Marpenoth 15, 1348. Year of the Spur.
Fall has come fast to the Evereska mountains, and with it, a brisk chill in the night air. Frost, like dusted sugar, coats the ground and coloring leaves and sparkles beneath the brilliant light of the star-filled cloudless sky. .
It is late, yet still, the common room of the Halfway Inn bustles with activity. Patrons fill the tables clustered near the bar, quietly talking over mugs of mulled wine and boards of draughts or chess. A few dwarves share hands of Talis over spreads of hard cheese and bread, flagons of ale near-forgotten at their elbows. A bard plays a merry tune in elvish on a stage set opposite the door, filing the air with the beauty of elven song. The notes hang in the air like mist over a pond, mingling with pipe smoke and the scent of burning sweet-rushes in sconces on the walls. Smiling barmaids wend their way about the tables, carrying trays laden with food and drink, many make their ways to curtained booths along three of the walls, all beneath the watchful eye of Myrrin Silverspear.
The light is dim in the common room, though not dark, like an open glade beneath a full moon: bright enough to see, yet all is still in shadow. It's moor soothing to elven eyes. The non-elven patrons prefer the muted light as well. The giggles of the Halfway Ladies on the knees of several travelers speak volumes for their reasons. Although the whispered conversations of hooded traveler clinging to the tables in the shadows tells another tale.
Iym sat by himself, thinking and re-thinking whether he should have paid for a less comfortable room. He hadn't seen anyone mark him slipping through the gate, but that didn't mean no one had. By now Great Aunt Imrae would have noticed him gone and sent word. He needed to be gone from Evereska, the sooner the better. This was all much simpler when Iym chose to flee.
The hooded travelers caught his eye and he tried to pick their words from the din without appearing to do so.
Pero enters the Inn and takes in the sights of the room. It had been a few weeks since he went out on his last patrol and he was eager to get back and see what he had missed while gone.
His eyes rest for a moment on Iym, A Gold I've never seen before? Interesting. For a brief moment they seek the shadowy table full of cloaked figures but only for a brief second, he does not want them thinking he is as interested in them as he is.
However, he is drawn towards his old friend Myrrin Silverspear so he approaches the bar, "Well Met Myrrin, how are things?"
Perception
Nivian comes in and smiles, happy to see a good crowd. She sits at the bar temporarily, waiting for her turn to sing. She sees Pero, but doesn't disturb him as he is talking to Myrrin.
Nehama walks into the bar, the last leg of a long journey. She was tired of the road, but never felt to welcomed or safe at other inns in her wanderings. She does spot a high number of Elves, and some of clear Elven desendent, which would make her feel more at ease. She takes off her worn brown leather traveling cloak, revealing a beautiful bow and a typical thorn blade. She was wearing cleric vestments, and sat in the middle of the tavern, not sure what to really make of the place.
She looks about, unsure how to approach anyone about the rumors she had heard. Surely this would be a good meeting place? Moon above, mayhaps this is not an ideal place to met people to help. All the songs talk about meeting in taverns... just, never this... my word what is she doing with her tongue?!
A half eaten plate of roasted vegetables sat in front of Sarrissa. She stirred the food occasionally, moreso out of boredom than anything else. She contemplated packing it away for later and finally pulled out a small piece of cloth to wrap the scraps in. She tucked it all into a small pack resting at her feet as her eyes casually darted around the room.
She knew none of these people. They didn't !ok familiar and more than likely none of them knew who she was either. With a composite longbow slung over her shoulder she grabbed the branched spear that had been resting in the crook of the arm of the chair as she stood. She purposely looked around the room, taking in each patron.
You must be careful Sarrissa. You do not know these people.
Jerr-Dann's thoughts echoed in her own head. That was the problem with an unmanifested spirit. It was nearly impossible to silence something sharing your consciousness.
I'm in a tavern full of elves. What could happen?
When the other bard is done, Nivian replaces him, singing a song that she composed called City of Love, about Myth Drannor.
The first verse praises the elves of yesteryear who loved and helped all people, and worked with them to create an ideal society where all were accepted and love flowed freely.
The second verse launches into stories about how Cormanthyr failed, and the tragedy thereof.
The third is more historical accounts of the bravery and heroics of people who fought for its survival.
The last is a reprise of the first verse again, but calling for the return of the spirit of the lost city, calling for people to be courageous and stand up to restore the goodness and love of a lost age.
Herrnarrell had just finished his work at the forge for the day and entered the Halfway Inn looking forward to a soothing tea. Still covered in sweat from the forge, the cold night air barely touched Herrnarrel through his body heat and the cloak he wrapped himself in. Perhaps she is here, tonight, he thought to himself. And perhaps Myrin has obtained a decent mix for the night, Herrnarrell thought wryly. Unlikely. But that's why I bring my own.
Upon entering, Herrnerrall was struck by how many new elves seemed to have arrived over the past few days. I thought I was good with faces, but I guess I shouldn't continue to be surprised. This is the Halfway Inn. As Herrnarrell took a seat at the bar, he realized that Nivian was performing again; another set of ballads regarding Myth Drannor and yet, they never seemed to wear themselves out. Instead, he found himself looking around again for Saélihn, hoping that the note he received in Waterdeep was not forged and that she would finally fill him in on this adventure she wanted.
With no words being said between them - it looked as though Myrin was in conversation with a friend of his and Herrnarrell had no wish to interrupt - Myrin brought a small cup and a pot of hot water, as per Herrnarrell's usual request to start the night; some leaves from the pouch at his belt, and Herrnarrell now only had to wait for the tea to steep. He focused on Nivian's song in the meantime with a small smile on his face, If you only new that an Heir to one of the Twelve might be sitting mere meters away...
The cloaked figures speak too softly to be heard over the bard's song. They pay no attention to the bard, not even throwing him a coin with when he finishes his set. But then, Nivian takes the stage, and they grow silent, barely breathing as they listen to her song. A hush falls over the whole of the common room as Nivian sings her ballad.
From his position at the bar, Myrrin smiles warmly as Pero approaches. Pero! I'm well enough. Full inn, despite the chill. Can't hope for more than that. He shakes his head and chuckles at a squeal from one of the Halfway Ladies. Plenty of people want to stop to trade with Evereska.
The patrons are all foreign Herrnarell. All except Nivian, of course. He's seen the one talking to to Myrrin a few times. Every few tendays the man appears.
Henris sits at the bar, keeping the hood of his cloak up and hoping his Elven features are overshadowing the human. He knows Gold Elves aren't exactly fond of half-elves like him, but he needs to know if his mother is here, or if any of her family is in the city.
He listens to the song sung by the Elven woman with striking beauty. Her voice is lovely, and she seems incredibly talented. He finds himself gawking slightly, and he suspects that if his father were alive and here, he might be doing the same.
Herranrell does spor a half elf at the bar, desperately trying to keep his features hidden, and a rather young priestess of the Seldarine looking a bit out of place in the Inn. He also spots a distracted looking elf collecting her things as she's making Ready to leave.
"Myrrin, what do you know of the yon cloaked figures?" Pero whispers.
As Nivian finishes Pero claps, "Bravo. Bravo! Encore!"
He makes sure to make eye contact with all elves he sees nodding and smiling from his position next to Myrrin.
Hearing the cries of encore from the crowd (even if it is just Pero--she's easily persuaded to do what she loves), Nivian starts into another song.
This one is also her own creation. It is a more upbeat song about a young elven man that can't decide between all the girls that he is courting. It isn't bawdy, but it is humorous, and has several verses about the fickle young man not being able to decide between all the attractive women (including non elves) that he meets, him pursuing, and the girls demanding a commitment, and a refrain that everyone can sing along with about how "Because he was a man of his word, Young Lorik ran away..." Finally, in the last verse of the song, the princess of the land falls ill from an evil magic curse, and only the kiss of an honorable man can save her. She promises marriage to anyone who can cure her, and "Because he was a man of his word, Young Lorik saved the day."
Herrnarrell sips slowly at his cup of tea, enjoying the warmth flowing through his body as a contrast to the chill that sweeps through the Inn every time the door is opened. After his second cup, Herrnarrell gets the attention of Myrrin whenever he finds an opening and passes him the teapot and teacup to clean and store, with a couple of silver pieces for good measure to ensure that they remain safe.
Herrnarrell eventually takes a pick of one of the newcomers sitting alone, changes spots at the bar to sit next to the man, and introduces himself, "Good evening, my friend. I see you've finally been introduced to the lovely Nivian and her music. Easily the greatest minstrel nearby in my experience here. My name is Herrnarrell. What brings you to this fine establishment?"
Henris looks rather surprised that someone came to talk to him. Noting the silver hair indicating he was a silver elf, not a gold elf, Henris relaxes slightly. "Erm, hi, my name's Henris. Henris Fl - you know, that part doesn't matter. I'm newly arrived from the Dales and looking for someone. You wouldn't happen to live in the city, would you?" Henris asks, rushing slightly, still feeling decidedly out of place.
Claps with delight at each song. Music was a great part of her religion, but she never truly got the hang of it. She honestly never invested to much in any craft. She rather snuck around and shot a bow. However, she would call out for a song of Sehanine after the current song is done, hopeful the beautiful maiden singing knew one. She was quiet thrilled with the tale about a daring hero saving a princess. I bet there is plenty of stories like that in those old ruins. Oh how I wish to have been there... been one... She gets a starry far off look to her, lost in her thoughts of daring battles and fair maidens.
As Nivian's song carried through the establishment, Sarrissa stood transfixed. Her voice alone was amazing, like a pool of fresh water in the middle of the desert, but it was the words that enticed Sarrissa. The story the woman told about Myth Drannor was enrapturing, seducing even. Sarrissa stood paralyzed. Not by fear or magic or poison, but by potential, by possibility. The thought of learning even more about her family's home, their origin, it was all starting to come together.
You haven't even talked to anyone and you stand in awe of an entertainer? Oh yes, this journey will be much too easy.
Your sarcasm needs practice Jerr-Dann, but you're right. We'll have to introduce our self.
She started to approach the stage after the first song until the cries of encore were heard. She halted and held her place, continuing to stand and watch. For a brief moment, she caught Nivian's eye. She took advantage of the moment to smile and give a discrete wave, still holding the branched spear in her other hand.
Iym turned up his nose at the false kiira. Uncultured and ignorant both! Bad enough to flaunt a kiira, worst still to pretend to one. Some People have no knowledge of history at all. He considered going over and giving the elf a talking, but then Iym would draw attention to himself. As much as he wanted to tell what he knew, none of that would do. None at all.
For a brief moment, she caught Nivian's eye. She took advantage of the moment to smile and give a discrete wave, still holding the branched spear in her other hand.
Nivian saw the Elven woman trying to get her attention and smiled as she sang. Another admirer? She gave the signal to the bartender that meant she would be taking a break after this song.
"I'm newly arrived from the Dales and looking for someone. You wouldn't happen to live in the city, would you?" Henris asks, rushing slightly, still feeling decidedly out of place.
"No, I have only been in the area a fortnight. I hail from Waterdeep, but I, too, am here looking for someone. Perhaps tonight is the night though, no? And even if tonight is not the night, there are still plenty of people to meet, each with a story to tell. Or, in Nivian's case, a myriad of stories to tell." Herrnarrell continues to make small talk with Henris, but continues glancing around the Inn, always on the lookout for his sister. "Come! I will introduce you to Nivian, it looks like she's taking a break for the moment. She's in here more often than I am, and I am in here every night. If anybody might have seen the one you seek, it would be her or Myrrin." Herrnarrell leans towards Henris conspiratorially, "But between you and me, Nivian is more entertaining to talk to."
As soon as the song is over, Nivian goes to introduce herself to Sarrissa. Hi. I'm Nivian. You wanted to talk to me?
Soon after, she is approached by that brilliant elf from Waterdeep with a friend along. She glances at Sarrissa apologetically, and welcomes them into the conversation.
Greetings, Herrnarrell. Are you enjoying your evening? Have you met Sarrissa? And who is this handsome young man you have with you? (She isn't flirting. Just complimenting.)
"Erm, well, thanks. That...that would be nice. Um, I'm not sure if the person has been through here recently, though. Well, maybe. I'm not sure." Stumbling over his words more, Henris stops and thinks, Get it together, Henris! Remember, confidence in your abilities and poise.
Taking a deep breath, he says, "Yes, thank you. I would be honored to meet Nivian."
Once brought over there, Henris confidently replies to the Naiad, "My name is Henris. I'm newly arrived from the Dales, and Herrnarrell said you might be able to help me with finding someone."
Well met, Henris. Who are you looking for?
Grumbles a bit as the lovely bard is taken away from her singing. Surely this people would rather hear her sing than take her time away with pointless conversation? Sighing, she would watch and listen in on the conversation as best she could, awaiting a chance to talk to the bard. She did over hear the name was Nivian, a pretty name for one so skilled. Maybe she would know more than just those songs, but for now it would have to await until she was freed up to speak to her.
"Why yes, of course. You sing marvelously, and those songs. Did you write those yourself? They're so inspiring, and beautiful. I've never heard anything like them. They really are wonderful. Oh, forgive me, where are my manners. My name is Sarrissa, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Obviously a little overwhelmed by the conversation, Sarrissa rushed through the words quicker than she meant to. Her nervousness was apparent although she did try to hide it.
To Sarrissa, before Herrnarrell and Henris arrive:
Thank you so much. You are very kind to say so. It is nice to meet you, Sarrissa. I also sing music by other people, but yes I did write both of the songs that I have sung so far tonight. I enjoy researching the past.
"Nivian, my dear, your performance makes every night a marvel. Sarrissa, it is my honor to make your acquaintance. I do apologize for interrupting; we were halfway here when I realized that you were already in conversation and it would have been more awkward to turn around and go back to our seats," Herrnarrell explains with a small shrug. "Are you new in the area? I do not recall seeing you here before."
Nivian bows at the compliment, and then turns to Sarrissa, awaiting her response. Over Sarrissa's shoulder she sees another elf watching and listening, and motions her over to join them.
Walks up, a bit hesitant. She wasn't sure how to approach the subject of the songs delicately, so she mainly seemed a bit awkward. It was easy to tell her interactions had been limited to mostly the clergy and the woodlands. She awaited for a gap, before asking her, " What else do you know about Myth Drannor? I hear they were the most advance anyone had ever been, and could cure any disease known to elven-kind. Have you ever heard anything like that? I would enjoy hearing more, if it is not obvious I am a cleric of Sehanine, so I would enjoy hearing anything more about any history you know of it." She clearly was not hiding the fact she was seeking out information on Myth Drannor.
She does stand a bit to the side, so she is not taking up all of the bard's time, allowing anyone else to also ask their questions. It seems that Nivian was very popular here at the inn, Is this why it is so busy? I can understand many people being regulars here now just for her singing alone..
Henris eyes Sarissa warily before saying, "A pleasure to meet you, Sarissa."
Turning to Nivian, Henris says, "I'm looking for either an elven woman named Alara Solainin or perhaps her brother, Viaro Solainin - or anyone who may be related to them."
Once Nehama comes over and asks about Myth Drannor, surprise momentarily flashes over the half-elf's face and Henris quickly schools his features. She's asking about Myth Drannor? What are the chances? Mother was a gold elf, but she might be able to help me as well.
Regarding Henris:
To Nehama:
Oh, Myth Drannor? I know a great deal about it. Cormanthyr is my specialized area of study, in fact. Having that conversation will take more time than I have now though. I need to go back on stage in a few monutes. Would you like to meet me for breakfast, and we can talk? ... What was your name again?
Regarding Henris:
To Nehama:
Oh, Myth Drannor? I know a great deal about it. Cormanthyr is my specialized area of study, in fact. Having that conversation will take more time than I have now though. I need to go back on stage in a few monutes. Would you like to meet me for breakfast, and we can talk? ... What was your name again?
"Myrrin, what do you know of the yon cloaked figures?" Pero whispers.
As Nivian finishes Pero claps, "Bravo. Bravo! Encore!"
He makes sure to make eye contact with all elves he sees nodding and smiling from his position next to Myrrin.
Myrrin briefly looks over at the huddled figures and then shrugs. Plenty of travelers here don't want to be seen. Some are merchants making "deals", others are adventurers who don't want to tip their hands about their latest find. Most are harmless. Those that aren't find my staff more than able to take care of then. I don't know anything about that group, though. They came in separately each about an hour or so apart. One talked to the other and finally... you have that.
"That's not suspicious at all then is it?" Pero smiles at Myrrin tightly.
Despite the chatter about Myth Drannor from the elves at the other side of the bar, duty calls. Pero cannot allow a group of cloaked figures to assemble in such a suspicious manner so near Evereska or the Tombs that he guards on her behalf, to enter this place without at least inquiring as to who they are.
"Myrrin, send a round of drinks to the table, I'll see what these shadowy figures are up to".
Pero approaches the table of the cloaked figures, "Well Met Travelers. I am Pero Elond of Evereska, while not proprietor of this fine establishment I am a frequent patron and I wish you Sweet Water and Light Laughter for all of your days.
Tell me, what brings you to this fine place?"
Nod excitedly, and states " Very much so! That would be wonderful. You must always preserve knowledge. I am Nehama Moonbow. If I could request an additional query, do you know anything about their healing arts? I know it is a strange thing, but surely you have heard the legends that come from a simple bards song, some hero hears and quest are made from less. Breakfast sounds perfect." She had so many thoughts racing through her head, having someone who was professed to be knowledgeable on the subject, that she was a bit oblivious to her surroundings.
To Henris:
I'm sorry Henris, I don't know the people you are looking for. But there are many elves here that may know more than I would.
To Nehama:
Excellent. Shall we meet here in the morning then? I think there is a back room that we could use that is rarely occupied during the day. And yes, I know a little bit of magical healing. Nothing like the heroic songs though... just a little.
To the group:
I must return to the stage now, but it has been a pleasure to talk to you all.
Nivian returns to the stage and starts into a tune familiar to almost all the patrons that they can sing along with. Again, nothing bawdy, but something fun.
"Perfectly alright, Nivian. The odds of finding someone who knows either of them almost immediately after arriving are certainly astronomical. I look forward to hearing you sing some more." Henris smiles as he answers, although he feels a hint of sadness. Well, it was a remote possibility, anyway. I'll have to keep looking. Now, let's see if I can actually find out something about Myth Drannor.
To Nehama, Henris says, "Nehama, wasn't it? I'm Henris. Could you please tell me, what is Myth Drannor? I don't think I've ever heard anything about it."
Turns to him, thinking on her answer. He was clearly not a full elf, but still, that didn't mean she should not share, just maybe would keep close some of the secrets. She then starts, her words spoke with uncertainty. " It is the pinnacle of civilization, or rather, it was. It was the land of love and mystery, of heroes great and small. They could cure any disease, and heal any wound. It was, in a sense, the greatest ever to have happened. However, when one does not properly prepare for the worst to happen, when it does... well... cities fall and people scatter. Though I hope the ruins contain a few relics, as I would greatly enjoy studying them." She rambles on, but it was clear all she had was dreams, hearsay, and legends, none of it historically or factual.
"That's not suspicious at all then is it?" Pero smiles at Myrrin tightly.
Despite the chatter about Myth Drannor from the elves at the other side of the bar, duty calls. Pero cannot allow a group of cloaked figures to assemble in such a suspicious manner so near Evereska or the Tombs that he guards on her behalf, to enter this place without at least inquiring as to who they are.
"Myrrin, send a round of drinks to the table, I'll see what these shadowy figures are up to".
Pero approaches the table of the cloaked figures, "Well Met Travelers. I am Pero Elond of Evereska, while not proprietor of this fine establishment I am a frequent patron and I wish you Sweet Water and Light Laughter for all of your days.
Tell me, what brings you to this fine place?"
Myrrin nods. I don't want any trouble here, Pero. I just got done fixing the place from the last fracas. And, besides, the girls don't like getting their hands dirty anymore. He nods towards the barmaids. They're here because they're retired. But he pours the drinks and sends of the barmaids to deliver them.
As Pero approaches, the maid follows, and sets down flagons of ale down on the table with a coy smile and a wink then sashays off to another table. One of the hooded figures, a brilliantly, almost painfully beautiful gold elf looks up with a cool smile. Well met, indeed, Pero. I am Elrohir. As he speaks, he gestures to his companions, who are also all gold elves. We're eight friends who agreed to meet here, at this time after several decades apart wandering the world. Pero can see the folds of a map just peaking out from beneath the elf's coat.
Iym kept his own counsel, sitting silent and listening closely to the robed one. If they wandered far, for decades, then they would not know his face. Perhaps not even his name. He should still be safe. If only the others talking of the City of Song weren't so distracting...
Nivian tells the audience that her next song is one that she pieced together from music found in the ruins of Cormanthyr.
She launches into a song about the glories of Cormanthyr, the noble armies and the mythal protecting all, the fabled library at Myth Drannor where anyone could come to learn from the collected wisdom of the ages.
She sings of the exceptional artwork and beauty of the nation as well as the diversity and goodness. It paints an amazing picture, but what strikes you about this song is that it talks about these things as though they exist, now. As though fiends hadn't taken it all away. It never mentions the downfall, only the goodness, but perhaps it emphasizes the loss all the more because of it.
Herrnarrell's eyes follow Nivian as she moves back onto the stage and he takes a seat as she begins her newest piece. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, just imagining what Myth Drannor might have looked like at the height of its existence. Herrnarrell gestures towards Nivian as she sings, and adds to Nehama's description, "If you want to know what Myth Drannor was, all you have to do is listen. Some of our elders might be able to give you a more accurate account of what the city was like, and I can easily recommend some historical accounts of the city if you're the reading type, but Nivian seems to capture its soul."
As the song is drawing to a close, Herrnarrel continues, "Of course, the soul and the dream of what might have been are all that is left. The entire place is overrun with drow and other evil entities. It would take an army to even stand a chance of reclaiming it as it was."
As the conversation shifted to Myth Drannor, Sarrissa listened intently. It surprised her that others would be so openly curious about the fabled city. Almost immediately she felt a kinship with the others. She almost began to panic as Nivian excused herself to return to the stage, but as the conversation continued on about Myth Drannor, the panic abated.
Sarrissa looked at Nehama with great interest as she spoke. "Have you seen the city yourself? I long to see it with my own eyes. I have heard such wonderful tales about it."
Her focus switched to Herrnarrell as he mentioned the books. "I would be very interested in reading about the city." At the mention of being overrun, she immediately slumped and sighed. "Would you know if there are plans to retake the city?"
Herrnarrell chuckles at Sarrissa's question, "Hehe, oh there are always plans to retake the city. I don't doubt that there are hundreds, even thousands of elves who have dreams of it happening - dreams of being the one to make it happen. There are dozens of stories written about teams and armies of the goodly races working together to destroy the invaders and reclaim the City of Song. So far though, I don't know of any real effort."
Harul listens to Nehama's and Herrnarrell's descriptions, as well as Nivian's song. Could that be what mother left to do? Attempt to retake Myth Drannor? Why couldn't father have had information about it in his library?
Lost in thought, a pensive look sits on Harul's face as Nivian sings yet another beautiful song.
Pero sighs in relief, "Ah, I had feared you might be human tomb robbers, an all too common problem for us. Do you or your friends mind if I join you then Elrohir? I am always eager to meet those of the People that I have never met before. I was not yet born when you set out on your wanderings, perhaps you know my Uncle or my Father of House Elond? Assuming any of you hail from Evereska of course".
Though he spots the map he does not mention it, not yet at any rate.
Elrohir motions to Pero. "Sit, please. We are all curious to hear more of the City of Song." The others nod their agreement. He calls out louder, clearly having heard the others speak. Anyone is welcomed at our table if they have tales of the City of Love."
"I've a tale my grandfather told me, it dates from the latter part of the cities existence".
The mythal's ability to counteract aging allowed many to live far longer and healthier lives than they ever had before. Still, this magic could not overcome those without the will to continue or those unfortunates whose ravaged bodies made life a chore rather than a blessing. Folk still died in Myth Drannor, such as armathors, military personnel, or adventurers too grievously wounded for magic to save in time. For other less-active natives of the city, it was often the conscious choice of an elderly elf to simply let go and pass on to Arvandor.
As a result of the life-sustaining magics, the end of an elf's or other elder's life rarely brought much sorrow; elders made their own funerals into galas to celebrate their lives. These galas were preceded and followed by mourning periods for the families, but their grief was mitigated The Tragic Farewell of Aravae by the fact that it was the will and conscious choice of the departed, and a solemn admission that their mortal lives were over, without the shock of loss normally attributed to death. None were prepared for the dawn of Midsummer in the Year of the Bloody Tusk, when the Coronal passed beyond.
His passing is a tale in and of itself but my tale focuses on another aspect of his death, the Coronal's Elfblade.
Aravae, the Coronal's maiden niece and now the sole surviving member of House Irithyl, had been raised for centuries to be the Coronal's heir. Since her second century began, her life had been naught but training for her eventual succession of her manytimes-great-uncle.
After the mysterious passing of the Coronal, all eyes and political aspirations turned to Aravae. Heartbroken, she insisted on the ancient mourning rituals for the Coronal, which seemed more fitting for the city in shock.
There are rumors as to other reasons why she took to the seclusion of the Mourning Days but this is a tale of facts known not speculation.
Aravae and the Srinshee went into slight seclusion, thus was the shock of her passing, in her sleep, three years into the Mourning Days, a blow to those of the City.
Despite a surge of political furor to end the Mourning Days after Aravae's death, the Srinshee and the High Court Mages deemed it necessary to honor the fallen lady's wishes. The noble Houses bridled under the wait, but took that nineteen-month span to prepare their Houses for the Claiming Ceremony to come. For the first time in millennia, the succession of Cormanthyr's leadership was open, and it was possible for any House to inherit the Throne.
On Midsummer's Morn of the Year of Stern Judgment (666 DR), the Claiming Ceremony for the Ruler's Blade began. The Srinshee, clad in her usual black, was as the officiator and Center of the High Magic that opens the ceremony, and her words spread throughout the forest of Cormanthor so all could hear:
"The Coronal is dead. Long live the Coronal. If ye wouldst take up this mantle, be ye elf noble or other, attend me. Where the rule began, the rule shall continue for one worthy. All are welcome who believe themselves estimable enough to rule the City of Brotherhood and staid enough to accept the responsibilities of that rule. Six shall reach for the Ruler's Blade each day, until Myth Drannor and Cormanthyr have a ruler once more".
After these words died out, the Srinshee and four hooded and masked High Mages drew magic from the mythal itself and wove a translucent sphere around the top of the Rule Tower that would allow one to pass from any side every four hours. These same five figures remained atop the Tower, attending the Claiming Ceremony.
All the elves flew to the Tower in full regalia and honors, and one by one the result was the same. The elves, no matter how penitent or honorable they seemed to themselves, reached for the Elfblade and were found wanting.
This Ceremony began to poison the City of Love with grasping ambitions and open War, not seen in so many long centuries began to erupt.
As the sun set and the stars winked into sight over a torn and divided Myth Drannor, the Srinshee's voice again rang out over all Cormanthyr. This time, however, it sounded heavy with both power and weariness. None who heard her could tear themselves away or shake a chill from their bones upon the hearing of prophecy.
"Peoples, attend me. Look ye upon your works and deign to despair. A great gift was given to ye, and it lies ashambles. A gift given freely is to be treasured, but one scorned and abused is a gift undeserved.
Two score have lit the heavens and scored the Weave in their arrogance. Two score have tried to uphold peace and unity but were found wanting of peace and unity in their own hearts.
The spurned gift might have allowed one to rise above to truly become Coronal and rule well. Instead, the Coronal's Rule lies ruined under my feet. In time, ye shall understand what has been lost. In time, ye
shall either forget or learn a lesson of it.
I reach for the responsibility, for my slight shoulders can more bear its weight. Carry not I the onus of yore. Should I prove less than worthy, the Claiming shall continue. The gift and ye earn their own fates thereafter. Should I prove worthy, I would make ye so. Should I prove worthy, I shall give ye hope.
Those words stated, the Srinshee reached for the sword but the Noble Houses in their greed would not stand to see one of their own not wield the bade so they did attack the Ceremony Sphere with their mightiest magics.
Despite this treachery, the Srinshee grasped the Coronal's Blade and was found worthy!
"I have proven worthy, but . . . Coronal I will not be. I shall not rule from the Throne but from the Heart. Look not for me to rule the realm, people, or Court. Look for me to rule war and hate with peace and love.
When the dream truly becomes your own, I shall return. When elf and N'Tel'Quess alike truly accept the gift, I shall return. When Oacenth's Vow is fulfilled in the stars above and below, I shall return.
When I am wanted truly, I shall return. When I am needed truly, I shall return. Peoples, attend me. Look ye upon my work and dare to hope".
My Grandfather had colorful metaphors for what he thought of the Srinshee's word. Regardless.
With her parting words and a resounding roar of one hundred thunders, the golden Diamond Tower (as it became legend), the Srinshee, her High Mages, and the Ruler’s Blade of Cormanthyr disappeared from mortal realms.
"Even during the height of the Weeping War there were those who sought the return of the Srinshee but even after the fall neither she, nor the Coronal's Blade have been seen again..."