The First Bloodelf-Chroniclers Origins
The First Bloodelf - Chroniclers Origins
This story tells of the founder of the Bloodelves, a race of hybrids originally solitary and dispersed. After being created, these hybrid elves lived in seclusion, never procreating, never venturing far from their haunts and often, quickly eradicated for the plague that they were. One such hybrid however, did the unthinkable, and so created a whole new culture.
In the year 680, a high-elf was born, this particular elven baby boy was the child of two loving, doting parents, who taught him to read, write and most important of all, appreciate history. They taught him of the treachery of Morragh and bloody Cornugon, of starry Xeridwyn and sunny Shemesh, of learned Ainurin and the great works of Hephaistos. They told him of human battles and elven stories. Of these, the tale of two princes was his favourite, speaking of Daerions victory over Bors and the subsequent prosperity of Tarscisia. In his first hundred years, he learned all of history known to the high-elves, and started writing anecdotes, making connections of cause and effect no one before him had understood. But soon this prodigal child grew restless; The library at his disposal was vast, but not complete, and many reports of battles fought by the elves themselves, especially those with the dwarves, were riddled with lies and half-truths to make elven victories seem larger and defeats less significant. It irritated him that his study of history was hindered in such ways, and he tried to work around such propaganda to know the truth. He worked in the library for 80 more years, revealing great victories to be meaningless battles and insignificant defeats as huge losses. This work made him enemies in the elven free-state, which relied on propaganda to create their peaceful society. And gradually they started driving him out. Though they had to wait until his 180th year of life to do so, as no young elf could leave elven lands before that age. By the time the young elven man had reached the age, he was happy to go, having decided that the only way to know the entire truth was to travel the world and hear every version of all historic events. Upon request of his parents he swore off his old name, so he would no longer be detrimental to their social rank, and took up the name of Chronicler. And swore to live by the name. After travelling a good 200 years more, Chronicler came across an ancient vampire, whom he ceaselessly harried for information on any small detail regarding one of the earliest dwarven-elven wars the undead might remember. The vampire, having no patience for a youthful upstart asking him annoying questions when he’d prefer to sleep, quickly grew tired of Chronicler. To simply kill the elven historian however was out of the question, a more painful disease, the bloodsucker deemed more deserving, and so Chronicler fell prey to the curse of the undead. Chronicler, now a Bloodelf, which is the denomination for a vampire-elven hybrid, fell into a year of depression and bloodsucking, losing himself in the curse, moping and writing during daytime, for that was when most history was made, and hunting during the night. When one particular night, when the earth was half full and Chronicler was roaming the countryside, he saw shadows in human shape playing on an enormous wall, a wall erected by Morragh. Desperate as he was, the bloodelf resolved to summon Morragh, the trickster. He would make a deal with the god of treachery.
That sunset, he walked into the nearest town and surreptitiously bought what he needed to summon the god. But as he approached the wall the next night, no shadows played on it. And no godly energy radiated from it. Every night for two weeks, Chronicler went back to that wall, hoping to feel the same energy as he had felt that first night. But only on the next half-earth did the presence return. Chronicler had had quite some time to think of what he would say to the god, and so, when Morragh appeared, a distinctive shadow on the wall, Chronicler spoke; “Great lord of treachery, you find me here by this wall, to ask you a question, and if you haven’t killed me after I’ve asked it, I have a deal to make.” First you intrigue him, then you reel him in, it’s the only way I have a chance before I get turned into ash. “Speak Quickly, Before I Lose Interest.” The god replied, already bored. “This wall, you made it? Why? You don’t do anything for no reason, you might be treacherous, you are not fickle” Play to his vanity, make him talk. “You Do Not Know Why? That Is Why You Summon Me?” “I do not, I’m interested and you can tell me later, but that is not why I ask. You need me, as no one knows what this wall is here for, and I am certain this is not the only trick, the only breaking of chains that you have caused which people have forgotten. What you need is a Chronicler, a Herald. And my name happens to be Chronicler.” The god seemed to consider this, though in the shadowplay on the wall, it was difficult to make out. “What Do You Expect In Return? No Deal Is Made Without A Mutual Benefit.” “What I propose is beneficial to you as much as me. Let me walk in the light, let me be free while I am not in service to you and I will be your herald, write your lore, chronicle your stories for all of posterity.” That was the best deal Chronicler could think of, that the God of treachery would accept, he would play into the gods vanity to get what he so desperately needed. “I Accept Your Proposal, You Shall Herald My Tricks, You Shall Spread My Name, You Shall Tell Of My Tales, And In Return, I Will Allow You To Walk In Sunlight Once More Doing As You Please When I Do Not Need You. At The Next Half Moon, I Shall Contact You To Start My Tales, I Must Go Now, As I Have An Appointment To Keep, I´ll Tell You All About It, Later.” The God laughed, and it was a cold laugh, like the soulless chiming of the wind, the noise slowly died down, leaving Chronicler alone at the restless wall.
That is how the first of the daywalking Bloodelves was created, able to walk the fields of Shemesh without fearing her light. So now, when a new Bloodelf is born, for the vampirism is just as hereditary as their elven parts, they are raised in the dark, and when they come of age on their 180th birthday, they can choose to make a deal with a God or Goddess, serving them in exchange for the gift of light. Those who fail or choose not to deal, live forever in the dark, taken care of by their daywalking brothers and sisters, though some of the nightwalkers resent their daywalking brethren…