Interview with a First Elf - Origin of Bil Hanna

**Interview with a First Elf - History of Bil Hanna**

“It is so grand to finally meet you, madam! I am Orello, ne’er-do-well, historian, and traveller extraordinaire, happily at your service!” the ostentatiously dressed man crooned out as he swept his feathered hat in a long and low arc, bowing almost daintily at the waist. “I cannot express how happy I was to see that you finally accepted my offer to record the history of your proud people’s illustrious past, Lady Llanian.”

The long-limbed elven woman before him, nearly a head taller than the man, looked down with mirthlessly pale eyes. “*You have been sending requests to my embassy for nearly six fortnights now…*”

“Indeed I have! It is good to know that finally one made its way to your desk! The man who always greeted me seemed of dour disposition, thus I concluded he would be disinclined in his foul humor to ever carry on my inquiries.”

“*The man you are speaking of, is my Husband.*” Her voice as cold as a Northern winter night.

“I am sure he is a much more lively and agreeable man in private!” Orello responded, twisting his handlebar mustache with a gloved hand. “Now, since I am here it is to assumed that you have agreed to the terms I listed on my dispatch?”

“*I attempted hiring a Truefolk Auditor to end you, but you are apparently known, and the cost required to do so would be prohibitive with Slegorian Deep Callers not taking work this far from the sea.” she states matter-of-factly, raising a hand to brush a long white-blonde lock behind her ear. “It seems that this will be the easiest way to get rid of you without killing you myself.*”

Orello smiled broadly while lowering himself, without invite, into one of the beautifully carved chairs in the Embassy. “I am flattered, I assure you, that you put so much thought into my humble being. I am even happier still that a clear historical record will finally be available to the races of man.”

“*Encroachers. Outsiders...*” Llanian growls, one slender hand pressed against her temple.

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.” Orello countered, unphased. “Now, the first question I have…”

“*Silence yourself for a moment. I will speak. You will record. When I am done, you will leave posthaste and I will quicken on the Fading so I may forget you ever graced my door.*”

“That seems a little…”

“*Shut up.*”

“Yes, Madam.”

“*In the beginning there was darkness. A great sea of aether...*”

“Aether you say? I’m not familiar with term. Would you care to elaborate on its finer points?”

“*It has not the appropriate geometry to possess points. Now if I may continue, great sea of aether in which great things both large and small drifted in perpetual silence. Great beings of great potential.*”

“You certainly enjoy using the word “great” a lot. One would presume a being with such a vast intellect would be capable of using synonyms. However, I suppose it’s more a matter of charisma.” Orello stated rather matter-of-factly.

Llanian paused, her face unflinching; Orello felt her stare turn to icy daggers.

“Fine, fine, I know when my banter is not welcome.” Orello said as he let out a soft sigh. “Continue, without further interruption.”

“*This was eternity, an existence in which time and life did not matter. There came a moment when all that changed. The peoples and faiths of Bil Hanna argue greatly about its exact events, but all of them have one thread in common: the coming of the Light. With the Light came perception.  Existence, now with weight and measure, was alien to these beings. This newly found tangibility acting to limit what was once limitless, defining what was once indefinable. For some of these Great Things, so intune with the aether, were crushed by the weight of their own magnificence. Only their warped husks were left to float amongst the Light, truly a grim reminder of the terrible pain placing limits on things can cause. Not all shared this fate though. Some were driven mad, while far more were torn asunder. Their fragments birthed into aether as Lesser Things. Some of them fled to the far reaches of the aether, in a vain attempt to outrun the painful existence that is self-awareness. Yet still, many of the Lesser Things remained and began to orbit those Great Things that survived, protected by the power of their own will. Which is how we get our moons, Toketos and Nilisar, and our Star, Raklotz. We live upon Bil Hanna’s shell, truly the Greatest of Things.*"

Orello squirmed in his chair like a school boy and just like one was unable to hold his tongue, “A shell, m’lady? Like, a mollusk?”

“*Like a turtle.*” Llanian responded, flatly.

“A Turtle?! Are you...”

A mean spirited smile grew on her pretty, thin lips as she took her turn at interrupting. “*Yes. It is the only thing familiar for an uncouth fellow as yourself, that her shell can be compared to.*”

“Pardon me, madam, but how would one know? Has anyone gone high enough to perceive her? I mean, it sounds an awful lot like Dis...”

Her face becomes like slate again. “*I am speaking.*” Orello makes a zipping motion across his mouth as she continued.

Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, she appeared to be collecting her thoughts, only to give a shudder instead. “*I have concluded. Gather your things and…*”

“Madam.” For once Orello’s voice sounds grave. “You cannot simply move past the Black Blood in our history. You seem to be leaving that topic totally untouched.”

Llanian huffs indignantly, “*Well, you already seem to know. How can one not? Why you would have me repeat…*”

“Because, M’lady, not to be rude, but it is rumored that you have not chosen to Fade as far as others of your kind. It is said, you remember when it first came.” Orello’s voice was not cruel but it carried more strength with it now, along with a soft tone of pleading. “They say you remember the first time that Ichor rose to the surface. There is but one other and she does not leave her White Tower but once every few centuries. M’Lady Llanian. Or as those in ages past called you, Allanianatamara. The Seal-Crafter. Blight-Ender. You saved Bil Hanna, and your average person doesn’t even know what from. The cycles of Black Blood, or Dark Tide as the immigrants call it, is taken as something as simple as the earthquakes or storms.”

The guards in the room tensed as the unwavering facade of their Patron finally broke, her visage somewhere between anger and anguish. She raised a hand to still the room and spoke in a quiet voice. “*I have Faded most of it. There is pain in those years. Pain and failures. Last chances and dangerous gambles. I was not there for the first, only the Scholar remembers those years, but I was there for those that followed.*” She reached up, and wiped a tear from her eye with the sleeve of her gown, all decorum gone. “*Our world is ill.*” Those last words barely holding back a sob.

Carefully, Orello moved closer, pulling a Takoian silk hanky from his jacket and handing it to the First Elf's shaking hands. “How is she ill? Please, tell me what you know. If we ever want this to end, we need to know. The world needs to know.”

A little bit of defiance shone through her eyes as she shuddered and stood, squaring her shoulders and meeting his eyes. “*It isn’t known exactly but there are theories. Some more ludicrous than others. What we know we know from our lost allies, the Smaragdine. They were of the Shell, as we were of the Sky, and the Dwarves were of the Land. They told us that one of the Lesser Things could not find succor when the Light came. It found solace in our world, stowing away into Bil Hanna’s shell with her. It seeks to grow. It seeks to spread its will to the other Greater beings of the aether. When it calls, it bleeds. When it bleeds, the other Greater beings come.*”

“Then the…” Orello added hastily, wrapping an arm around her slender shoulders.

Her chin dropped to her chest and she whispered, “*That is enough. No more.*”

“I have so many questions I…”

“*There are no answers…*”

“Please, Allanianatamara, just a few….”

She then looked up at him, her eyes glowing faintly with a dull blue. Orello took a step back. He has never seen a First Elf, one of the Children of Light as they called themselves, purposely fade away a memory before. He knew it was too late. He had pushed too far with his persistence and effectively destroyed the last known Seal-Crafter. The only being other than a Dragon-King, who had directly fought the Black Blood, the Source of the Tide, and won. As he watched the blue fade and her eyebrows knit, his heart became wracked with grief, tears stinging his eyes.

Suddenly, her head snapped up, contempt in her eyes. “*Human. I have no idea who you are or why you are here, but if you do not take your grubby, immigrant hands off me, I will hang you by your fingertips from the precipice of my tower, until your bones crack, your tendons snap and you fall to your death. Frail and fingerless! And if you are lucky, the crows will peck you to death first.*”

Orello, straightening himself, wiping tears from his eyes and bows deeply as he backed away. “My apologies, ma’am. I have done all the damage I think I can stomach this day.” He placed his hat upon his head and turned to exit the embassy just as she turned back toward the stairs of the tower. Heavy-hearted and full of shame, he only made it a few steps out the front door before he felt the rough stab of a spear butt in his side. Landing hard on the cobblestones of the street, the teeth on the right side of his mouth feeling loose as his face made impact. One by one, the Embassy guards came. They kicked him with great ferocity, until his blood stained his elaborate brocade vest. Eyes squeezed shut, he didn’t even struggle.

He wasn’t the least bit surprised at their parting threat. “*If you show up here again, a long and gruesome death is the best thing you’ll hope to find. A slow death even for a Child of the Light.*” Orello laid in the street a long time. He wasn’t even angry at the beating, it was the least he deserved.