Role

Chapter 1

My name is Ilthuryn Ar'dan Verylonathas. I am, or to be more precise, I once
was, the Crown Prince of House Verolyn, destined to rule over the small but
prosperous kingdom of Verolyn and her loyal subjects. Verolyn was a beautiful
and holy place, tucked into the mountains and full of unimaginable splendors
which were known to none whe were not born of Elven blood, as one might hope of
all Elven kingdoms. One might expect that all Elves show the wisdom to keep
themselves free of the squabbles and plights of the lesser races of Thera.

Of course, not all Elven kingdoms and not all Elves are so wise. In fact many
Elves, who believe themselves forward-thinking and open-minded, lobby for all
Elven kingdoms to open themselves up to outsiders, just as the Kingdom of
Darsylon has done. There are many arguments to be made for such policy, from the
introduction of Elven values to the other races, to the offer of our protection
and to avail our vast resources to those in need. These are all very true, of
course, but doing so puts at risk our very way of life.

Verylon, I am saddened to say, is proof of that fact.

My father, rest his soul, was an ambitious King and sought to follow in the
footsteps of House Darsylon. Thera has seen Darsylon grow vastly wealthy and
powerful in the millenia since they opened their borders to outsiders, to the
extent that many seem to believe Darsylon is the only great Elven city. They
have benefited from the trade, from the visitors and from the notoriety and in
most ways, those benefits have outweighed the occasional raid and attack from
bands of murders, thieves and other such wicked men.

Verolyn would share that success, in my father's mind. And for a very brief
time, we too opened our borders to outsiders.

I will spare you the details of the horrors that followed that decision, but
know that Verolyn survives now only as a pile of ash and bones, and as a memory
in my mind.

As the fates would have it, I happened to be out of Verolyn on a hunt to
celebrate the opening of our borders. Tradition dictated that the largest boar
would be the highlight of the feast. Tradition further dictated that the eldest
son of the King must be the greatest hunter, and capture that prize. It was the
way of things, and I was certainly up for the task.

I tracked my prize and loosed the first arrow just as I noticed a faint smell in
the air. Smoke. My first thought was that the feast had started, that another
had captured the prize. Of course that could not be.. none could track nor hunt
better than I. Then what caused that curious odor?

A truly horrible thought struck me almost immediately, the thought that I had
voiced many times in the previous years, in a vain plea to maintain our security
and the exclusivity of our borders. Outsiders could not always be trusted. And
there were so many now welcomed into Verolyn.