In the dark sylvan glades
Where no light tends to flood
And the Sipple-Sap Trees bleed their sipple sap blood
And nothing much lives in the rocks and the mud
Is the kingdom of Silvanesti.
And deep in the wilderness, some people say,
Stands a misshapen temple, the elves know the way
To where Lorac once stood
In the heart of the wood
Until the green dragon took his sanity away.
And who was old Lorac?
And why did he stay
When all of the other elves had gone away
Beyond the horizon to far Silvamori?
I, Alhana Starbreeze,
Will tell you the story.
Way back in the days when the forest was green
Silvanesti were proud and their kind rarely seen.
They built sculptured gardens of beauty renowned
And there they lived nestled 'twixt the stars and the ground
But there came a war
A terrible war!
A war such as Lorac had not seen before!
And it made Lorac shiver right down to his core.
From a north came a danger unseen in his time
Which was long since he was seven hundred and nine!
And he looked to his people whose lives were sublime.
From the gardens they grew
Came both laughter and song
Under Silver-leafed trees
Where they danced the night long.
But the war! The war!
The terrible war!
All the humans were marching
And then something more
Came slinking in shadows
And winging the night
And made Lorac tremble
With tremulous fright.
He looked with great longing
All over the land
And only one answer
Could he find at hand.
He marshaled his people and gave them decrees
"A week from tomorrow we sail 'cross the seas,
So bundle your bundles and pack up your packs.
We'll leave Silvanesti and never look back."
And after he'd finished they went to their work
And boarded up houses with hardly a shirk
But I heard Lorac sigh at the loss of his home
And I followed him when he thought he was alone.
From an old ancient door I heard a Chi-Kree!
He'd opened a lock with an old silver key!
And he'd wandered inside to the treasury room
And stood next to an orb all a-glow in the gloom.
It was smallish, but largish
And greenish, but yellow
And it shone with a light
Neither garish nor mellow.
I knew in an instant: this would be no good.
I confronted him then in the room where he stood
"Father," said I, for that was our relation,
"Use of that magic will lead to damnation."
"Daughter," he said with a voice that left scars,
"I am Lorac, I speak for the stars!"
I speak for the stars, and they tell me what's right.
You shall lead our people off into the night.
And while you take flight, I shall use this great ball
To conquer our enemies once and for all!"
"Dear Father," I said, "I fear you have gone mad!
"Our people will need you when troubles turn bad.
For I cannot lead them, their faith rests in you:
You speak to the stars and they know what to do.
This thing of great magic is older than ancient
Perhaps you could use it if you could be patient
I fear in your haste you will do something wrong
And never recover from magic that strong."
Then Lorac said,
"Girl, there's no need for alarm.
I can control it!
I'll come to no harm!"
So early next morning we left Silvanost
And I stood at the head of a great elven host
And said "Forward, my people, we'll find a new home
And we'll carry our spirit wherever we roam."
And the host gave a cheer, but some still glanced back
To the tower where Lorac prepared his attack.
"Paladine," cried old Lorac
"I speak for the stars.
I've out-lived your presence.
Now I'll summon your powers."
In the bright, starlit chamber he sat all alone
With the Dragon Orb next to his ancient elf throne
He placed his elf hands on the dimly lit sphere
And it swirled and it sparkled and filled him with fear.
He fought and he fought, and again yet he fought
With the will of his heart with the will of his thought
And the Dragon Orb trembled and thought itself caught.
And it called out for help
In its Dragon Orb way
Cyan Bloodbane heard it
Deep where he lay
In the deepest of holes
In the darkest of holds
Where dragons sit brooding
Or so I am told
Then...
Up! Dragon! Up!
Like a flash of green light
It sailed on the winds
To the tower
At night.
And it found little Lorac as if in a trance
And it smiled a grim smile, did a dragonish dance,
And crept up to Lorac
Where the elf sat and fought.
And Lorac? He saw not a thing. He did not.
But the dragon
Drew close
And found what it sought
And slyly, it whispered into Lorac's ear.
And it filled him with stories an elf shouldn't hear.
Of Mandy-Mox Manglers, and Twisty Karnishes
That snapper and strangle and act very vicious,
And think Silvanesti are sweet and delicious.
Now Lorac was dreaming, enthralled and in fright
Of the gardens in which Silvanesti delight
With their trunks cracked and bleeding, their leaves black and withered
While off in the distance the Slithy Slaths slithered.
And famed Silvanesti heroes of their day
Arose from their slumber beneath moss and clay
And walked like the living though long in decey.
Lorac gave a cry
His heart broke in two
"Oh!
"What have I done?
What am I to do?"
But the dragon still whispered and dreams came anew.
It meant the elf harm, for disturbing its peace
So it twisted the forest, twisted without cease.
It twisted the trees, and it twisted the flowers,
It twisted the houses, it twisted the tower
Where poor Lorac sat. And it twisted some more
Twisted the windows and twisted the door.
Twisted the sky so the stars did not shine
Twisted the streams and turned water to slime.
And nothing that lived in the gardens could thrive
But it twisted poor Lorac to keep him alive.
And fed him more lies so the old elf would dream
And so horrible were they, so real did they seem
That Lorac's fine gardens were truly transformed
Into foul dens where evil writhed, slithered, and swarmed.
And there in the depths of this incarnate fright
Old Lorac wept softly and cried to the night:
"My name is Lorac, I spoke for the stars!
But now I am trapped in a cage without bars!
My folly created it, led me inside.
And I slammed shut the door in my own foolish pride.
But now there is nothing left for me to save
And the horrors I've lived shall send me to my grave."
So I say to you now, with your haughty elf ways
Respect the old magic to the end of your days.
Do not let your pride make sport of your senses
Or the powers you wield might drain your defenses
And all of the good you intended to do
Will be lost when your torment is ended and through
And like Lorac the nightmare you face might come true.
THE END
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