In the centre of the territory of Belerion, is a mighty mound called Mount Merra. A granite rock, it is the first place in this land that Elves appeared, birthed by the Creator. Now stands upon its brow the remains of an ancient township, temples did once adorn. This place is bathed in blood as a battle was once fought there. When dark Elves and men did gather in strange places, the armies of lightened Elves did walk in formation. A mighty bloody battle was fought where we lost most of our kin. Whether dark or light many did fall and returned no more. Many of the dark Elves became the Fades but they were something more, demonic phantoms in body none, they now plagued the minds of men. Not only did the Elven kin fall upon that day but many nature spirits too got caught up in the way. The magic swords were flaying from one side to another, the magic bombs did blow and those who lived in the grass were scorched and burnt by the flame of the rage of light Elf and dark. Belerion lay in waste, most of its Elven people gone and dead. The land was burnt with flames of war and the dragon was displeased.
The dark Elves summoned the dragon well before his time and the earth did shake and the tides did change in a blinking of an eye. The Elves did quake in their bones at the sight of an angry dragon, both dark Elf and light. Dark Elf magic, held the dragon in chains. Directing his will like a puppet on a string, he rained fire and brimstone down upon the armies of the light. And the battle raged on. The war wraiths of both sides, built up magic in the atmosphere and lightning struck and thunder roared on that fateful day. The hills did roll and serge as if they were fluid like the sea, the wind did blow a hot and burning force that burnt the skin. Battle raged on between dark Elf and light, standing observing from a distance hill were the sacred mother Milkres. A strange and powerful guild of magical Elf women who were ancient in their ways. They wove fate casts and cast them to the battle, hoping to trip or make someone fall, they could not bring about death but could influence and prepare for its arrival, the warriors all had one allocated, as an ally and battle mate.
Who was the victor of this battle it is hard to say because not many of either side survived. Bodies piles as high as trees were cast upon the battle field. Black crows circled overhead waiting to peck the eyes of the dead. The King of Belerion went missing that day after he used the black magic spell he moved into torment and hell, in his mind he blamed himself for the fall of many. He did not return wounded and sore like so many of the survivors, he crept away into the night and never yet has been seen by Elves or men. It is said the spell did rebound upon his fair face, it is said he turned to darkness. It is said he lived in the old forest where no one dares to go. No one has seen him since and no one dares to say they know, for it is as if he vanished off the face of Arda. Some come to us with stories of his appearance but we must confess they are untruths because a powerful magic blocks us from his detection. No one has seen him for eons of time, some have admitting to finding it hard to remember his face. When he is spoken about it is as if he is a character in the legend from a distant time of long ago, like those stories told in firelight.
For those who were close to him and knew him well, we pray that we can keep his memory alive and in our hearts he dwell. For he is our king and kin and this we vow never to forget even in human form. We will wait for the return of our king until Arda takes her final dawn. The land is waiting for his return to bring it into line, to bring all elves and men into the divine. The queen she is dying from a broken heart, she is in her final stages of her lament and soon she will depart. If this happens then the land will die with her and Elves will be no more, what a fearful future we have in store. Of course we searched for him far and wide we travelled but no word of his passing did we find, magic did not work now and sending scouts was without results so after years of searching we abandoned our seeking. The queen fared worse than all of us, as her heart was broken, but she could not stand to feel the pain, so she took to staying in her hall and spinning on her wheel.
When the battle was over the Elves moved underground as men began to inhabit the land, digging deep inside Mount Merra they made a splendid home but the queen could not bring herself to rule from such a place and returned to her ancestral home among the trees. Once a mighty forest now in this time, a little wood. Those of Mount Merra lived on inside the hill and came and went as pleased but when the land shifted and the gates did close they could no longer rise to the surface world and have remained in the mount ever since. When the gates closed many hurried to get inside but even with all their will the door would not prize.
There are said to be secret ways but they are perilous indeed, for they are ways through the realm of the Fades and no one dare to tread in such a place. Caverns of immense depths, are suddenly at your feet, dark forces with often bare your way. You mind gets weak in such a place a fatigue will overcome you, if you lay down to rest for only a moment it will be an thousand years in time. Maybe this was the fate of the lost king of Belerion. If he wandered into this deadly realm he may have grown weary from the strain and the pressure of such a place, it would take many years to cross this place even in his haste. His legs would become heavy as if they were made of lead, his heart would become blackened and dead, his mind it would a chatter in another voice than his own, feeling dark forces around him menacing in their roam.
Of course there is magic
That can assist
And can aid
But in the end
All of this does fade
Your Elven heart is beating
But very very slow
And your life force is fleeting
Until you no longer glow.
Of course you do not die here
As no Elf can die like this
But you are a paler version
Like a willow the wisp.
People may sense you
But you are cloudy
You are not solid
For them to see
You walk alone now
Fading in time
You cannot remember
Your riddle or rhyme
Your heart has broken
A long time ago
No Elven words have been spoken
That is all you know
I only remember bits and pieces of my elven past as my mind is always pulled back to the human way of thinking. This human consciousness is powerful but not in the ways of wisdom but in programming and control. As I speak to you now I am only able to speak in rhyme in some sentences and not in others. I was a master rhymer in my time, I was not famous but admired by my own family and kin. It may seem childish to human ears but to an Elf this skill is greatly admired.
We do not prepare or rehearse,
We have no need,
Because we have a continue flow of poetry
Just waiting to be received.
You can tell a lot within a riddle
And it makes people think,
It has a hidden wisdom from which you can drink.
It moves along in a rhythm
And a constant beat,
You can dance out this tune
With the tapping of the feet.
When the rift between light Elf and dark came about,
All I could do is shout and shout.
Shout from the roof tops leaning on a chimney,
Please free me from this insanity.
I heard a bird calling from on afar,
It was pointing out a distance star
The star was glowing in the dead of night
It gave me some hope in my terrible plight
On that night I ventured from my door
I had no idea of what was in store
But I went a wandering through the forest there
And even passed the boundary without a care.
I followed rabbit tracks and deer
I thought I had nothing to fear
I did not notice I was being followed there
I did not see the trap that would ensnare.
At first my travellings were happy ones
But that was soon to change
For on my heels was the hidden one
Playing his deadly games.
He enticed me into his abode, as he was disguised as an Elf
It was only once I was inside I knew I could only trust myself.
He gave me mead or so he says but my memory is not clear
I think he poisoned me that day
That is what I fear.
For on that night and every night since
I have had dreams of Fades
Calling me to rescue them from their eternal graves
My mother always told me I would fall from a cliff or be lost in a bog if I was not careful, I always took myself off alone into the forest, not because I did not love the company of my family and kin but sometimes I just wanted to listen so carefully to Arda especially now the war was taking up so much of people’s attention. Maybe she had some wisdom to share about such a calamity. My mother said I was just like my Grandmother. She had been a greater seer in her time, able to predict events just moments before their happening. She trained in the high colleges of Tauren in the western isle and was well respected. Her name was Kala, she had touched the Elf stone at only four years old, it had sent her into a coma, and her family feared she would never recover. But on awaking two whole years later she had the sight, the stone had given her the ability to see into the future and she was sort out by all those wished to understand their fate. Her father, my great grandfather was first high king of Tula, in the land. He fell at the battle of Merra and he is only remembered now in song and verse. My people were artisans, masters at their skill of poem and story. Before the flood my people lived in harmony upon that western isle before invaders from the south, both men and Elves landed at our shores and battled for the land to be their own.
So wander I must I told my mother for there is so much more to see, but she warned me harshly that the world was no longer safe, for there were Elves and men who loved to hate. And care should not be so easily given as permission can never be taken away and can bind those that give. But as all foolish young Elves my curiosity got the better of me and I took to wandering further and farther from home. I knew many hidden ways and passageways from one kingdom to another, often my travelling went unseen. I took refuge inside of old trees that were no longer inhabited. I learnt the language of the birds not from script but by communication and realised there had been many mistranslations. The language of the birds does come from a robin’s beak but it is the language of Arda as she does speak. It is a lightening script which shows up in the lines of tree and by moving my consciousness into the tree I was able to read this script which has not been read for many a year even by an Elf.
I began to practice eloquence, so as not to trip with words, my pronunciation was perfected until I could speak in ancient tree verb. I studied the old dusty books in the library and discovered much has been mistranslated, so I took it upon myself to rewrite this sacred verse. I stood proudly at my father’s 900th year birthday celebrations, and held my script aloft, thinking I would be well received. As I spoke the words the room filled with light, script filled the air and the guests were stunned in fright. I had broken some old lore which had been forgotten in time, I had insulted the original translators of the script. I had dishonoured my mother, my father, my kin, for this was an Elven sin. I ran from the hall, all flustered and white, and then ran into the forest in the dead of night. From then I took to wandering and never returning until all were asleep. My family were angry for sure, my grandmother bless her tried to find a cure. For this family disturbance, this quarrel, this row, but she never did find how.
So when the call came for wanderers to carry the news how could I have refused? It was in my nature to go wandering on foot and on steed, in hindsight my grandmother’s warning I should of heed. She warned me about deceptors with smiles of intrigue, she warned me about black magicians who only love to deceive. She warned me about magic that was not black and not white, but as I cast my destiny her wisdom was out of my sight. I wandered the land and even farther along the great rim ridge, however I could always hear the horns sounding in the great hall, its towers standing oh so tall. What made me wander too far that day all I can say is it was intrigue, curiosity and a desire to see something new, which made me stray and I regret to this very day. For when the gates did close I was not safe at home but walking the land on the surface and not at home with my kin. I remember seeing my mother’s face as the rock hardened and the door began to shut, I will never forget the way she looked. With no way of being with my family I searched for others who were locked out too and after days of travelling I found a band of Elves all separated from their clans. I joined their group and felt more comfort than travelling alone.
The world around us began to fade in greys and the colours of the flowers seemed dimmed in their shades. The fruit tasted nasty and old, none of this had been foretold. That the gates would close and lock us out, to fill our hearts with pain and doubt. We tried to ignore our predicament as if it was not our fate, but as the years did roll by we began fall to hate. We hated those who had escaped this evil demise, now we only felt despise. For all those who were still living in the undying lands, now the fruits was turning to ash in our hands. What were we to do our magic was failing and as time passed we began to feel ailing. We were not really sick but that is how it felt, our hearts did retreat into the self. We no longer felt like we owed respectability to those who did not get trapped in the Twix, after all it was only us in this terrible fix. Some cast black magic against their own kind or so it is said, this idea now fills me with dread. Some could call it karma, some could call it fate, all I know is that I felt a terrible hate. I did not entirely forgive my parents for locking me out, but the one I hated most was the men with all their clout. Years rolled by and I was lost in the Twix. I blamed man for all, I wanted him dead, and I vowed to achieve this before I lay in my deathbed.
With all of these nasty thoughts in my head, I attracted some entities who wanted me dead. They plagued me from morning to night, hoping to cause me to fright. They whispered lies into my mind, caused me to think as if I was a different kind. Not a light Elf like I was once before, now I seemed darker because I could not unlock the door. I felt abandoned and full of rage, my emotions chaotic and wild, no longer was I, a graceful Elven child. More demonic I think, dark enough that is for sure, I did not want to free myself, I did not want a cure. I liked the dark power as it surged through my veins, I liked the feeling of being profane.
I joined a group of Elves dark and light, we searched for magic which was still Elven true. We searched through the old elm forest which a sickness had befallen and found a magic script. The book was made of the bark of an ancient tree and we were curious to begin. We made mistakes that is for sure but this is surely known but on the day we caught the stag we honestly thought us right. We had no idea we would increase darkness to our plight. As the blood was drunken and sipped as if it was wine, we began to unravel in both memory and time. So even though we stand alive now in writing of this book, our fingers can type now if you look. We are still drifting in another space, we are looking at the mirror of the face.
We are a family now though not of blood, we have cast ourselves into the same net and now we are captured, not by a demon or monster but by consciousness itself. For as the barrier was set around the planet man’s consciousness fell further than Elf and therefore when we stepped into our human skins we lost our connection, our connection to Mother Arda and our Elven kin and for this we are punished . We have a feeling deep in our bones that we are different and come from different homes, we look like a human woman or a man but we talk about Elves at any time we can. We are known to dream more than most and believe in the fairies, we like fantasy and story. We love Arda and see life and sentience even in the smallest leaf or the largest mountain. When we see men with axes we cringe and look away, when we hear people say it’s only a tree we feel an inner rage. When we hear about the cutting of the rainforest we feel those cuts into our own hearts as if we were the trees themselves. When we hear that an oil well has spilled it feels like we too are being poisoned. We feel Arda’s pain as if it was our own and not just in her body, we feel her woe and her desperation it too much for any Elf to bare. We are raised to joy when seeing a bird taking flight or the sun rises in the morning, we love to watch the shadows pass at dusk. We love the waters of her birthing and wish we could return to swim among the dolphins.
People think us sensitive and a little peculiar, but in truth we are neither, we are only living in a foreign world where none of our rules are the same. The human world is based on lies and people work hard at their deception. Ego rules, from an Elven perspective it is childish, ridiculous and pathetic to watch. Humans cannot agree and are also easily swayed by men of silver tongues, they give up their opinion freely, but their wisdom is none. Competition reigns and there never is a true companion for every human carries a wound upon its soul. They fly into defence of themselves if approached without warning, truth is not a given fact in their eyes. They are mind controlled, bank rolled and held in unseen chains of their own making. Oh so many lies. Their histories does not tell of ours, how can these stories not entwine.
I am sure there are many of you just like me, Elven souls in human body, lost in this strange world of corrupted men. For our world is ruled by those who once were black magicians from my time , they too walked through the gate that we created with our sacrifice , many of them manifested in family after family always walking the same line. They breed incestuously to keep their blood line pure. They rule the human world like they wanted to rule the Elven world but failed. Humans are not so aware of magic being spelled against them. For these dark magicians it is easy to subjugate man. They drank of a maiden’s blood whilst she lay naked on the alter, dark magic they did use to bring themselves to power. Vampires they were known to some, kings and queens to others, now they control the British Crown.
They have built a world where we are all enslaved Elves and men, this system that we live within is designed for death and perversion of life. Surely we must try to do our part and remember the mission whatever it may be. For on the day of the sacrifice all of us did decree that we would perform a mission and make everyone free. I think it was something to do with magic as you might suspect, but as to what this is I have no memory. So I call upon all Elves who reside here that we know to awaken from their slumber and tell their story so.
I am an Elf of course, I am of Silvarin descent
Though my memory has been human spent
The Elves of Belerion reminded me,
Their story sort of set me free,
Even though my words are sometimes muddled and not clear,
And there is even fright and fear,
I hope and pray to Ilúvatar himself,
That he will shine brightly upon this Elf.
NB * This is an ongoing project , these are the first chapters more to come
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