Prologue

. . .And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train. – Milton

	When the world was almost new, long before there were men and wars, there 
was a time of peace in the land. The ancient elves, Æflinþa, lived in their 
forests along with the Tharen, elf tree spirits, seldom seen and largely 
mythical. Under the mountains, strange creatures called Imandre were said to 
live; these elementals, hidden beneath the earth, were whispered about with 
fear in the overworld. Even more feared were the Sceadrac, the folk who 
lived in the deepest rivers and seas, and it was told that upon occasion an 
elf or dwarf could be lured away from his home by the melodic voices of the 
sirens from the sea. Often that poor soul was never to be seen again; it was 
said in tales from mother to child that they had all been drawn down beneath 
the depths to a watery grave. It was likely these legends that kept the 
dwarves and elves from the oceans, preferring to remain inland in safety. 
The T’sani, somewhat like both elf and man, were a race who held the ancient 
earth-magic, and worshipped Caerellon, the Eye of the Moon. Oldest of all 
were the keepers of the ancient wisdom and the fire, the dragons. Few 
existed even early in the world, rarely seen blackening the sky with their 
scaly wings.
	The Legend began with the dwarves.
	Deep in the the dark earth, where the light of the sun and stars refused to 
seek, the dwarves worked. Long before the strange and humble race had lived 
on the lands above; but, always a victim of the changing earth, soon they 
migrated underground. Life was better away from the black dragons, who 
caused great fires and burned their crops, killed their animals, and left 
them with nothing but cold and endless winters through which many starved. 
The great Goddess of all the world, Cimern, spoke to them and urged them to 
descend deep into the earth where she promised them a great kingdom and her 
protection forever. Their stars became the great gems they carved from the 
black walls, glowing in torchlight, their land the unyielding rock of the 
underworld. Persistent and determined, they worked their way downwards, deep 
into the earth, and searched for the depths which their Goddess had foreseen.
	Finally the search was over, though countless years had passed, the dwarves 
broke through brittle ground and found their new kingdom. A great cave, 
large as all the world, which glowed from a strange crystal paneling the 
walls. Strange tunnels, carved by underground streams which flowed through 
the cave, were also lined by this crystal which seemed to almost pulsate and 
breathe. Then, the Goddess again appeared to her favored race, and blessed 
the great hall with all the blessings of the ancient Earth magic. She caused 
great buildings and all that the dwarves would need to appear, encouraging 
them to go and live well as her chosen ones. The great city was named 
Sondofreix, city of the lights. She told them that the tunnels were gateways 
to other worlds, and that they must never seek those paths; they were also 
to guard those ways from anyone from the overworld.
	Cimern looked on her people with great joy in their faith and humility. 
Then, Cimern manifested a great crystal before her, shining as bright as all 
the gems in the underworld together, and the elders compared it to the stars 
they had seen in the skies of the overworld, many centuries ago. Cimern 
smiled and said, Yes, this is much like a star, it is very old and has great 
power. It is my body and houses my spirit, and I soon shall sleep within. 
Care for it with your lives, and always shall you have my power and my 
blessing. Then the great goddess descended into the stone to sleep.
	In the shadows, Garent, a rogue dwarf, listened and grew hungry for the 
power of the great stone. However, he knew the stone could not be won by one 
dwarf against many. He returned to the overworld, where the great race of 
the T’sani was now dominant. The T’sani had built great kingdoms and drove 
the dragons from the land in the many years that the dwarves had burrowed 
beneath the earth.
	Garent found himself starving and bewildered by the bright lights of the 
overworld, and sought solace at the Mannox, the deep caves where the 
Matricen kept its order. At least these caves were familiar, compared to the 
bright sun and the strange waters that fell from the sky. Within, Garent 
sought out the leader of the Matricen, T’sen Ruhan.
	Ruhan welcomed the strange creature and asked about the disappearance of 
the dwarves, many years before, from the land. Garent explained how Cimern 
had called them to seek beneath the earth for their kingdom and peace. In 
their discussion, both Garent and Ruhan were amazed how similar Caerellon 
and Cimern were to each other.
	Ruhan mentioned to Garent how books by the prophets of the Matricen had 
spoke of the great Eye of the Moon, and the Star that shines in eternal 
darkness. Did Garent know of a similar legend? Garent was startled, and 
noticed a strange glint in the T’sen’s eyes. Garent smiled a wicked smile, 
and thought how strange it was that the most holy of men could harbor an 
evil soul. Garent soon told Ruhan of the great Star of Cimern. And the great 
armies of the T’sani soon marched beneath the earth, led by Garent and 
Ruhan. The dwarves, not prepared for battle, were slaughtered by the 
hundreds, the few who escaped disappeared into the forbidden tunnels, never 
to be seen again.
	Ruhan and Garent approached the great star of Cimern, the Eye of the Moon. 
Garent cracked his knuckles with glee and reached out to touch the stone. 
But he never had a chance.
	Ruhan drove his sword into the black dwarf’s back, dark blood spurting out 
to saturate the holy stone. Garent gasped in pain and surprise, and then 
rolled his eyes up to his killer.
	Garent growled a curse at his murderer, Cursed be you T’sen Ruhan, you will 
never be able to use the Star, it will never yield to you. If you try to use 
this holy stone, soaked with my oath blood, you will shatter the stone and 
destroy the world! Cursed. . .
	Ruhan laughed as one of his holy soldiers brought an axe down on the 
enraged dwarf. Garent’s head, mouth wide with unspoken damning words, rolled 
to the side. Ruhan collected the stone to his breast, it’s diameter as long 
as a man’s arm, from elbow to hand, and half that as tall. Cut with odd 
facets and symbols, it was polished well and had a soft, blue glow, yet it 
was as clear like a diamond.
	Ruhan turned, gave the living crystal cave a cursory glance, and then 
ordered that the entrance be filled after the soldiers had all departed. It 
would be many centuries before anyone would enter Sondofreix again. Ruhan 
strode out of the mouth of the cave. High over his head he carried the Eye 
of the Moon. It glowed with inner power and once in the light it became 
brighter than the sun itself. The army of men chanted, Caerellon, Caerellon, 
Caerellon. Ruhan turned to the Thay Charat, the White Mountains, from which 
he had emerged. He smiled and commanded the stone to do his bidding.
	The dragons, he thought, the dragons will give me power over all the land.
	Ruhan called to the mountains, called them to awake. Grey clouds of ash 
began to fill the sky and settle on the ground. The land rumbled and shook, 
and a sickly red glow appeared on the mountain crests.
	The brave men of the Holy Army screamed and began to run when great black 
and heavily armored beasts began to evacuate their awakening homeland. The 
dragons came by the hundreds, strong enough to burn the fleeing men that 
they believed had awakened their mountains.
	Ruhan only laughed, the cowards deserved to die. They could never 
understand that the power could have saved them
	Fools.
	If only T’sen Ruhan had considered that there were some things older than 
the stone that Caerellon could not command. One of those powerful things was 
Carthax, eldest of all the dragons, and as old as time itself. Ruhan did not 
even quake when the tremendous dragon, angry as all the storms, emerged from 
his mountain. He laughed as the Ancient Carthax drew in his breath and 
prepared to shower Ruhan with flame, hot as the fires deep under the earth. 
The laughter faded as the fire hit the living Star, and the stone shattered 
into nine large pieces. The silence became an agonized scream piercing all 
the corners of the land as the Goddess was shattered. The dragon landed 
before Ruhan, sizing up this T’sani who stood horrified before him, his face 
and body burned beyond recognition. One more blast of flame, and death 
became T’sen Ruhan’s only savior. Satisfied that he had rectified the 
problem of the Disturber, and noticing that the mountains had again calmed, 
Carthax returned to his great home in the White Mountains.
	T’sen Ruhan, later known as the Cullianthay, or mountain waker, had indeed 
destroyed the world, or at least as he knew it. Almost all T’sani were 
eradicated, their towns and villages and castles burned by dragon fire. The 
Age of the T’sani was ended, the survivors were mostly the members of the 
Matricen, safe in their cavernous home of Mannox. This time was the Great 
Transition. The remaining Matricen returned to the White Mountains and 
recovered the remains of the stone. The largest piece, called Garutha, was 
passed on from T’sen to T’sen and the others were hidden in various parts of 
the kingdom to prevent their power from ever being reunited. Atoning for 
their leader’s wanton destruction, the T’sani did penance by keeping away 
from the world. They came to be known as the Ancient Ones.
	The lands where the T’sani had lived were renamed Draigornast, Dragon’s 
Waste, and remained unpopulated for many years. The Æflinþa (High Elves), 
eventually ventured out and claimed most of the land, where they lived in 
peace. Whatever evil still lurked in the darkest of forests or blackest pits 
or the deepest of seas had not yet emerged, perhaps because the malevolent 
side of the earth was subdued by the magic still lingering from the 
destruction of the world. Then, Man came.
	Men and those-akin-to-men were said to have come from the sea, or from 
across the sea in great ships made from fallen trees. Tharen told their 
saplings stories of men to terrify them; they spoke of the use of trees to 
make houses, ships, and furniture. Worst of all was the tree-bane: fire. 
Unsuprisingly, many elves and the other ancient races believed (and some 
still claim) men appeared as the first sign of evil emerging in the world. 
Men pushed their way westward from the ocean, and built their villages and 
cities without any regard to those who had been there for centuries before 
them. Men tore the land, ripping it open with their plows, draining the 
water from the rivers and lakes for their fields and animals. The men did 
not strive to talk to the world, as the elves had done. Men came, and 
brought with them fire and destruction, and fear. A rumor echoed that the 
other pieces of the Eye of the Moon were being unearthed and used by dark 
powers. And mankind found it had little room for the elves. Yet, fate often 
calls for endless years of peace to be broken by conflict, such is the 
nature the world.
 

1

Elsanar


	The grey moon hung like a sharp scythe on the starry flag of night. Low on 
the horizon, its almost closed eye surveyed the snow covered landscape. In 
the tranquil silence a distant sound began to tinkle, growing steadily 
louder. The pale eye noticed a lonely figure carving a sharp path, knee 
deep, destroying the otherwise smooth and freshly laid snow. The great eye 
of the moon seemed to pause, then slowly sank lower towards its rest, tired 
from its journey. However, the eye did not yet close; almost as if it was 
commanded to spare a few more minutes of light for the creatures it would 
soon leave in the dark. The walker, dressed in dark and ragged clothes, 
seemed like an old beggar lost in his peculiar thoughts as he shuffled along 
in the snow. His face obscured by a heavy muffler, left in view only his 
steely eyes which revealed no hint of age. Heavy metal pendants hung on a 
chain from his neck and jangled against each other, creating that strange 
and mystical noise which had arisen from the silence. Before taking a step 
the dark walker would drive his large and roughly hewn staff into the snow, 
stumbling after it as if he needed its meager support.
	It was late, most creatures were asleep or hibernating through this bitter 
night; the feeling of this absence of life was emphasized by the tall, bare 
trees, harshly highlighted by fading moonlight. It was a night most men 
would not dare venture out into, content to remain safe in their warm homes, 
fires burning brightly in fireplaces.
	But Elsanar was not fully a man.
	Wrapping his cloak more tightly around him, he continued on, now waist deep 
in snow. The long scar he had torn in the snow stretched for miles, back to 
the shadow of the Ancient Forest. Elsanar paused to briefly give thanks to 
Caerellon, the white lady of the moon, for her lingering minutes of light. 
Clutching the moon pendant around his neck, he muttered a short prayer. 
Then, satisfied he had properly shown gratitude, the lone figure continued 
on. Frequently glancing at the clear star encrusted sky, Elsanar seemed 
worried.
	 A steep white hill of snow loomed before the night walker, he paused and 
looked at the wall approaching him. Elsanar’s eyes grew grave and closed 
briefly, he had to make a decision; then they open wide, and though 
determined, he sighed. Elsanar strode up to the base of the hill and traced 
strange symbols in the snow at his feet with his great staff, then he 
turned. Considering the path he left in the snow, Elsanar tipped the his 
staff so that he could remove the leather pouch that enclosed the pommel.
	A blue stone, roughly the size of a man’s fist, rested on the knob of the 
staff. Encased in a mesh silver setting, it distinctly contrasted with the 
plain and sturdy wood it sat on. 
	Elsanar looked deep into the stone and then held it before him, murmuring, 
"Ithar Illanthia."
	Illanthia, the stone, began to glow as if a star burned brightly in its 
center, then abruptly died, leaving only the darkness born after the sleepy 
moon had found its rest.
	As if in answer, in the direction of the Ancient Forest left far behind by 
Elsanar, a greenish light flared. Then, just as suddenly the first light, it 
too was snuffed out. Elsanar covered Illanthia, hiding it beneath the 
leather pouch, tightly fastening the leather straps. The darkness was the 
only other witness of these brief alien lights. Elsanar turned back to the 
hill and muttered a few unintelligible words, and there, suddenly, appeared 
before him a tunnel in the snow, burrowing deep beneath the hill.
	Elsanar, stooped and resigned, practically crawled as he descended into the 
tunnel below. His eyes never turned back to the snow behind him, and if he 
had, it was doubtful that he would be surprised that the path he had cut 
through the snow was gone, as if it had never been. The starry night was now 
burdened with clouds and snow had begun to fall, erasing what Illanthia 
might have missed. And the woods, far behind, were still dark and waiting.
 

2

T’sen Morganor


	Someone was coming. The angry voice, easy to identify, was growing louder 
and louder as the T’sen strode down the hall. The piteous and whining voice 
of the High Priest Caradoc was also recognizable, especially by an acolyte 
who had to listen to three hours of his tedious lectures daily.
	Jaran drew in his breath sharply, he had to hide. If he was found in the 
T’sen’s quarters it meant a beating or worse. One of the older acolytes had 
received twelve lashes with the briar whip for being discovered in the 
larder after meal hours. Jaran shuddered to think what might happen if he 
was found here.
	Quickly, Jaran thought as his eyes flew around the rather spacious 
quarters, Where?
	The room was very luxurious for a priest’s abode, even for the T’sen. 
Expensive paintings hung on walls that were much unlike the religious works 
hanging elsewhere in the hallowed halls of the Mannox. Wine, forbidden as a 
rule to anyone in the order, sat in a large flagon on a cart. Cabinetry 
carved undoubtedly by master makers lined the room. Huge bookshelves climbed 
to the stone ceiling, and other impressive chairs and tables decorated the 
room. A particularly large table in the middle of the room suddenly caught 
his frantic glance. It was rectangular and about two feet high and four feet 
long. A sliding door undoubtedly hiding a cabinet took up the entire right 
and left long sides. Jaran, deciding it was the perfect place to stow 
himself, ran over and slid open the cabinet door. The musty smell of old and 
dusty books wafted out, but it was not full. There was plenty of room to 
hide a ten-year old boy. He squashed himself inside and slid the door shut, 
leaving Jaran surrounded by darkness and old books. He spoke a small prayer 
to the gods, and then closed his eyes and waited.
	A dark older man slammed the crude wooden door to the room open. He was 
large and fierce, especially when angered, which was the case now.
	"And to make things worse, where is that damn fool brother of mine?" the 
T’sen was shouting at Caradoc as he strode into the room, kicking shut the 
door behind them. The High Priest cringed.
	The T’sen was an imposing figure, dressed in heavy black wool robes, 
standing over six feet. He towered over the other priests, mostly shy and 
frail studious men. He had the old blood running through his veins, and the 
great earth magic that only the Ancient Ones possessed. The T’sen Morganor 
had been the leader, the T’sen, the highest of all the priests, ever since 
the Great Transition when the Ancient Ones had separated into the High Elves 
and the Human race. He bore the heart of the earth magic, in the form of 
Gaurutha, the Earth stone, given to him by the Ancient Ones because he was 
strong and just; a natural leader. Hair black as his robes, a feature all 
the Ancient race retained, had greyed at the temples and infused itself in 
his beard. His age was difficult to ascertain, as the Ancient ones lived far 
longer than mortal men, but did not have immortality like the elves. His 
eyes, burning with anger and frustration, too were as black as coal.
	Caradoc, short and thin, was very old; it was said he was even old at the 
time of the Great Transition over a thousand years before. Still, he carried 
a lot of power in the Matricen, second only to the T’sen himself.


Marisa Price
marisa@gladstone.uoregon.edu
Anime Page!!! includes my Ranma and MI picture pages!!
http://gladstone.uoregon.edu/~marisa/
Mermaid Saga Web Page!!
http://gladstone.uoregon.edu/~marisa/mermaid.html
Member of COR and UDIC.
Anime otaku forever! Medieval Studies and English major.