Author Topic: Musings of a Sun Elf  (Read 1158 times)

Maryn

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Musings of a Sun Elf
« on: July 27, 2009, 10:58:41 PM »

A pretty sun elf sits by the fire in Degganwy, flipping through a leather-bound book. She scans the first five pages or so, the only ones used thus far, and promptly rips them out, and tosses them to the flames.

A fresh beginning. There is something encouraging, yet terrifying in those words. I don't really know where to begin, so starting with myself seems an appropriate place. My name is Kellindrea Durothil. I was born on Evermeet many decades ago. My dear sweet mother died in childbirth, leaving my father and older brother, Kandor to raise me alone. Most would say they did extremely well, others would say I might have turned out better had I been given away. Regardless, I know they did their very best with me. I have learned all manners of social graces and diplomacy from before I can remember. Before I knew the meaning of the word, my marriage was planned and sealed to the son of elves my father found to be of 'approval heritage.' A sun elf of course. I don't think I will write his name, I am trying to forget it you see. He was not a bad elf I suppose, admittedly arrogant to a fault. Aren't we all though? We would have followed duty and sworn to one another, and I know he would have protected me, however cold and distant his heart seemed. The first time we met, he spoke of his inspirations of a partnership in servitude. He does not know I saw him looking in the mirror while he spoke, instead of at me.
They said we sacrificed notions of love, of freedom, to maintain order, balance, to fight to maintain the right for others to partake in these things we lost the opportunity to experience in our cause. They don't know I know, but I have always known it is truly about power. Yet the puppet master’s tug and I follow the strings, I follow my role. Followed. Or follow. I'm not certain anymore. Is the lack of certainty itself a clear indicator of the past tense of this role, or is it simply a pause of contemplation? We sacrifice life, love, and the pursuit of freedom, of our own happiness, to maintain the privileges for the many unbound to the structure of the foundation of our fragile, perfect world. They'd never know it to look upon us. They see nothing but the joy, the ease of life within the walls of nobility. They see the festivities, the silks, all of our pleasant luxuries . . . but for all this, there is so much that remains hidden. So much that if it came to light, life as we know it now would cease to exist.
They do not see the deceit, the toying for favor. They are blind to the selfish pursuits of the ones they depend on to look out for their best interests in their actions, in their designs. They do not see my father smiling pleasantly when he sees the Queen, secretly envisioning a Durothil under the crown. They do not see my brother and father coaching me, teaching me, say this, don't say that, wear this, go here, charm him, achieve this! We speak FOR The People, we devote our lives FOR The People, we give TO them, so that they might not have to suffer, but I cannot help but wonder if it is simply words to be spoken in obligation? If we truly serve, then why do we scheme against one another, the verbal knives held gleaming behind our backs, while our silver tongues speak words of praise and affection? Treason they would say, I question, I doubt too much! I disrupt order, and threaten peace, yet how can it be treason to seek answers?
The People see only what we allow them to see. Should we show them?
Can we who take our duties seriously, in good faith place this burden on The People we are sworn to protect, to serve, to love? The Seldarine forbid they should ever have to see what truly gives them their free, beautiful unattached lives. I think the island itself would crumble in despair.
« Last Edit: August 09, 2009, 05:35:16 PM by Maryn »


Maryn

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Musings of a Sun Elf
« Reply #1 on: August 09, 2009, 06:30:01 PM »

Barovia. Never have I known such a place in all my young years. But then again, there are many places, people, things I will never know or experience if what they say is true. I have walked from one box to another. This one however, does not seem to have a lid, or seam. It simply is. When I first arrived here, I could not help but hope that somehow there might be a way to return to Evermeet, but I see now that was only a desperate clinging to the familiar. I sometimes secretly wonder if I did not somehow send myself here on my own without realizing it. I remember my last day in Evermeet very clearly. I was sitting on a stone bench, underneath the magnolia tree, in the garden behind our home. I was writing in my journal, one very similar to this, and contemplating my future.
Just the day before I had stepped off and walked through the city alone. I had left every shred of evidence of my family name such as my fine robes and jewelry depicting the house symbol, and opted for a simple gown of blue silk. I walked the streets for hours simply marveling at the beauty and simplicity of the freedoms of others. They loved without condition, befriended without fear, and moved with confidence. I have always been taught to be certain of myself, but only to hide any lingering doubts that may have resided on the inside. Their sureness was different, it seemed to radiate from the inside. Ignorant, yes, but so blessed to lead such lives.
As I walked, I suddenly noticed a handsome moon elf coming towards me. I could see no house symbolism, and his clothing said he was simply one of The People, of no elevated station. I know he was coming to speak to me. As I was marveling at the idea that a man might like to speak to me without first knowing the political benefits of my company, I felt an arm slip into mine. My brother led me off without a word. Before we turned though, I know I saw disappointment in his eyes. He had seen my brother and as such likely had a good idea of that who I was as well. Was he disappointed because he had missed his chance to speak to me, or because I was not blissfully unattached as he was? Did he mourn our lost chance of meeting, or praise the fact he dodged an arrow of the trials of a relationship between different classes? I’ll never know, but I’ll always wonder. 
My brother took me back to my father’s house and plainly stated where he had found me. The nameless elf that bid me his attentions without a single word had not gone unnoticed to him either, and my “shameless, whoring, actions” were also given mercilessly. Was I insane, my father had asked me? Was I trying to destroy my future, my destiny? I saw his hand raise swiftly as if to strike me. My heart stopped in shock. He had never been violent before, rather saying that a true elf of Evermeet never resorts to such primitive reactions, rather uses his words to their full potential. I closed my eyes and braced myself, uncertain what to expect to feel, but nothing ever came. The hand lowered and I opened my eyes to look at him again. He simply shook his head, and said what I will never forget. “You dishonor me, and our family daughter, if not in action, in intention. Be gone from my sight.”
I returned to my room and dressed in my colors of gold and white, replaced the amulet of status to my neck, but nothing could shake the fear my father had struck into my heart. I wanted nothing more but to return and beg his forgiveness, but I knew not only was it far too soon, but that in a way, it would not be sincere. A part of me desperately wanted to return to that street, to find this one I had almost met, if only to know his name. I ached with guilt over such desires, but this did nothing to satisfy them.
This is how I found myself in the garden. I walked through the trees until I found this lonely bench, and sat down in thought. I sat there all night as I contemplated my duties, my upcoming marriage, and resolved in my heart to never allow fleeing emotions to get the better of me. I would remain firm in my devotion to The People, and never allow doubt to muddle my path again. Even in these valiant promises of selflessness, fear gnawed at me painfully. What if I could not meet these expectations? I then heard my father calling my name. He sounded as angry as he had the day before. Apparently our time apart had done nothing to soothe him. I saw his outline through the morning fog, and I knew I should go to him. But I didn’t. I stood and ran through the garden as quickly as my feet would take me, and did not look back. Where I was running to, I didn’t really know.
The garden, while large, did possess a stone wall, and eventually I would run into it. I could hear his footsteps growing swifter behind me, as the fog grew thicker. I ran faster, holding my arms out in front of me as I fully expected to meet the wall at any time. The wall never came. The fog however did slowly dissipate, and I noticed the trees I ran through looked nothing like ones that I had seen before. The morning sunlight faded into darkness, and I could see dim stars twinkling overhead. The smooth soft grass of home was replaced with rough snowy terrain, freezing my feet to the bone through my thin slippers. I stopped to catch my breathe, and the realization that I was no longer home at all hit me like the stone wall I had been previously searching for.
My first reaction to panic settled in slowly, and I automatically used taught techniques to calm myself. Admittedly, the techniques had been taught to prevent stage fright in high elven court, but they worked just as well in my strange new existence. I walked on and on, eventually finding myself approaching what looked to be a crumbling church, and old human inn. Everything looked so gray and sad. The vibrancy and luminosity of my home had clearly been taken for granted in contrast to this sad land I had wandered in to. I tried to speak to a few people, but I found that my skills of speech were little help when no one could understand my lofty language. Someone finally grew exasperated with me and handed me a pouch of coins, very different to the ones I knew at home. ‘Fangs’ he called them, and said to get a room in the inn.
I thanked him hastily, and made my way inside. Once I managed to buy a key and settle in to the simplest room that I had ever seen I allowed myself to cry into the pillow. My tears feel freely for hours I finally fell into a fitful reverie. This is how I came to arrive in this place of darkness. I fully intended to write more of it in these pages, but it seems my mind had different ideas. I will write more of Barovia in the next pages.