Siniathel

- Under Construction -

As told by an elven Elder, scribed by **Aisling Everglade**.

“A history of our land, our people and the emergence of a new **Blade of Duthan**”

The continent of **Siniathel** was a vast expanse of untouched wilderness. Gigantic, sprawling Meadows covered most of the continent, these bloomed with the most wondrous flowers, every colour imaginable, the scent almost overpowering, intoxicating, but worth tolerating just to gaze upon the sheer beauty of the landscape. Young trees sprouted but remained small as the kaleidoscope of flowers retained most of the nutrients from the earth. Slow flowing rivers and streams cut the landscape but provided precious water to the ever-blooming valleys. Seasons did not seem to exist here, the endless bloom of flowers never ceasing. This land was peaceful. Of course the usual chaos of nature did reign; food webs, hierarchies, predators and prey, but nature is neither good nor evil, it just is, it just exists. That was all there was in this land, all those years ago, a peaceful, gorgeous, almost dream-like panorama, void of anything that would seek to destroy it. However peace and balance can never last forever, and after centuries of perfect stability and equilibrium, this land was on the precipice of something new.

While most of Siniathel was sprawling meadows, the centre of the continent was cut by an immense mountain range – The Spine, it was later named. These mountains were so vast that the very climate surrounding them was altered, the foothills lacked the lush vegetation found elsewhere and were instead covered in woodland and forest. The minerals contained within the mountain ranges seeped down into the foothills, the great glaciers atop the mountains wept and slowly melted, forming great waterfalls and rivers that flowed into the lands below. Perhaps this is why such lushness grew in the Meadows, The Spine, an ugly scar slicing the continent in two, may have been the source of the surrounding beauty. Contrasting the serenity of the Meadows, the mere appearance of the jagged, rocky outcrops of **The Spine** seemed to emanate malice and contempt. How simple rock could evoke such feelings is unknown, however all those that lay eyes upon it would agree, danger lurks there. At night, howls and screams fell down the chasms and cliffs and entered the forests below. The gusts and gales upon the peaks of The Spine were fierce, of this there was no doubt, nothing could live up there, not in such a harsh environment. Rocky, barren peaks, covered in snow and ice, with glaciers, millennia old, were no place for life… Surely? There were caves, deep crevices, holes, endlessly deep, covering the mountains; no one knew how far these protruded into the abyss, nor does anyone alive now. What did it matter, the malice exuding from The Spine would prevent countless generations from ever exploring the outcrops, people would barely venture into the foothills, let alone examine the gaping caverns spread throughout the mountain range.

Yet eventually people did come. The elves found Siniathel first. A peaceful clan, who had left their decaying homeland in search of a better life for their future generations. They found it here, within the lush, untouched Meadows, they were able to start anew, and began to create small colonies dotted throughout the landscape. They were intelligent, clever and knew how to use the land to their advantage. They soon realised that the Meadows, with all their natural beauty, would not easily support sentient life. The swathes of flowers soaked up all nutrients from the ground and provided no structural support from which to build homes and villages. The elves moved towards The Spine, looming upon the horizon like a grey, jagged wall, it could be seen from the coast. They quickly realised that the foothills contained everything needed to start a new civilisation; wood, stone, nutrient-rich earth, suitable for growing crops. Here they built their first settlements, tiny villages at first, each family creating their own temporary home. The elves appreciate beauty however, and while the trees in the foothills were magnificent, towering structures, they did not possess iridescent, colourful petals, the like of which grew at lower altitudes in the great Meadows. Thus the elves sang to the trees, ancient magic woven into their melodies, coaxing the new saplings to migrate ever lower down the foothills, slowly encroaching onto the borders of the Meadows. This was a slow process, however the elven families desired solely that their future generations would want for nothing and could live in this marvellous land free of worry.

As so often happens though, the natural order of things was overlooked. The elves, for all their desire to do good and preserve the land, did not foresee the new forests soaking up ever-growing quantities of nutrients from the mineral-rich, sparkling blue waters of the glacial rivers. As the forests crept down the hillsides, the vast Meadows began to wilt and die, not at a pace that two or even three generations could notice, but it most definitely was happening. Before long the emerald green trees, once only occupying the foothills, now covered great expanses of once blooming Meadow. The dying and decaying flowers enriched the earth, making it even easier for the great trees to gain purchase in these new lands. By the time the majority of the continent was covered in forests, it was barely remembered what this once unique landscape used to look like. The elven families passed down stories to their children of a land covered in colour and wonder, an unbroken sea of rainbows stretching from the base of The Spine, all the way to the sapphire oceans, but by this point that is all they were – stories.

While the Meadows wilted, the elven families did prosper however, they had been able to transform the land into something habitable. They now had an endless supply of materials with which to build, villages and towns sprouted through the forest, now known as **Emeralis** for its brilliant green leaves. These trees did not fruit however, they kept their emerald sheen consistently, never allowing the now monotone landscape to change. New creatures occupied the fresh habitats, they lived beneath the earth, among the roots, within the bark, along the branches, on the leaves, above the very tops of the trees. The magic woven into the trees helping them grow never dispersed, Fey magic coursed through every fibre of the forest, once again, attracting all manner of creature. The elves sang to the forest and a web of paths, roads and trade routes were created. Towns remained small but plentiful, populating every corner of Emeralis. One family of elves, most notably a family that still remembered some notion of the land before the sea of wood, created small clearings in their nearby woodland, glades, allowing sunlight to permeate through the trees, touch the earth and bring fresh light to a now monoculture environment. These elves sang to the little plants and flowers that spawned in these clearings, allowing colour to once again return to Emeralis, however the amount was atone to a single pine needle in a never-ending forest. These small flowers would never come close to the spectacular glory of the Meadows, however they offered a miniscule glimpse into the past, a notion of what life once was, and a reminder of how balance is always finite. This family of elves became known as the **Everglades**, and they were celebrated for understanding Emeralis more deeply than any other Elven family around.

Around this time is when The Spine took on its name. As the trade-routes developed it was debated whether it would ever be possible to pass over the great mountain range, so called because it resembled a long-dead creature, its jagged vertebrae jutting out into the endless sky. Expeditions were sent out to explore the higher foothills, few returned, the notion was given up on as quickly as a sapling dies to a frost. The disturbance caused a change however, new creatures were sighted in Emeralis, never before seen, perhaps awoken from the caverns in The Spine. The once peaceful lives of the Elven families, needing to protect themselves from naught, was starting to wilt, like those flowers generations ago. Philosophers and tree-weavers, farmers and architects, librarians and elders, all quickly had to learn how to protect themselves from the monstrous creatures venturing down from The Spine.

It was around this time that humans discovered Siniathel. They quickly settled the extremities of the continent, just on the borders of Emeralis, where once was Meadow was now just pastures of long grass, again, emerald green, another sea of monotony. The land between forest and sea became home to humans in the span of a generation. Humans, after all, act a lot faster than elves tend to. A huge, prospering city was erected – **Amaron**. To the humans this land seemed the epitome of beauty, if only they knew what once existed, they would have thought themselves to be in a dream, or in the Fey-wilds, or having consumed some of the many mushroom varieties found within the forest. It took a long while for the humans to realise there was other sentient life found within Emeralis. The elves, of course, knew instantly that humans were colonising their once peaceful world and they attempted to keep to themselves, remaining deep within the forest, but as is often the case, a few troublesome individuals could not maintain the secrecy. Soon negotiations were made, treaties were signed, and it was quickly decided that the elves would inhabit the dark forests and the humans would remain on the sunlit plains bordering the ocean. Trade-routes were established, alliances struck, and it seemed peace would return to Siniathel. Alas, peace these days has become a façade, and a fast approaching calamity would shake the fragile union between the races.

The calamity was known as **Zalcaros**. One fateful night, while human revellers were partying in the streets of Amaron and elves were observing distant, twinkling constellations in the sky, the moon disappeared. It happened in an instant, the silver orb in the night sky was completely obscured. Great gusts of wind, now more commonly recounted as a hurricane, blew across the emerald plains and through the great trees of Emeralis. Roof tiles and shutters from houses in Amaron fell and shattered, branches in the expansive forest snapped, huge waves were blown all the way from the ocean down the rivers into the heart of the continent. Then came the roar. An ear-splitting and horrifying sound emanated from the night sky. The calamity was alive. Elves and humans alike thought this was the end of all life on Siniathel. There was no describing the sheer scale of this creature that blocked out the moon, created hurricanes and tsunamis with its wings, and deafened any living being too close. It would later become known that Zalcaros was an Ancient Silver Dragon, one of the last of his kind. To this day little is known of Silver Dragons, they appear to be sentient creatures, possessing scales as hard as granite, usually toned from shocking white to mottled glacial blue. They never cease to grow, theoretically able to grow to the size of a continent if enough prey is available. Sharp, jagged spikes covering their spine and a whip-like tailed is often tipped with an arrowhead shaped point. When they mature they are able to breath frost or, more accurately, crippling cold. The freezing breath of a Silver Dragon is so frigid that it is invisible to the human eye; all that can be seen is a slight vibration in the air before you, almost like a mirage, and that is often the last thing their foes will ever see. It is said they possess deep magic and resonate with unforetold power, however no one knows the truth of this.

Little did the inhabitants of Siniathel know however that Zalcaros was severely injured. He shot through the night sky, screeching and screaming in wrath and fury, uncaring of what lay beneath him. Giant droplets of dragon blood fell from the sky and burnt and stained the earth beneath him. He traversed half the continent in a matter of minutes before the immense beast lost consciousness and collided with The Spine. The impact was felt as far as the isles off the coast, earthquakes spread across the continent, momentary but devastating. A portion of The Spine crumbled and fell, causing age old glaciers to shatter and rock to vaporise. The devastation was unrivalled. The dragon lay amongst the mountainous wreckage for 12 years, all that knew of him thought the beast dead. Yet one night the gales returned, trees bent, signage on taverns creaked in the wind, ripples and waves coursed down the rivers – Zalcaros had left.

A huge portion of mountain had been crushed, revealing deep caverns extruding into the heart of The Spine. The elven families banded together to explore the crash site and to their wonderment discovered swathes of gems and jewels scattered throughout the rocky debris. Obsidian also littered the mountainside, perhaps created under the immense heat and pressure of a gigantic dragon crashing into the earth. Some of the gems developed naturally within The Spine and the elven families collected these – not for their value, but for their beauty, and the dream that they could return colour to the landscape. These families called upon their most skilled tree-weavers and offered the gems to the trees. Jewels became encrusted in their bark, shining and glimmering and giving the forests a newfound beauty. The Everglades, admired by all, were given first choice of the gems they would gather. Amongst the ruins of the mountainside they found jet-black Onyx, which oddly stirred and swirled with cloudy, shadow magic. This was not formed in The Spine, but must have been encrusted into the dragons scales, from his hoard, slowly absorbing his energy and seemed to contain Dark magic. The Everglades chose the Onyx, collected every single fragment of this gemstone, and hid them away deep in their villages, with plans to study them and discover the dragons secrets.

Humans learnt of the great treasure trove that had been unearthed and did seek to claim a portion for their own. Seeing only the monetary value however, the elves prevented them from obtaining any gems and ensured they were hidden away in the depths of Emeralis. The treaties fell apart and a violent war ensued, in which elves and humans alike were slaughtered. The elves had had enough of this land, besieged by creatures descending from The Spine and humans cutting through their beloved Emeralis, they decided to leave. Not all of them, but many families gathered their precious tomes and artifacts and made towards the oceans, in search of another, more peaceful home. As the war ended, neither side victorious, but both decimated, humans and elves came to live together, needing each other to now survive and protect themselves from worse creatures than each other. This great war somehow led to unity and elves and humans now lived throughout the forest and in the sprawling pastures close to the ocean. The two races intertwined, half-elves were born for the first time on this continent and life was once again able to pursue a calmer course. The majority of the roads and trade-routes, no longer maintained by tree-weavers, became overgrown, and many villages were separated, forced to fend for themselves in the dark depths of Emeralis. Some old elves could still navigate the undergrowth and these lessons were passed on to their offspring. Amaron still prospered, the capital city of the humans, being so close to the ocean, was able to trade with other continents while the war had raged.

A small town called **Simarue**, found in the very heart of Emeralis, also thrived. The inhabitants here, elven and human, were able to live in harmony whilst protecting themselves from the dark creatures of The Spine. An elven woman, a historian, a keeper of ancient secrets lived here and eventually met a travelling human man, his trade was blacksmith. They fell for each other and built a small wooden abode, on the edge of a nearby glade, tiny but iridescent flowers visible from their creaky wooden windows. After a while they had a child, a boy, who became enthralled with the world he lived in, the playground of giant trees and never-ending mystery. He learnt to hunt, animals at first, then creatures of The Spine and Fey. He became agile, silent, completely and unforgivingly at home in this dangerous forest. He travelled the old roads, ventured through dense undergrowth to find secrets lost for generations. He visited Amaron and learnt of the fickleness of man. Here he realised how much he could earn, in money and in knowledge, for his ability to kill without being seen. After a while he started to question his morality, his goals, his ideals and eventually decided to return to Simarue to be with his family once again. Upon returning he found his father had been brutally killed by a monster while trying to protect his wife, their glade and their home. The mother was distraught, but welcomed the son back wanting to hear of his travels. She gifted him a silver ring adorned with a midnight sky gem, swirling with shadowy magic, an onyx. The son had immediately given up on any ideas he previously had to question his ethics and morality and swore revenge on all creatures of evil, whether they had the ability to change their path or not. Armed with a deep knowledge of Emeralis, a dark fire in his heart, the ability to kill from a distance, a sturdy bow with piercing arrows, and a mind full of fury, he set out in search of evil, whether it be creature or sentient life. He became a shadow of death, a whisper of demise, a murmur of revenge. His name was Lyceth Everglade.