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Darmon follows the ancient elder into his hut. From the inside, the dwelling is remarkably comfortable. Though the outer view gives the
impression of a cramped space between the boughs of a tree, once the
doorway is breached there is no way to distinguish the camouflaged house
from a comparable human cottage. Darmon begins to ask as to the method
used to accomplish this effect, but is quickly cut off by the words of
the elven leader.
"How long were you under the apprenticeship of Garem?" Halted mid-step by the elf's words, Darmon takes a moment to answer.
"Nine... nine years."
"And when did he first teach you the arts of spell casting?" This
question causes visible distress within Darmon. Again he answers
slowly.
"Just over a year ago..."
His elven addresser bows his head as this last statement comes to rest
between them. Just over a year... Just over a year and now this same
child will be called upon to defeat a foe over a thousand years old???
It cannot be done. The elf lifts his head.
"Thank you for your time. Go outside and find Siltran. He will direct
you back to your home."
"What???"
"We had prayed that your experience would be far greater than it is.
To train you to fight such a foe would be suicide. For yourself and for
us. You may stay the evening here with us. Tomorrow you will head..."
"BUT WHERE WILL I GO?!?" The elder is almost knocked off balance by
the sudden eruption. He is not used to being interrupted, nor even
yelled at for that matter. Darmon picks up his exclamation and
continues with the thought.
"My home is gone, burned in this demon's fires. Garem, the closest
person I had to a father, died with it. The people of Deersbrooke, the
only human habitation within 90 miles, hate and fear me. I have no
where else to go. Let me stay. I never even meant to fight that
creature for you..."
"What???" the elder asks.
"I said I never meant to fight your enemy. I went with Siltran only
because he was saving me from the townspeople. It was after I was out
of danger that I realized I had nowhere else to turn to. So I went with
him. Not because I wanted to fight for you but because there was no
other choice."
"Hmm..." the elder says. "I see. This village is not the place for
you. If none can be found to battle Tar-Rael, it will burn as quickly
as your cottage. No one will survive, including you. Don't you think
your chances would be better elsewhere?" Darmon mumbles something under
his breath.
"What was that?" asks the elder. Darmon looks up suddenly, surprised
that such an old man's ears could have even picked up the sound.
"I said, 'What good are chances if the prize isn't worth winning?'."
The elder refocuses his eyes on Darmon, their color bright with renewed
respect.
"Though you cannot fight on the battlefield, you still show wisdom
beyond other human's of your age. You remind me..... you remind me of
Garem when he was but a young boy." Darmon's face lights up as the
reassuring words begin to flow from the elder's lips. "Very well, I
will allow you to remain here under one condition."
"Anything."
"You must learn the ways of our people. Study our customs, knowledge,
and ideals."
"Of course... But why would you want me to--"
"Because you will tell the world of us after we are gone. No one
wishes to be forgotten. We are no exception." The obvious reference to
the coming battle and the inevitable destruction of the elves sends
sudden shivers through Darmon's frame. He knows he cannot refuse the
offer.
"Okay," Darmon whispers.
"Thank you."
And with that the two leave the hut to inform the other elves of their
decision. The conversation with the rest of the tribe is brief. No
questions are raised nor are any doubts apparent. The elven acceptance
of fate is truly astonishing. Each, in turn, nods their head and
continues back to their daily labors. Not a tear is shed... except by
Darmon.
"How?" he asks. "How can you face death so easily?" The elder turns
and responds.
"We do not confront our fears because we are brave. We face them
because we are afraid... afraid of the unknown."
"But I thought..." Darmon begins.
"Thought that we had fought him in the past?" The elder concludes.
Yes, we have battled Tar-Rael before..." The elder seems to lose
himself in thought.
"What?"
"It is not important," the elder states suddenly.
"Siltran promised me that you would answer all my questions." The
elder slowly nods his head.
"He did, did he? Very well then. I will keep his promise. Besides,
if you are to chronicle our life you must also know the manner of our
demise. Follow me."
The elder walks off, leaving Darmon to follow. Darmon finds himself
led through the thick forest that constitutes the northern boundary of
the village. It is several moments before he realizes that he is
actually on a path, though overgrown and almost invisible from lack of
use.
"Why doesn't anyone use this path?" Darmon asks.
"Be patient. Hold your questions until our goal is reached."
So the journey continues thus, for a period that grows from a few
minutes to half of an hour. At last, after what seems to Darmon like
ages, the two come upon a semi-cleared patch in the forest. There is
nothing remarkable about it, no outstanding features. The forest simply
thins slightly and a little sunlight is let through the treetops.
Nothing more.
"Is this it???" asks Darmon.
"Yes, this is it." the elder replies.
"I'm afraid I don't understand... Why have you taken me here?"
"Because this is where it all began......"
"Where what all began?"
"1000 years ago a great battle was fought at this site. At the time,
it was cleared of all vegetation, leaving enough room for an elven city
the size of which this plane has never seen since. Nearly 300,000 elves
lived upon this ground, taking bounty from the forest and growing deep
fields of crops upon a vast series of mats that covered the forest
canopy. All lived without fear of hunger or disease. All that was
needed was provided for them. Such was the utopia our ancestors
created... or so they thought. Then one day, everything changed."
The elder continues, "One morning, all woke up to a black sky, lacking
stars or moon. They waited and waited, but daylight never came. All
came running to the wisest among them for help, but they could
understand the problem no better than anyone else. How could they?
They were all blinded by the same flash of reality. None realized that
once one had seen everything... knew everything, there was no more
reason to look upon the world. That morning all went black. And so was
foreshadowed the first coming of Tar-Rael."
"Out of the blackened void their minds had created, a new light began
to shine through. It was like nothing any of them had every seen or
even imagined. They traveled towards that light, thinking it their
passageway back to the world they had lost. And so they gathered around
the point where the light met their darkened world. They stood silently
in awe as a great being of light and fire was born from the shear power
of their thought. The story says that they looked almost grateful when
their hopeful savior consumed them all, a city of 300,000, within his
flames of liquid fire."
"At that moment the rest of the elven world was shaken as if out of a
sound sleep. They knew what had happened. They knew they were in
danger. And so the scattered tribes banded together to stop this
enemy. It was at this time that they first gave him a name. Tar-Rael,
'Lure of Death'. Quite fitting, I think."
"So Tar-Rael marched from this spot into the deepest regions of the
Llanowar. Great fires burned high when he encountered a village not yet
abandoned. Some had no warning of his approach. In such cases their
own homes became their funeral pyres. It continued like this for
several months. Those elves who were able to escape rushed deeper and
deeper into the forest, seeking out the resistance movement that slowly
grew in a place of relentless shadows farther to the north. This place,
Deep Shadow, became their home. They were among the last of the ancient
breed of elves."
"From this darkness they knew they could not escape. To leave would be
death, to remain suicide. So they combined their knowledge. They
peered deep into the void from which Tar-Rael had been born. Giving
their very souls to the search, they came upon a great savior. A human
mage of powers yet unequalled to this day. He drew his great might from
the oceans and plains. He possessed the magic to control the chaos my
ancestors unleashed. He went only by the name of Sachelle, and was the
great ancestor of Garemto Sachelle, known to you as Garem."
"Garem was descended from Sachelle???" Darmon repeats in wonder. "He
never told me..."
"That's because he never knew. We feared any possibility that Tar-Rael
might destroy him before the time for battle had come. As we said
before, we are immune to his effects on the mind. Humans, however...
He can control them with ease. Even read their thoughts. But somehow,
he knew. Perhaps he has always known. But allow me to continue with
the story."
"So these Elves of Deep Shadow sent out a summons for Sachelle. They
combined their energies to pull mana from the isles of Svardora, the
mountains of Balduvia, the plains of Kjeldor, the swamps at Planarshene,
and the great forest that was their home. They weaved this magical
energy into a simple message... 'Help us.' They sent it out across the
land, hoping above all else that it might reach his ears. It did, and
so he came."
"The elves awoke one morning to the sound of muffled footsteps through
their encampment. Thinking that Tar-Rael had managed to sneak up among
them, they were instead greeted by an aging man dressed in robes of
simple cloth. They knew instantly that they looked upon a master.
Before them stood the answer to their prayers. Sachelle. His dress was
that of a commoner and yet he reeked of power. His eyes flashed as if
under sudden exposure to light even when there was none to be found.
When he spoke he commanded all attention. His very essence spoke of
purity and control."
"That day Sachelle left the encampment. Few words had been passed
between himself and the elves who had summoned him, yet it was obvious
that he knew what was required. He walked quietly through the areas of
deep shadow and back into the light of the Greater Llanowar. It was
during the afternoon of that same day that Sachelle and Tar-Rael met
each other in combat."
"At first sighting, Tar-Rael gave little notice to the mage, merely
throwing an arc of hideous flame towards his figure and then moving on.
He stopped suddenly when something caught his eye. It was the sight of
his fires dissolving as they neared the tiny form. And so the battle
began....."
Tar-Rael lifted his mighty head as his half-hearted attack was
easily parried. The human before him showed not the smallest sign of
fear, hatred, or anger. He stood simply, waiting for the demon's next
assault. He was not to be disappointed.
As Sachelle stood upon his chosen spot, the earth began to rumble and
shake. Great crevasses slowly began to mar it's surface as the ground
rose 8 feet above his former level. The cracks lanced out towards
Sachelle, but as they relieved the support of his feet he did not move.
Instead he floated easily above the ground. Not the slightest sign of
effort was shown. As the shaking subsided, he eased himself back upon
the ground.
Tar-Rael screamed in fury!!! From the bowels of his existence he
constructed before him a great wand of chaos. As he slashed it through
the air, the very fabric of Dominaria lost its sanity and was thrown
into utter anarchy. The powerful magics of Sachelle failed as his wards
lost substance and faded from existence. He stood there defenseless
before the vicious being.
As Tar-Rael stored up the energy for his fatal blow, the still calm
mage opposite him refused to move. And so, a great ball of fire was
unleashed upon Sachelle. But as it was released from the palms of
Tar-Rael, it began to come apart. The heat was lost, the energy faded.
It suddenly exploded in a vast detonation of mana as the energy from the
spell lost focus and was drawn into the being of Sachelle. Using the
stored energy, he carefully reformed his protective wards.
Tar-Rael's anger began to border on insanity. Throughout that
afternoon he pummeled the mage with blasts of heat and flame, but it was
to no avail. Each spell he cast was denied its mark and disintegrated
uselessly. His rage began to grow... and grow... and GROW...
His emotions became tangible as his fury consumed him. Flashfires
erupted across the plains and the very seas themselves began to boil!
Denied his power, Sachelle stood helpless upon the battered ground.
Tar-Rael bellowed a great laugh.
"HAHAHAHAHA!!! You cannot deny the law of the universe!!! Chaos
commands our actions, rules our thoughts! Your pitiful elves broke that
law! Now they... and YOU will suffer!"
With that he called upon the land itself to follow his command. Lava
erupted all around them, spewing itself at Tar-Rael. He reached out his
hand and cradled it within, absorbing it's energies. And so he released
the power, sending out a great lava burst in the direction of Sachelle.
But his death was not to be. With the shear power of his thoughts and
the force of his will, he brought down the mighty blow with a wall of
conscience. Stunned by the strength of his foe, Tar-Rael drew within
himself masses of power uncontrollable by even the mightiest of men.
His skin began to flicker with bright flame as the mana of a dozen
planes was pulled into his grasp. From his great maw he spit fire so
hot the rocks upon the earth melted into deep, red lava.
As Tar-Rael saw the mighty barrier form around Sachelle, he knew he was
doomed. His beam of liquid fire met the wall full force... and was
deflected back at him. His body erupted in flame. Screaming, he flung
himself towards the mage. But it was too late. Unable to hold himself
up, Tar-Rael instead fell upon the ground. His flesh fell from his
bones and formed liquid pools upon the stone. Even under his dying
torments, he screamed out five final words.
"In death is new life..."
Darmon looks up at the elder. "You still haven't explained why you
think of him as the unknown."
"Because this time it is different... There is something terribly
wrong. We see signs of his presence, but we have yet to see
him. It is of this behavior that we take our fears." The elder
begins to walk back to the village. As he walks away he whispers to
himself, "And so far, nothing has been as it appears..."
Darmon watches him go, not yet ready to leave that patch of forest that
had once appeared so common. Taking a seat upon a flat rock, he passes
into deep thought. For almost two hours he sits thus undisturbed.
Finally he jumps up. In his eyes are a different glow, like those
having just been hit by a sudden realization. He heads back towards the
elven village, past events jumping across his mind and a slight smile
opening across his lips...