Blast from the Past Worldbuilding Wednesday: Moonstruck

I've decided to post one of the most popular Worldbuilding posts from the archive for today - enjoy!

In yesterday’s Worldbuilding post, gave the meanings of the names of some of the different ‘good guys’. In another post about the Khalné, Khalvér and their students who have to choose who they want to follow and serve, one of the leading teachers – and spokesperson of the Khalvér at the occasion – wanted to ‘correct’ his equal on the Khalné’s side:

“Centuries ago when the world was still young, there were those with the Talent and they used it for the good of mankind and they were called the Khallahna. But on the day of the Battle of the Black Field there came a rent in the brotherhood of the Khallahna and the Khallahna was split into two groups. One, the Khalné, called the servants of Light. The other, the Khalvér, the servants of the Darkness.”

“I believe you mean ‘Servants of the Moon’,” Trialma interjected in the moment Parlegon paused for breath.

This name – Servants of the Moon – must be understood in the context of the world; which gives me a chance to go a bit into the symbolism of Airthai.

The sun, moon and stars

 The Keepers’ signs all contain the four stars of the main constellation used for navigation. Stars, however, were also seen as a sign from the Creator that, even with the darkening of the world, with the people’s fall and the Sundering, there is always light and hope. The Creator is also sometimes referred to as the Light. While the sun is the obvious symbol of Light during the day, the moon is the symbol of Light during the night. Because of the perceived static nature of stars and the ever-changing moon, stars came to be considered a sign of never-wavering loyalty and Light.

The waxing and waning of the moon

Like the moon waxes and wanes, so the Khalvér believe that they will never be defeated, but will always return to grow to full power once more. Other than the stars’ light, they teach that the moonlight is the true light, placing emphasis on (or highlighting if you will) everything. Moonlight is believed to be ‘concentrated’ or ‘stronger’ sunlight.

 This reasoning is especially used by the Khalvér while the students of the Khallahna are being taught and used to sway students from choosing to follow the Khalné. By choosing to serve the ‘Stronger Light’ many are led to believe that they are choosing the right way and are the true heirs of the Khallahna. Their hatred of the Ahma, however, speaks directly against this.

Worship of the moon

The twisting of the original knowledge of the Khallahna and the folklore and beliefs before the Sundering can especially be seen in the ways of the Lharna–ahna[1] people (of the northwest of the Sundered Lands), who believe that the moon is their lord and which they serve. They make an offering every new/dark moon. By doing this, they believe that they will win back their lord’s favour and ‘call back’ their lord’s face to watch them for another month.

The Lharna-ahna is one of the few peoples of Airthai who make neither a distinction between the Creator and the Lewjan as the one who they serve. The Khalvér, though sometimes referring to themselves as “Servants of the moon”, don’t worship it, but the Lewjan.

They referred to themselves as Servants of the Moon...

---

[1] Lharna – “moon”

Worldbuilding Wednesday: Moonstruck - lunar folklore

In yesterday’s Worldbuilding post, gave the meanings of the names of some of the different ‘good guys’. In another post about the Khalné, Khalvér and their students who have to choose who they want to follow and serve, one of the leading teachers – and spokesperson of the Khalvér at the occasion – wanted to ‘correct’ his equal on the Khalné’s side:

“Centuries ago when the world was still young, there were those with the Talent and they used it for the good of mankind and they were called the Khallahna. But on the day of the Battle of the Black Field there came a rent in the brotherhood of the Khallahna and the Khallahna was split into two groups. One, the Khalné, called the servants of Light. The other, the Khalvér, the servants of the Darkness.”

“I believe you mean ‘Servants of the Moon’,” Trialma interjected in the moment Parlegon paused for breath.

This name – Servants of the Moon – must be understood in the context of the world; which gives me a chance to go a bit into the symbolism of Airthai.

The sun, moon and stars

 The Keepers’ signs all contain the four stars of the main constellation used for navigation. Stars, however, were also seen as a sign from the Creator that, even with the darkening of the world, with the people’s fall and the Sundering, there is always light and hope. The Creator is also sometimes referred to as the Light. While the sun is the obvious symbol of Light during the day, the moon is the symbol of Light during the night. Because of the perceived static nature of stars and the ever-changing moon, stars came to be considered a sign of never-wavering loyalty and Light.

The waxing and waning of the moon

Like the moon waxes and wanes, so the Khalvér believe that they will never be defeated, but will always return to grow to full power once more. Other than the stars’ light, they teach that the moonlight is the true light, placing emphasis on (or highlighting if you will) everything. Moonlight is believed to be ‘concentrated’ or ‘stronger’ sunlight.

 This reasoning is especially used by the Khalvér while the students of the Khallahna are being taught and used to sway students from choosing to follow the Khalné. By choosing to serve the ‘Stronger Light’ many are led to believe that they are choosing the right way and are the true heirs of the Khallahna. Their hatred of the Ahma, however, speaks directly against this.

Worship of the moon

The twisting of the original knowledge of the Khallahna and the folklore and beliefs before the Sundering can especially be seen in the ways of the Lharna–ahna[1] people (of the northwest of the Sundered Lands), who believe that the moon is their lord and which they serve. They make an offering every new/dark moon. By doing this, they believe that they will win back their lord’s favour and ‘call back’ their lord’s face to watch them for another month.

The Lharna-ahna is one of the few peoples of Airthai who make neither a distinction between the Creator and the Lewjan as the one who they serve. The Khalvér, though sometimes referring to themselves as “Servants of the moon”, don’t worship it, but the Lewjan.

They referred to themselves as Servants of the Moon...

---

[1] Lharna – “moon”

A short Worldbuilding Tuesday: The Good Guys – a note about the language

Or, dabbling in strange tongues

While preparing the ‘next’ Worldbuilding post; it turned into two – then three – then four posts. Instead of writing a whole essay and not simply a blogpost, I’ve decided to split them into short posts to make it both easier to read and to keep track of. Today I start with a short language post.

I’ve written quite a bit about the Khallahna, the Khalné and the Khalvér – but I have not yet focused on the meaning of these names. Well, here they are:

‘Khal’ – servant, with ‘khalla’ being ‘servant of’

‘Ahma’ – refers to the soul or spirit of mortals and the Great or First Spirit of the Creator.

‘Ahna’ – refers collectively to the mortal peoples of Airthai. After the Sundering, this was understood as meaning the people of the Continent and the Isles. Those of the Sundered Lands were most commonly known as ‘the Fallen’ or the ‘Servants of the Shadow’.

Khallahma – Servants of the Spirit

Khallahna – Servants of the People

After the Khallahna wars, the Khallahna split into two groups who called themselves the Khalné and Khalvér.

Néa – light – may also refer to the Creator (as with the Tellerassar’s language).

Véar – dark – may also refer to the Lewjan.

Khalné – Servants of the Light

Khalvér – Servants of the Dark

The claim by the Khalvér that their name means “Servants of the Moon” are thus untrue. The mythology and knowledge behind the light/dark and light/moon will be the focus of tomorrow’s Worldbuilding Wednesday.

Flash Fiction: Elgar

Here’s the flash fiction piece meant for yesterday’s Monday Fiction; but bumped to today as the photo of the “dragon egg” was just too brilliant not to share.

I first introduced Elgar in the piece “A Father’s Choice”. In this one, I had a look at the Talent/powers of the Khalné and the Khalvér and how they interact with each other when they have to try to win students hoping to be Khallahna over to their side. Tomorrow, for Worldbuilding Wednesday, I’ll take a closer look at these two factions that once formed the Khallahna.

Elgar

Elgar entered the hall with his heart beating in his throat. Today was the day he had been training for for five years. Today he would choose the path he will follow for the rest of his life. He was the strongest student in the group, the one with the most Talent. He took his place among the other students dressed in the same brown as he.

Né Parlegon, a near-bald, middle-aged man cleared his throat as he stepped up to speak to the twenty or so students before him. Dressed in a cream robe hemmed in red and gold, he stood in stark contrast to the large frame next to him dressed in deep purple. His voice was stiff as he started to speak. “Today I see before me not students of the Talent, but the future leaders of our world. This day will be the last day on which you will wear the brown of students. Today, you will choose your path.” Parlegon shuffled the papers in front of him. He hated the day the students had to choose which side of the Khallahna they will be part of. Most of them were still too young to know much about the world, let alone choose a path for themselves.

“Centuries ago when the world was still young, there were those with the Talent and they used it for the good of mankind and they were called the Khallahna. But on the day of the Battle of the Black Field there came a rent in the brotherhood of the Khallahna and the Khallahna was split into two groups. One, the Khalné, called the servants of Light. The other, the Khalvér, the servants of the Darkness.”

“I believe you mean ‘Servants of the Moon’,” Trialma interjected in the moment Parlegon paused for breath.

The Né swallowed hard. He knew the old texts. He knew “vér” meant “darkness”. He could feel the eyes of Vér Trialma boring into his back. Rather than start a fight, Parlegon continued with his speech.

“I will not lie to you. If you choose the path of the Khalné, your name will not be known. You will not be taught the spells and potions of the Khalvér that works on the minds of those they target. You may sit among peers and friends today, but from tomorrow, you will fight them as they fight you. It is not an easy road, but it is a necessary one. Make your choice well today. Do not be moved by sly words, but solely by the fire in you.”

Trialma had heard enough. “Your time is up, Né Parlegon. It is my turn to speak.” His voice was clearer than that of Parlegon, his accent one of a learned man. He never stumbled over his words, not like Parlegon who still had the alien accent of the northern city of Almiaka in Edaron.

“Brothers, sisters,” Trialma intoned. “You have learned how to use the Talent as a child learns his letters. Now is the time to embrace the power you have been given. The Né Parlegon wish to stand here and tell you to join them but not use the Talent you have been given. To use it only as he sees fit. To never slay anyone with it yet fight the Khalvér! If you are stronger in Talent, you will only be at home with the Khalvér. If you are weak, you will join the Né. Both roads have the same ending. Why hide your Talent when you can be powerful and make a change in the world? Join us, the brothers of the Vér.” He pointed to where other Khalvér entered the hall.

Elgar saw himself in a purple robe, his father at last proud of him, his people at his feet. His Talent harnessed to make him the strongest Vér in Trelkanor. 

Without a call from Parlegon, the cream dressed Khalné entered the hall on the other side.

The Khalvér stuck out their arms, clenching their hands into fists. The Khalné caught their breaths as if they were being strangled.

Elgar Ashwood gazed in horror at the gasping Né. He looked back at the stage. Parlegon was on his feet. Trialma had his hand out as well, a snide grin on his face. Everyone else watched the other Khalné, their minds being turned by actions, not by words. Parlegon did not gasp for breath, he did not struggle. He simply batted with his hand as if he was batting away a fly. Trialma’s arm shot back and the grin vanished very quickly. He tried to lift his arm once again, but found it pinned to his side.

“Release yourselves,” Parlegon said.

He saw the other Khalné make the same movement, some fighting the force with which they were held, most breaking the force easily.

“Release them,” Trialma said.

“A low blow, Trialma,” Parlegon mouthed and Elgar looked towards the Khalvér. Their arms did seem a bit stiff next to them.

Trialma turned to the audience of students, still not lifting his hand. Elgar looked around him, wondering if the others had noticed Parlegon’s power as well.

“You have seen our power,” Trialma said. “Now, make your choice.”

The students rose and started to file out of the door of the side they have chosen. Some said a last farewell to friends, others did not so much as look at those not taking their side. Only three joined the Khalné.

Elgar made his way to the left side of the hall where the Né waited. Parlegon stood by the door.

“Why have you chosen the Né?” he asked.

Elgar looked up into the black eyes of the man. “I saw how easily you released yourself from Vér Trialma. I saw how the Né pinned the Vér’s arms to their sides.” He rambled and took a breath. “But I wouldn’t have chosen the darkness even if the Vér had won.”

Né Parlegon smiled. “You speak the truth, though you speak fast. You will be a good student.”

Elgar smiled and looked behind him at those following him. There were only  five of the students in brown behind him. The other fifty or so clustered around the doors on the far side of the hall. Suddenly, he was filled with fear.

“You do not have to be afraid,” one of the Khalné outside the door told him. “It is the same every year. We are enough as we are.”

Elgar looked back over his shoulder.

“You really believe that?”

“I do. Come, the day have almost passed and we still have much to do.”

Fiction Monday: Eldarion Whargahn

Eldarion watched his brothers disappear into the trees before he turned his back on the Rëaghor Forest. At the crossroads before him there were two choices for any traveller: travel through the forest or travel around it. Deep ruts led north and south, following the road most often used. But on this road, grass and weeds were matted where people had passed fled into the forest. The forest and its surrounds had been the Erewhar's home for almost as long as their tales remembered. He glanced behind him, checking that the last few stragglers of the Whargahn clan had disappeared into the shadows of the forest; each carrying only a small bundle of possessions. They had no time to wait for a cripple. He clenched and unclenched his hand around the green hilt of his short sword. At least he could hold the Khalvér back for a while and give his people a chance to escape a taint to their souls.

The moon showed only half her face, but the light was enough to see by for the Erewhar. He glanced at the four stars that pointed south to where his people had come from so many generations before; before they had betrayed the Ahma on that fateful day – the choice that had led to their fall. He heard the figures approaching before he took his eyes from the stars. For a moment he wondered if the Erewhar would remember him.

Cursed vermin. Did they truly still think that the Erewhar would join them in serving the ever-cursed Lewjan? The Erewhar may have fallen once, but would never again stoop to that level. His people would be redeemed. He rested his eyes on the dark figures and felt the power of the Talent being awakened deep inside him.  

"Stay where you are!" he called to the figures, not expecting them to stop, but hoping that they would step into the road now that they know they had been spotted. Three of the figures did just that. He couldn't make out their faces, but knew the golden sigil they wore upon their breasts. There was no doubt about their identity – Khalvér; and Servants of the Shadow. For all he knew Alzer, the boy they had sent as messenger, lay dead on his way to the Khalné. Would the Khalné arrive in time even if they had received the message? He drew his sword a couple of inches from its sheath and said a prayer for the redemption of all their souls.

One of the Khalvér lifted his hand, but it was neither in greeting, nor in warning. Eldarion felt the air around him thicken and press against his chest, leaving his breathing laboured. He drew strength from somewhere inside himself. The Other, the Elders called the source that the Erewhar was able to draw upon. Part of the Talent that the Khalné used, but it was different in many ways: more potent, but also more unpredictable, and addictive like the Talent was not – tainted somehow by deeds long past. He already felt the Lewjan’s shadow calling to him. He did not move, but pushed against the Khalvér's magic. His breathing became normal once more and he drew his sword fully. They laughed when he took two steps closer to them and they saw that he stumbled as he walked.

"Fight me fair," he said and his voice rang out across the grassy field. He fought off a second Khalvér that tried to bind him, lifting his arm to keep his balance. More shadows appeared in the tall grass. He would never be able to fight them all off and live. His heart beat faster still and cold sweat beaded on his brow. Perhaps he was not meant to live through this night. A strange glow showed in the palm of one of the Khalvér, proving that he summoned his power from the Shadow.

The Khalvér strode towards him. Towards the woods. Towards his people. He had to save his people, no matter what the cost. Eldarion flung out all the power inside him at the Khalvér, striking with his sword at the same time and receiving a pounding in return that sent him to his knees and crushed his fingers around the hilt. He cursed himself for letting them know the extent of his Talent so soon.

The leader of the band of Khalvér, a Werlea, stepped forward. He drew his own blue-black blade from the sheath at his hip. The intricately wrought blade seemed to glow with the blood it had drunk before. Tempered in Ahma's blood, the word went about these swords. And what was Erewhar but fallen Ahma? What was he? He felt his heart quail and the Talent dimmed. The Werlea’s voice was emotionless.

“There will be no peace for the Erewhar. No life. No redemption. You will join with us or die.”

Eldarion’s blade was forced to the ground and cleft into the sand. There were too many, and they were too strong. What was so much of the Lewjan’s magic against his tainted Talent? His heart sank, his breathing slowed, crushed from his body by the Khalvér.

He felt a faint pulse around him. He took a quick gulp of air before it was pushed away once more. Eldarion closed his eyes and concentrated on the faint pulse of Talent.

Fear only seems to lessen the Talent you’re given, he remembered being taught. He pushed once more with all the might he had, joining that faint pulse. Three of the Khalvér dropped to their knees. By their howling he knew they had been stilled and left to face the Shadow’s Lord without their dark magic.

A Werlea stepped up to him. Intricate tattooed patterns partially hid the burst veins and discolouration around his eyes. From his belt he drew a short, twisted blade. The Servant of the Shadow laughed at Eldarion as he tried to lift his sword. But as he struck with his blade at the young Erewhar's heart, the stroke glanced away and threw him off balance. Eldarion’s grip around his sword's hilt loosened, and pain flooded his arm as feeling returned.

Eldarion glanced around, feeling the pulse of Talent grow stronger. Then he saw the figures in their light cloaks. The Khalné had arrived. There was a chance for redemption still. The Erewhar were saved. He was saved. 

Photo by Thomas Schaeffer

Worldbuilding Wednesday: A Map of Airthai

The following map of Airthai was inspired by T-O maps of Earth. It is not supposed to be a realistic representation of the world, but rather a symbolic one. It was only drawn and used after the Great Sundering of the Lands.

Just as there are four directions (north, south, east and west) and four seasons, there are also four stars that aid travellers in finding their direction and Airthai is divided into four parts. Three of these parts (the Continent and the Eastern and Western Isles) are placed against the fourth; which is the Sundered Lands. The map is therefore also used to show that the Sundered Lands are only a small part of the world and that its people would never be able to overrun and rule the whole of Airthai.

Much later, a similar map was drawn of the Continent as a form of protest by a scholar from Trelkanor after the Khalvér and their Nightwatchers had infiltrated the country. In this map he placed the “Southern Lands” – of which Trelkanor is the farthest south – in the place of the Sundered Lands. He had hoped to get some sense into the rulers of the country and its people, but was stricken by the Illness shortly after the map was made public and most copies of the map was destroyed out of fear.

Other fiction: For Part 12 of Virgin for Hire, click here.

Some Worldbuilding and a Flash of Fiction

The Battle of the Black Field has been fought. The Khallahna has split into the Khalvér – Servants of the Dark– and the Khalné – Servants of the Light. Now, three centuries have passed and the great cities of Trelkanor, including Ahrlea, are haunted at night by servants of the Khalvér who spread fear, death and the Illness that can take memories or even leave your mind an empty shell.

Uninvited Visitors

“Who was it that ratted me out?” Gretha glared at the dark clad Nightwatchers in front of her. “Tell me!”

The Nightwatchers remained silent. One of them moved. He was taller than the other Nightwatchers and towered over the short frame of Gretha.

“You can at least do me the favour of telling me who it was that ratted me out before you take my mind!” She bundled her wrinkled hands into her sides, glaring up at the masked man as if he was a boy caught stealing apples.

“Do you have a daughter?” The Nightwatcher’s voice was muffled under the black mask he wore over the lower half of his face. The embroidered, golden sigil he wore upon his heart caught the lamplight.

“She’s long dead, ask anyone.”

“A son?” He stepped closer, cutting her off from escape from the room.

“Dead the same year.” Gretha didn’t move.

“And do they –”

“Don’t waste my time blathering. My whole family died of the Fever not ten years ago.” She stepped up to the tall man. “Some say the Werlea made it and the Watchers brought it. Everyone agrees the Watchers know when anyone dies – or when they get ill.”

“The Illness is given to those deserving of the punishment,” the man said and drew himself up.

Gretha looked past the man to where one of the other Nightwatchers was lighting what seemed to be thin twigs wrapped in paper with the flame of one of the lamps in the room. It smoked heavily and Gretha pulled part of her scarf over her face, shielding her nose and mouth.

“Do you do it here or do you take me away?” Gretha asked and felt her mind getting fuzzier by the second as she inhaled the strange fumes.

“We’ll take you away. We won’t just leave you here with the Illness. You deserve far worse.” The watcher’s voice was only a rumble and he snatched the scarf from her face, forcing her to inhale the smoke. Within a few seconds it had done its work and she blacked out.

“Bind and take her outside. I will search the place again.”

The Nightwatchers bound the old woman and carried her to their horses while their leader walked slowly through the small house.

Beneath the floor, Leandré could hear the footsteps coming closer and closer to where she lay hidden beneath the crude floorboards. Her great aunt’s voice had been loud enough for her to hear everything. She crouched down further, her knees digging into the loose black soil. Beside her was a pack, filled with clothes, food and other necessities. In one hand she gripped a large kitchen knife, ready to put up a fight if the Nightwatcher found the trapdoor. Smoke started to seep through the cracks between the floorboards. The smoke smelled both sweet and sharp at the same time. She tried to hold her breath, keeping her lungs filled with clean air as she waited. She had heard that the Nightwatchers – servants of the Khalvér – can only be killed by a wound through the heart or head. Head or heart, she repeated in her head. Her hands began to shake and she could barely keep the knife from falling from her grip. Her vision began to blur and she shook her head, trying to clear it. She could not tell if the footsteps were moving towards her or away from her. She dared a shallow breath, her lungs burning with smoke. Then world turned to pitch and she heard and knew no more.

A Father’s Choice

Some Airthai fiction


Here’s a piece I have been working on as background to a bigger piece (perhaps a novel, hint-hint) set in the Southern Lands of Airthai. It takes place about thirteen centuries after the Sundering of the Lands and about two centuries after “A Dragon’s Freedom”. Where the Eastern and Midlands have the Keepers, the Southern Lands had the Khallahna, who split into the Khalné and Khalvér after the Khallahna War. At first the Khallahna all followed the Creator, but the Khalvér followed the Werlea after the war, while the Khalné followed the Ahma (the Werlea’s antithesis).

A Father’s Choice

“Sir? Your son is here to see you. May I send him in? As you wish, Sir. After you, Young Master, your father will see you now.”

Elgar smiled at the retainer and pulled at his shirt and light cloak before stepping into the large office. He knew his red eyes still bespoke of much sorrow, but he would look his father in the eye, looking for the same pain there.

“Father,” he greeted the man behind the desk. His father looked much older than he remembered, as if he had aged fifteen years in the five he had been absent from home. “I came as soon as I could.”

His father kept on writing, not even looking up as he dipped the quill in ink, not saying a word to the young man he hadn’t seen in five years. But Elgar knew better than to speak again. That much he could remember. After nearly ten minutes of silence his father placed the quill aside and looked up at his son. Elgar took after his mother, his hair an indistinct shade between red and brown, his eyes a striking blue offset by his fair, freckled skin. A strange look indeed. And now, a hateful one.

“You came to pay your last respects?”

“Aye, sir. I only got the news three days ago and came directly from the tower with all speed.”

His father steepled his fingers under his chin, looking him up and down. Elgar at first stood proud and tall in the cream and gold cloak of the Khalné, but then realised that the look in his father’s eyes were one of disdain – and of fear.

“Damn you, child!” he shouted and Elgar took a step back. “You went and chose the bloody Khalné?”

Elgar frowned. To him the Khalvér had never been an option. The Né served the Light with their Talent; the Vér served the darkness with magic and spells and turned the Talent into a deadly weapon. He swallowed and tried to speak to the raving man in front of him.

“Sir, if you will – Father! What did you expect of me? To choose the Vér? You know what Mother thought of-“

“You will not befoul her name or memory, you spoiled little brat! I sent you to the tower because I had to, not because I wanted to. You know the Khalné are treated not much better than the Ahma? But the Khalvér and Werlea – people look up to them!

“People fear them, Father. I will not be feared because of my Talent.”

His father sat back down and poured a dark liquid into a glass. He took a swig and stared at his son. “Who knows you are here?”

“Father?”

“Answer!”

“My Né brothers. I came straight here and did not tarry –“

“Good. And now you will leave for the Western Tower with all haste and never return to this house again.”

“Father? But-“

“You are no longer my son.”

The words hit him like a blow to the stomach that left him without any breath.

“Please leave.” His voice was softer this time. “I’ll give you money, my fastest horse, but you have to leave here. Now.”

“I don’t understand, I –“

“You’re not meant to, Elgar.” He took another swig of the liquid. “And there is no time to explain everything.”

“Please, Father –“

“I… I… I promised you to them, Elgar.” He lifted tear-filled eyes to his son.

“To whom?”

“The Vér.” His voice was just a whisper.

Elgar looked at him in disgust, finding no words now.

“You were ill, just after you were born, you see? They said, they said they can heal you, that they know of a potion –“

“And in return for their witchcraft you offered me?”

“I gave you life!”

“You betrayed the house! You betrayed me!” He bowed mockingly. “Goodbye, Father.” He left the room.

He took another swig of the dark fluid. There had been another promise as well. He had become a Nightwatcher, spending his nights tracking people with the Talent that stood against the Khalvér. He didn’t do the killing himself, not usually. But the work still took its toll. It was never what he had wanted. But he had given his word and would never be free from them. Never. But they had saved his son. They gave Elgar back his life and now he was healthy. He didn’t have a choice. Not then, not now. He sent Elgar away again to save him. Only the Né could keep him from harm now.

The Fall of the Erewhar

A thousand years or more before the dark day of the Battle of the Black Field a stranger came to the south west of the Southern Lands. No one knew where he came from. No one knew where he was going. He was dressed in brown, threadbare clothes and a formless felt hat hung over his half blind eyes. In his right hand he carried a black staff and in the left a leather bag with books which he sometimes swung onto his bowed back.

The people of the town of Hêrgereh, which in that time was a city with its own House of Learning, welcomed the man when they saw that he had books with him which they didn’t know of.

He also showed them wonderful works, which he seemed to do with his Talent, like curing the city ruler’s son from a sudden illness that affected his brain and mind. What the people didn’t know was that he was one of the Lewjan that came to them in human form to seduce them and lead them away from the Allwaldan. He let them copy the books and helped them to translate the books into the Erewhar’s language from a strange language which they didn’t know. Through this, they learned of a new power. They gave this knowledge to those among them who was not learned until every Erewhar in Hêrgereh used the new power and not their given Talent.

Then they went to the other towns of the Erewhar and those from Hêrgereh gave them the knowledge of the Lewjan as well. Within two decades, all the Erewhar had turned away from their Talent and Allwaldan and now followed the Lewjan, even though many at the time did not realise this yet.

The Lewjan that went to the Erewhar took on his true, twisted form on the day that the last Erewhar turned away from the Creator and he laughed at them and their Houses of Learning. “Just look how quickly the pious Erewhar turns from their Creator! You will serve my master for the rest of Airthai’s existence!”

Then the Erewhar knew that it was a Lewjan in front of them and that they had lost the Talent that had been given to them. They had turned so far from Allwaldan, that they had even forgotten their own laws and blood ran in the streets of the Erewhar towns as each fought for more power.

One after the other the wonderful towns, city and Houses of Learning of the Erewhar fell in flames and ruins.

But the Creator will never leave his creations for the Lewjan and sent three Airus to one of the towns where some of the Erewhar had come to see that they had turned from their Creator and sought a way back somehow. At first they turned a cold shoulder to the Airus, thinking that they also wanted to lead them from the light, and did not want to listen to them. But in time they learned again their old ways and found that, when they broke through the Lewjan’s chains and chose the side of the Light that they received a new Talent – one with which to better fight the Lewjan.

Because they had been under the Lewjan for more than a generation by this time, they found that the Lewjan still had some kind of hold on them when they used their Talent. The Erewhar had the Talent to fight the Lewjan, just like the Ahma, but a deathly sin had been awakened in them and when they fought they did not want to only fight for their and other’s freedom, but also to gain power or exact revenge. That is why they took to saying that the shadow of the Lewjan always followed them. For many generations the Erewhar would still fight against the power of the Lewjan.

Then one of the women who lived on the outskirts of the Erewhar’s lands gave birth to a daughter. She was not only taught by her family, but also by the Ahma from Reiaghy that heard about the family’s goodness and that they wanted to shun the Lewjan completely. She was called Aleidys. When she was twenty years old Aleidys, along with others of her town that shunned the Lewjan, and the Ahma, went to the other towns and through their use of their Talent and their words convince the people to turn against the Lewjan.

The Erewhar freed themselves from the Lewjan’s chains slowly and came in revolt against the Lewjan and their minions. They drove away the old man and any other Lewjan they found in the towns.

On the last day of the hundredth year since the coming of the Lewjan to the Erewhar the soldiers of the Erewhar stood against the Lewjan. A fierce fight was fought on that day. The Lewjan attacked the Erewhar with fire, but not one hair on the heads of the Erewhar was singed. Some of the witnesses later said that they saw the Airus that fought on the field alongside the Erewhar and kept the fire from them. The Erewhar stood strong because they knew that this battle was not just for their freedom, but for their very souls.

Some of the Erewhar, however, were so drunk and blind with the power the Lewjan gave and promised them, that they still chose to go with the Lewjan even after the Erewhar had won and were taken away in a plume of smoke when the new day dawned. They were not seen again in their own human form, but were rumoured to dwell in the Death Plain seeking souls to twist as their own were twisted. They could take on any form that they wished, like the strongest of the Lewjan, and it is said that they often took the form of seductive women to seduce men with their looks and voices.

The Erewhar who stayed behind found the ground turned to ash where they stood and not one tree still stood on the burnt plain. Around them was nothing but ash and mud. And so they trekked south to seek help from the neighbouring countries. Aleidys led the group that would later become the Whargahn clan.

They made their new home in and around the woods of Reiaghor and that is where Eldarion Whargahn of the Whargahn clan stood against the Khalvér.