rulers for all. And so we sought out on that very mission, to liberate and civilize all the free mortals of this plane. Our intelligence and grace could save them, protect them, and improve their short, whimsical lots in life in ways they had never had the beauty to know under the tyrannical threat of the dragons. It was not simply a goal, but a deep-seated duty of our race and culture. Most prominently of all, this was a time of unabashed learning and research. Yes, the stereotypes are most certainly true, we are fond of are meditations and our magics, learning all we can in the time we are given in our individual lives. But never had a time been so ideal, so free from the normal tribulations that our ancient ancestors had known. Finally, peace. And we used that opportunity of peace to find out what being an elf truly could be, the absolute apex of our species. We delved into High Magic, we delved into the arcane, and we delved into the natural and druidic. We learned of all species, of all races, of all beasts and aberrations. And we used this knowledge to teach all. We created the first Academies of Magic upon this realm, teaching the lesser races of all they could wish to learn of the Arcane. We built endless, beautiful cities straight from the mountains themselves, pure and white of marble as if they had been carved by The Eternals themselves. We explored every corner of this beautiful world, and spread our perfection and intelligence to all, with no restriction. There would be none who would suffer under hand or claw again. It might strike you as curious, but there were no Elven Empires in those days. So long ago it was, we did not have such ambitions. We sought unity through democracy, a dirty word these days. Sure certainly there are some who espouse such flexible spirits of governance, for all their flaws. But in The First Halcyon, the ideas were perfected, overseen what is said to be fairness and justice. All had their say, and all had their rights and duties to the societies. When the Great Clans met, it was always with pleasantry and appreciation. What could bind so many together? For nothing else but the betterment of all. Grand talks were said to be had, ones of alliance with the Uplifted Orcs of Ozymandius, to great moots among the dragons, to uplifting the feeble humans and pacifying the rebellious Dwarves. Despite our differences, still, all were welcome, and all had a voice; none were given judgement based on skin or stoutness, on intelligence or ability. This is what allowed such flourishing of our times. Rakuen became a playground for beauty and adventure. Cities that stretched upon the horizon, interwoven with nature. Vast forests spanning continents wide, fertile with fey and beast alike. A true paradise on earth. It was truly said to be a realm with no equal. But so it is in the name. The First Halcyon, one of two. What ever may have happened to such a pristine piece of our history? Thus is the fatal flaw of the Elvish people: our hubris. How we look at our actions with optimism, with excitement, and with reckless abandon. For it was the summoning of Elysium Fields that was to be our ultimate downfall. This name, Elysium Fields, Elysia, they speak toward ancient legends; fantastical places of mythos and perfection. And they are not lies. Nay, they are truths! If one delves deep enough within the recesses of ancient Elven history, what little still yet exists, one can find scant tales of Elysium. An ancient realm of The Paragons, one that is said to be beyond both time and space, one that is said to be far, far away from even Rakuen itself, far into the distance of the cosmos. How we were said to have labored to find such a place, but to no avail, hidden as it was, somewhere out there... But what if it wasn't hidden? It was our birthright. If we could not find it there, what was to say we could not bring it here? We were Elves, gods-dammit! We could do anything! But with a little time, and a little patience, we could only dream of all we could achieve. And so we set out upon the greatest quest of Elvenkind: to bring a slice of our ancestral home to Rakuen. The arcane abilities were said to be monumental, continent spanning rituals; the components for such a spell would be unfathomable, and yet, they were gathered and conceived; the amount of life, raw life given to such a noble goal was incalculable, particularly of those of the greatest minds of all Elvenkind, cast to the winds forever and never to be seen again. And yet, for such a goal, for a goal to return to an eternal homeland, there was no equal measure. The preparations were made, and everything was set into motion. And then, after it all, tragedy. We succeeded. Elysium was brought to us, here upon Rakuen. And yet, that which does not belong can never be. As it entered this reality, our magic ripped and tore at the seams. We attempted to force a dull knife through cloth, and were flabbergasted that it cut through. The cataclysm that resulted is said to be incalculable, worse than anything recounted in all history. It was said that if nothing was done, all would have been lost. Instead, our race was cursed, and the souls of our greatest mages amassed in what is now known as The Dirge. For what it was worth, it was a gift in a way to all other races for our folly; we gifted all races a taste of immortality through reincarnation through the devoured souls of our brethren. And yet, one could only hope for reincarnation, as the magic storms, the violent tremors that cracked the crust of Rakuen, and the splitting of land and sea killed millions upon millions. It was this action that sent The Eternals into their hermitage, deep within the Nevermore. We had shamed our ancient gods, and they wished not to look upon us. And it was this, that a new enemy arose. For it was The Caitiffs that assumed control, clinging to power angrily. They sought our punishment, our penitence for the ills we had caused. Deserved or not, The Caitiffs acted swiftly and without remorse. The stripped all Elves of our Reverie, forcing us into a cloud of dream. Then they sealed The Dirge, the one thing connecting all to their cycles of reincarnation, robbing all Elves of a chance to see a proper future and past. How many lives were squelched in the thousands of years between the Sealing of the Dirge and the reopening; how many ancient Elven lineages were destroyed entirely, never to return again, and completely eliminating all our memories of the place we so longed to bring upon this realm in Elysia.
This is why we tell this story. Our memory of our foolishness is our true penitence. Not this imprisonment away from our perfection, from our minds, from our lives. No, we remember our past to not replicate it upon our future. The First Halcyon is a garden of eden, tens of thousands of years of happiness and harmony ruined by an eager, childlike desire to do anything. Pupils, remember this, in everything you do: we are not perfect. We are merely the best this world is given, and we must not discount what that means. The power we weird is immeasurable. We are world destroyers, purity annihilators, but only if we forget ourselves. And that is what we live for here in The Second Halcyon, in an age dedicated to our true ideals: the protection of all, from all that threatens this realm, whatever the cost may be. Never forget the strength Elves have to cause great beauty and great terror, just like the dragons before us, and just like the gods before them. We are merely the next step upon a long line of divinity, one that we must respect at every footfall. -Pierr'ima Veçois "An academic pontification on The First Halcyon."
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