Chapter 1: Mists of Illusion

Silence cloaked the velvet night as the bright moon above shone its protective light on the moulded landscape. Its silver beam acted as a lantern in the lonely night and soon illuminated six cloaked figures as they stepped forth from the shadows. A soft night breeze swirled its way among the men, fluttering their cloaks with its gentle caress and muffling their words with its own soft whispers through the treetops of the towering forest nearby. These men were val’istar, the elven wise men and commanders of magic and illusion, their status marked by the silver embroidered symbol of a longbow against a silver moon, recognized as the marking of Sehanine, the elven peoples Goddess Mother, ruler of the realm of moon magic and illusion. Their speech brief, the group of six proceeded to break into smaller groups of two. Each went their three separate ways on a unified mission…to find the saviours of their people.

Across the isle, now known as the Mists of Illusion, val’istar spent the moonlit night searching for brave men and women of all races and beliefs to rebuild a world for all peoples, but most important of all was to find the three chosen to lead these peoples back to strength and greatness. Tadia Earaniel, Nalia Elyde, and Amondia Daltaer, were each of three different backgrounds, three different ages, and three different parts of the old world. The only thing they shared was their elven blood and their soon-to-be ties to this mystical land. The first group of val’istar travelled into the deepness of the forest in search of Amondia Daltaer, a Sylvan, or more commonly known wood elf, also known to be the youngest of the three they sought. The second group travelled a path through the open fields and wildflowers, contending to find Nalia Elyde, a twilight, or fae elf, and the third pair of val’istar retraced their steps into the shadows being cast by a magnificent white marble castle behind them, meaning to rejoin Tadia Earaniel who had been summoned to the val’istar early because she was the eldest.

The two men venturing through the forest pulled forth shuttered lanterns, opening them to bring soft light to the forest path they walked. Casting strange and twisted shadows off of the trees, the lamplight swung in beat with the val’istars walk until it eventually slowed, then stopped. Bird calls, both strange and exotic exchanged from the trees above as the val’istar slowed their steps. The pair raised their lanterns high as silence fell about them and for several paced breaths remained so until one of the two stepped forward and spoke aloud, turning to cast his light in all directions.

“Come forth, people of the Sylvan tribes. We bring no harm but seek counsel with your common leader. Times are troubled for all elven kind, let us pass in peace.” Silence prevailed for several more breaths until a soft rustle of leaves and the appearance of two Sylvan scouts, armed with longbows and daggers, warranted a meagre release of tension for the val’istar. The Sylvan people were highly suspicious of travellers near their camps. For one to wander close and find themselves surrounded by these tribal people, they were guilty until proven innocent.

These scouts though, kept silent and eyed the emblem of Sehanine on each mans cloak before nodding, leading away down the path and soon into a make-shift camp in a small clearing beyond. Mini-tribes circled around campfires, their suspicious gazes following the val’istars path through their camp, the odd hushed oath muttered after them from tribe to tribe. Of all things, the Sylvan people distrusted magic and its wielder, finding that magic contradicted the natural laws of their earth-bound world. They did not yet understand that the very soil they now walked was fully constructed of that very thing they disliked so much. Magic.

The val’istar, ignoring the curses which chased after their presence, followed the scouts to a central and much larger fire in the clearing. Around the fire sat the elders of the tribes who conferred between themselves privately, seeming to ignore the val’istars arrival. Beyond the campfire, the very basic shape of a large tent stood, hidden by the shadows around it. Leaving the val’istar near the fire, the scouts slipped past the folds of cloth marking the doorway and entered the tent to confer with their leader within.

The val’istar stood tense near the fire. A great deal weighed upon this meeting and each silently prayed for Sehanine to guide her children true. The entire camp behind them seemed to have paused in silence to watch the val’istar, and they made no effort to disguise for these men to be there, in their camp. Many minutes passed in this fashion, with the tension in the air thick enough to choke the breath away. Eventually the cloth door on the tent ruffled, drawing eyes to the form of a woman as she stepped out. Her coppery skin highlighted by the flicker of the fire, and her ferocious hazel eyes narrowed on the val’istars figures. It was impossible to mistake this woman for anyone other than the leader of these people. She had the air of authority around her, which most leaders did, and a fierceness to protect that which was hers. When she spoke, her words portrayed the passion of her emotions and to even the val’istar she had a daunting persona.

“The last time we met, val’istar, I do believe I warned you to stay away from the tribes.” Though spoken eloquently, her tone was fierce.

With dry humour the val’istar replied, “Yes, that you did Celethrian, and it is lovely to see you again.”

“Do not mock me in my own home!” the woman, Celethrian, fumed, loud enough to turn more attention on the situation, “I meant what I said. You val’istar can wave whatever magic contraption you’ve concepted at us, but we will not back down. Yours is an unnatural world, it belies the laws of nature.”

Shifting their weight, the val’istar spoke again, their words said with icy calm, “Look around yourself Celethrian. Now is not a time for the Sylvan tribes to strike away from all elves as they’ve done in the past. Now is a time for unity. Not only the Sylvan tribes have suffered, all elves as a whole have.”

Celethrian paused for a moment, taking her gaze around the Sylvan camp, her next words wilting into a softer tone. “Before the great sickness came, the full force of the Sylvan tribes would have taken three times as much land to make camp. We have suffered a great loss and I am not naïve enough to believe that we are the only ones to suffer such. As the Sylvan tribes have unified together under my leadership, so too will they join with the elven people as a whole, In a bond of companionship during this time of need.” Celethrian’s tone hardened, “but that is all I offer.”

"You and we both know that is not all that the gods demand of you.”

“That is too high a price! I will not pay.”

The val’istar remained calm, aware that once more the tribe had gone silent to watch what transpired. “She is one marked, Celethrian. She will be kept safe and be given the chance to represent her people on a much grander scale. She is destined for greatness and you cannot keep that from her.”

“It is unnatural!” Celethrian cried, “to take a mere child away from her Mother. I will not agree! I have offered the aid of the tribes to the elven people, I will not sacrifice my daughter to your foolish cause as well!”

By now murmurs were spreading through the camp around them and the val’istars patience broke, their words now laced with anger and frustration, shocking the camp into silence.

“By the great gods above woman! The very earth your precious tribes sit upon this moment is unnatural! The very earth, sea, and sky is all an illusion constructed to sustain life while the world, the real world beyond, dies! This too, you cannot deny Celethrian. You know the song of a real forest, what does this one sing of?”

Absolute silence swept across the tribal camp as each in turn tilted their elven ears to the forest as if seeking a silent call from the wind. Closely following the silence came a wave of rising panic as each Sylvan realized there was no song coming from the forest, as if it was dead. Cries and murmurs of fear clawed across the camp and Celethrian’s face took on a pale look, her voice gone soft once more as if it would disguise the tremor of fear within her.

“We were tricked!” Celethrian cried weakly, “We were tricked into coming here, it is no safer a place than our real home!” With her exclamation, the cries across the camp rose in pitch.

“Celethrian!” The val’istar struggled to pull attention back to themselves, “The illusion is still unstable, but with your daughters aid this land will become more stable and more real. The Sylvan tribes have a chance here. If you try to go back they will all die, if not by a plague then from forest fires or angry daemons. Stay and you’ll give your people a chance to truly thrive, but we need Amondia to succeed. She must join the other chosen or the illusion will collapse and all will be lost.”

Celethrian turned away from the val’istar, her eyes searching the forest beyond for an alternative solution, but no answer came. Slowly she turned back, the fight faded from her hazel eyes. She spoke not to the val’istar but rather to one of the scouts, “Run and get Amondia, she should be with Ryathil’s group to the west.”

The scout nodded and immediately took off into the trees, within moments it was difficult to tell which way he had gone.

Returning her empty gaze to the val’istar, her voice holding weak against the next wave of emotion as she plead in a soft tone, “She is still only a child.”

“She will be well cared for.”

Celethrian sighed, returning her gaze hopelessly to the forest as the rest of the camp resumed their duties.