Tel' Nim Ando. (Ethgan'tor's Gates)

[Adder]

Resplendent in all its glory at the very heart of the Forest of Light resides the elusive Esh’lahier City, Ethgan’tor. Spires of pure white marble rise to the heavens to peak above the forests canopy. It was once all but invisible from unwanted eyes due to enchantments cast upon the city in ages past to prevent any not ‘True’ to the Esh’lahier to perceive nothingness and woodland, but those enchantments had died with the shattering of the Aethergem. Few however besides that of the Esh’lahier and those welcomed within the Forest of Light such as the Faeries, Nymphs and Dryads are ever seen within the city of Ethgan’tor, and none besides captives and Elf Friends ever pass through the hallowed Gate.

There is but a singular true pathway that leads to Ethgan’tor, despite the fact that there are hundreds of tracks that carve a lazy pathway to the Ivory city. Each one has its purpose; each one leads to a certain fate, as this is the first test of one seeking the Esh’lahier Capital, the final refuge against the hates and prejudices of those within Telath. As is taught from a young age, those paths of granite grant naught but wanderings and the delving into darkness. Hard of appearance and form, it is these pathways which lead to the darker area’s of the Forest of Light where ancient evils lie dormant, weakened, but never destroyed for the shadow is but another facet of light where balance much remain intact. It is thus most unfortunate that it is these pathways which appear the most friendly, the well worn surface fitting for carriages and carts alike… and it is unfortunate that it is these pathways which claim the lives of many every Era. The paths of broken obsidian prove false as well, for no path of the black stone shall ever lead to Ethgan’tor – but rather always twisting and turning to lead towards the North West, towards the Xet and into despair and decay. Those who wander those paths often suffer a fate worse than death, a prospect that the Esh’lahier themselves find of little concern. Those who travel the pathways of darkness deserve the darkness that they obtain in return.

The final two paths however, one of soft fine sand, and the other of apparently hard broken brambles and dense bracken are the only two which can truly be declared safe to travel. That of the soft white sand leads nowhere but outside the Forest of Light, the roads and pathways continually twisting and turning to remove those who wander these pathways outside once more and away from harm. Ever changing and whimsical, it is believed that the sands themselves actually change location at varying times of the brightening as no one has ever been able to make a map of the sand trails that wasn’t rendered useless within the next cycle. The final pathway, that created by the forest itself is the only true pathway that will lead to Ethgan’tor despite being most unfriendly at first sight, the only one that causes no harm to travellers unless harm itself is brought with those who intrude. Clear of shadows and despair, the Forest of Light lives up to it’s name for those who wander the final, singular and almost impossible pathway as always is the road bathed in light. Day and night, always the path is visible whether because of sun or moonlight or some force unknown, always is the path free of fallen branches and long fallen leaves of autumn gold after the first few miles of hardship. The path to purity is not without hardship, and the perseverance needed to press onwards rather than turn back reflects this element of the Esh’lahier. Should malice however walk this pathway and actually reach the very end… then it is dealt with at the Gates of Ethgan’tor.

The second tests and warnings are that of the Five Hundred Waystones that run alongside the pathway of the Forest, pillars of white marble traced with light pink veins that run along its surface in random patterns. Standing one meter tall and twenty-five centimetres in diameter, they are perfectly smooth all around it’s exterior and polished to a shine. At the foot of the Waystones, moss and lichen begins to climb the ivory coloured surface, always the purple wildmoon flowers grow at their bases and fill the air with a tantalising scent that in it’s own way is intoxicating as the most potent of wines. At the top of each way stone a single gemstone no bigger than a hens egg rests. There is no given colour for any of the stones themselves; all change depending upon the intentions of the ones that walk the forest path. Their precise purpose though was lost almost immediately however upon their creation after the Archmagi Carini’ituin perished in the subsequent creation, and unfortunate explosion of some unknown arcanic working she’d been working upon that resulted only cycles after their placement upon the paths of the Forest of Light. Whatever was the intent of the enigmatic Magi is unknown, though many have attempted to decipher her mind and divine the purpose of the Waystones, though with little fortune. As it is, no Waystone can ever be removed from their pillar by force or coercion, just as no pillar can be broken through the passing of time, nor force. All remain to this very brightening, flickering various colours - not unlike a Candarose’s petals. What the test is, none know, but there are many yet who enter the Forest of Light who walk the pathway of the forests who never reach Ethgan’tor, or manage leave the forest alive. Those who do survive however, but fail to make it to the all but mythical city are always changed in one means or another, mentally or physical.

The third, and final test granted to one who wanders the path to Ethgan’tor is when the roadway itself ends as the great evergreen trees of the Forest of Light part to reveal a clearing that seems to stretch as far as the eye can see. Slowly though, for those ‘True’ to the Esh’lahier and bear no malice in their hearts upon the Children of Phedos the vision begins to flicker and solidify until the city itself lies before oneself. The road itself alters, perfectly fitting paving stones of white that interlock and join together so well that no means but that of Arcana could be used to pry the stones apart. Before though is where ones eyes truly linger. Running from side to side is a wall of dazzling white marble shot with light pink veins that stretch some twenty-five meters high and at intervals some two hundred meters across rest guard towers build within the walls themselves. Great bronze basins and torches run along the walls themselves, golden flames burning through the brightening and all through the night to allow any of the Esh’lahier, and those True to their cause to see the city bathed in light. The Esh’lahier may be considered Dark Elves amongst those of Telath, but that gave the puritanical Elves no reason to persist in such a concept and dwell in the undergrounds like their corrupted brethren, the Vysstichi.

Spires of light rush to meet the sky, a hundred meters high, if not more so, each seeming to compete with each other in splendour and magnificence – but all pale in comparison to the Tower which rests at the very heart of Ethgan’tor, at the very heart of the Forest of Light. Standing at five hundred meters from ground level, it’s almost impossible to determine how this could not be seen from outside the Forest of Light and yet there it was. The final fortress, unused except to hold the Esh’lahier Noble Houses in current times and currently the seat of power for politics. The final hundred meters though none can see, shrouded in soft white clouds that cover the area around the great spire itself, and every now and again one might see the barely visible forms of the Pegasi Cavalry swoop around and drift upon the rising thermals.

The gates however, that which rests before those who have travelled the singular path that takes almost an entire cycle to complete from the edges of the Forest of Light stands forth where the pathway ends. The Gate Tower itself is an opening twenty-five meters across, on either side a pillar rising upwards before enclosing itself in an archway that hides with cunning workmanship a double gate built from pure adamantinum designed to hold back the unwelcome armies of others in the rare case that one brightening, war might come to Ethgan’tor. Never have the gates been shut since their creation, for never has there been any presence within Ethgan’tor that hasn’t been caught by one of the three tests of the Forest of Light. Walking forwards, a pair of Esh’lahier stride forth from the ‘Iylantian Levy’, each lithe figure moving with a precision timing that would make Imperial Guard Commanders around the Allerian Empire green with envy. Both were exactly two meters tall and had the Esh’lahier trait of skin like moonlight and alabaster hair that hung to their shoulders. Their features were beautiful, radiant…and yet, that was by Human standards. Each was garbed in white linen tunic and soft white brigga that ended at their kneecaps to be covered in light grey military boots. On their left hip a longknife sheathe was borne, though no conventional weapon such as a sword or axe could be seen. Wrapped around their shoulders, flowing free was a warm woollen cloak that bore the elvish runes for ‘Hope’ in the middle.

“Vedui’” stated the guard on the left with a warm smile as she glanced up at the gate tower before inclining her head in a slight nod before returning her gaze back down. “It’s my pleasure to welcome you to Ethgan’tor. Please could you state your name and purpose within the city of Ioannes’ virtue?” she asked, a serene smile playing across her pale features as her musical voice filled the air. The guard on the right, a man with a somewhat harsher features continually shifted his gaze to watch the pathways entrance or exit depending upon ones perspective as if expecting more people to follow yet.

Original text; Maddyn

[Malkaer Andares]

Timestamp: Ioannolia of the second cycle of Junctior, Autumn of Era III of the Celestine Mandate (current Pattern), Era XII Post Fractum, the First Era in the reign of Empress Arabella the Kind.

Cricket. Ah, the sounds of Eth'gantor. Malkaer felt he was close to his destination. For over a cycle the esh'lahier travelled through the treacherous Forest of Light. Even for one who knew the way it was a difficult journey. And he did not really know the way, having travelled to capital of his race only once. As a young playful boy in his fourties the journey with his father had seemed like one long fun ride. Only now did he understand Astartus' quietness along the path. Forces of unknown nature pulled him back, slowed him down. Perhaps it were his own thoughts and doubts, but a candlemark did not pass that Malkaer did not think of returning to Mystique. Marnair, his white mare, had been a wonderful companion in that respect. Everytime he tried to turn her around she neighed scornfully. Both of them knew this was a journey which had to be made, and the old mare felt in her bones she wished to do so only once.

A storm was coming for the shadow elves. Malkaer, although a devout man, was usually rather sceptical towards omens and signs, seeing the clear machinations of politicians through them. This time he was uncertain, there would be changes. The storm, if properly guided, could achieve change and great things for Eth'gantor and his race, but if left uncontrolled would destroy their race and city. The scion of Kasckariade would do everything in his ability to prevent that. Not that he acted out of selflessness. House Andares would emerge as the most powerful family of all esh'lahier.

No revolutions yet with this visit however. The goal of this journey to Eth'gantor was only to explore the current tidings of the city, aswell as a spiritual one for himself. He also needed to acquire certain supplies which were hard to obtain in Mystique.

Finally the difficult path ended in a great grassplain. For a moment his heart froze, but then the illusion was dispelled as the test found him worthy. In all it's splendour the esh'lahier beheld the city of his dreams for the first time in almost a century. Malkaer sighed deeply, sucking in the beauty of Eth'gantor. Certainly it surpassed his childly memory. Closing his eyes he made a short prayer to Phedos.

The pale elf dismounted and led his horse towards the open gate. "Vedui", he replied with and returned the smile. Hope, how appropriate. "Mal'kaer te Nosse Andaeras. My purpose is of spiritual nature", Malkaer said in his native tongue. Undoubtly his dialect had been heavily influenced by all those patterns living among the humans, but he hoped she would spare his dignity.