Tel'Mithrim - Halken

History - Halken was born to Vaereal Malda'Sanye, his father, and Ulana' Thalkena, his mother. His father was an Aristocratic Gold Elf in the lands of Toril. His mother, by contrast, was a Green or Forest Elf living in the mighty tree towns of the surrounding woods of the Gold Elf kingdom.Vaereal, while a young prince himself, met Ulana' on one of his lone excursions into the woods. After the initial feelings of awkwardness, Vaereal and Ulana' began a secretive courtship. Knowing neither of their families would approve of their children, courting a Gold Elf and conversely, a Forest Elf, they would often meet in secret in a glade in the woods far from Vaelreal's kingdom and Ulana's tree town where they would enjoy the company of fairies and noble centaurs that frequented the Glade. After two years of living in secret, the young, unconventional lovers decided to tell their families of their desire to wed.

Vaereal knew his patriarchal family would not approve. He came from a well-established, traditional bloodline of royalty. He himself was to be Aran someday of the mighty elven kingdom Tel'Vanima. Ultimately, the decision on whom Vaereal would marry would traditionally belong to his parents. Vaereal knew politics would be his parents guiding force in determining his would-be bride; the chances of wedding his beloved Ulana were slim. A few miles away, in the village of the forest dwelling Green elves, high among the ancient Cloud Trees by flickering candlelight, Ulana was trying to explain to her family of her two-year courtship and passion for a young Gold elf named Vaereal, and of their desire to wed. Ulana's family also had a rich tradition. For generations the Thalkena's served as Druids, Rangers, and Guardians of the Forest. The Thalkena's, like all of the Green Elves were people of the woods who lived in symbiotic harmony with their mother-forest. The Forest Elves had little experience with the shadowy world of the Gold Elves politics and power struggles and never had a desire to learn it.

After a heated night of arguing, much to the surprise of the enamored Vaereal, the Gold Sanye's gave their permission for their son to marry Ulana'. Likewise, the Thalkena's, knowing how independent and strong-willed their daughter was, decided to give they're blessing to a union they knew they couldn't stop anyway.

It is believed the reason the Gold'Sanye's consented to the marriage was that they saw a strong ally in the Forest Elves, in that they often made the best scouts and Rangers should any enemy attack Tel'Vanima.

So Vaereal and Ulana' married. A marriage nurtured in love and forged in politics. Thus, uniting the culturally opposite Gold Elves and Green Elves.

Eventually, they bore three children. The eldest, a son named Aratoamin, and then came the twins, a rare occurrence in Elven lives, Cristalanth and Halken.* The three siblings were very dear to each other. Much of the usual sibling rivalry that is so common among elflings seemed to be absent between the heirs to the Tel'Vanima throne.

Aratoamin, Cristalanth, and Halken, often played in the same woods with many of the same fantastical creatures their parents once knew. As the years wore on, Vaereal became Aran Vaereal (King), and Ulana' his Tari (Queen). Thus, Aratoamin, Cristalanth, and Halken became Tarens and Tarien respectively. The three children were trained from an early age not only in combat skills, but also the art of ruling. They were taught the ways of politics, commerce and finance, subterfuge, and diplomacy.

Aratoamin went on to become the Captain of Tel' Vanima's elite Air Brigade called the Wind Sanye', or the Wind Runners. Cristalanth would be trained in the arcane art of magery, in order to someday be Tel' Vanima's Ohta Istar. Halken, would be trained as a Soorar, a Ranger. Halken approached his training among the other Rangers with both discipline and a sense of wonder. Everyday, every forest and every creature, from the noble Centaurs to the playful fairies to the mischievous Kenders, brought surprise as well as the seed of some ancient knowledge to the young elven Ranger.Indeed, it appeared as if the kingdom of Tel' Vanima was embarking upon a new and unprecedented age of wealth and cultural renaissance.

But the glitter of success often blinds ones eyes to the darkness lurking in the corner. The Gold' Sanye family and all of Tel Vanima would soon be thrown into chaos and turmoil.

On the twins 75th birthday, their symbolic passage into adulthood, a grand festival was planned for all of Tel' Vanima. The finest bards, chefs, magicians, dancers, and duelist, were commissioned for the grand event. It isn't often, nay has it happened before or since, that elves have the chance to celebrate the passage into adulthood of twins, much less twins who are heirs to the noble throne of Tel' Vanima. As the royal attendants were making the preparations, more devious minds with sinister intent were weaving their plans as well.

As the party was well under way and many of not only the citizens but also a good share of soldiers were reeling from the Elvenqiusst, the enemies struck. In moments, the sky above Tel' Vanima turned black. The air, once filled with the smells of honeyed sweets and perfumed dancers, became heavy with the stench of acrid sulfur. The Gold Sanye's, as planned in the event of an attack, were separated from each other during the melee in order to offer the best chances of securing a surviving heir to the throne.

Halken fought courageously against the monstrous invaders. He could tell some of the attackers were Orc, goblin, and some Giantkind. What he could not figure out were the smaller figures dressed entirely in black and purple clothing that were tearing the elves of Tel' Vanima to rivens with deadly precision and unbridled ferocity. Through the surreal daze of battle, Halken's mind registered what these spinning dervishes of steel were.

He could not trust his eyes. It couldn't be. He had heard of these enemies only in fairy tales told late at night around campfires to teach elfling Rangers to respect the forest nights. Yet, here he was. Staring in its maniacal black-pearled eyes as it slowly slid its blade across the throat of an elderly female elf; it was a drow.

For a moment, Halken was paralyzed with shock and fear more primal than he had ever known. The drow had already moved on to its next victim by the time Halken's reeling mind snapped back to reality. Slowly, he began to gather his senses. That is when he recognized the elderly female elf the drow had just executed. Before him, less than 15 feet away, amid a fallen bouquet of lilacs, magnolias, lying in a pool of her own blood, lay the crumpled body of his mother, Ulana.

As if a python were squeezing his neck, Halken's throat constricted, choking any attempts he may have made at screaming. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was losing control; could feel the forked tongue of rage and despair threatening to overwhelm him. The discipline and focus years of Ranger training instilled him were smothered by an all-consuming thirst for revenge. A primal need to lash out at the ebon elves that moved like whispers on the night air brought forth a blind fury in Halken. His sword drawn, body tense, and veins bulging, Halken set his sights on the first dark-skinned elf he saw. Halken rushed into the drow in a whirlpool of steel and hate. Their blades rang out in a dance of combat that only warriors can truly appreciate.

The fight wore on. Halken was able to steal a glance at the face of the drow warrior. He was both revolted and moved by the cruel beauty of the creature. Smooth skin the color of dusk, eyes like purple flames, and a shock of hair the color of moonbeams at midnight. The most striking feature of this drows face though, Halken noticed, was his calm expression. His face did not show that he was amidst a battle with an enraged elf ranger; it was as if this drow could have just as easily been reading a book rather then combat. That was when the stark reality hit Halken.

He was being toyed with like a cat with a barn mouse. Halken knew he was overmatched before he felt the slap of the drow's blade on the back of his hand. Knew he was defeated before he felt the bite from the tip of the drow's blade as it pierced his body, and then cruelly tear the blade free sending a small spit of blood to shoot out of the hole in his side.

The last thing Halken remembered before sinking into unconsciousness was how the drow's face finally changed. He was smiling.

Halken awoke. Groggy, bleeding, and in pain, he sat up and noticed he was lying underneath a corpse. Too weak to move, Halken was forced to lay underneath the mangled corpse, with rigomortis setting in quickly, until he could summon the strength to pull himself free. When he was finally able to free himself of his necromantic weight, and was able to see the aftermath of the battle, Halken wished he would have stayed underneath the dead rotting body.

His vision was cloudy at first but he could tell through the bright spots in his vision that nothing was moving. Slowly his sight came to him in horrible clarity. Elven bodies lay heaped everywhere. Some displayed on pikes as grotesque effigies. The sheer amount of gore made Halken wretch. He began the painful process of picking his way through the carcasses to try to find any of his family members. He hoped and prayed he would find at least one of them safe. For what seemed an eternity, Halken stumbled throughout the elven carnage, turning over corpses, praying each time that it wouldn't be one of his loved ones. Finally, he came across his mother's corpse. The cruel truth of the slaughter hit him full-force as he found not only his mother's body, now turned pale and gray, but of his father, Vaereal, the King, lying over his Queen with a look of total and utter anguish frozen on cold, stiff, lifeless face.

The King had died embracing his dead queen. For a long time Halken slumped over the bodies of his parents as waves of convulsive sorrow shook his weakened frame. He knew he must keep searching though for his brother and sister.

Halken searched amidst the brambles of Gold and Green elf bodies but was unable to find any trace of his brother Aratoamin and his sister Cristalanth except for the seal from his brothers uniform which signified his rank as Captain of The Wind Runners. Halken thought that perhaps at least The Wind Runners had rescued not only his siblings, but perhaps more of Tel' Vanima's populace.

His hopes renewed, he raced to the stables where the mounts of the Wind Runners were kept; Griffons, Hippogriffins, and the beautiful Pegasi. He paused for a moment as his hand touched the golden soot-covered handle to the stable, then with a deep breath he pulled the door to the giant stable open.

The stench hit him like a giant's fist. He knew tragedy awaited here too.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he found. Remarkably, none of the animals had died. None had been slaughtered like Halken assumed they would be. Rather, each glorious and magical flying creature had had their beautiful wings lopped off at the bone. Each had been raped of their precious gift from the gods and left to to go insane from the misery and excruciating pain. Some of the creatures were still kicking, jumping, and snorting wildly, trying to take flight, consumed with madness. Most however, had resigned themselves to their tragic painful end and were breathing only so that it may be their last. Halken was no longer capable of tears although the grief he felt was threatening to send him into lunacy. The only way he could save himself from irreversible despair, the only way he could try to make any of this nightmare better, was to end the misery of these poor beloved creatures.

He picked up a discarded axe that had been left by a fleeing stable master and set about to do this dirty business. The first stall he went to was his mounts, Malda' lina - Goldsong. The horse lay on its side; its wings lay discarded on the floor of the stable. The horses breathing had become labored and Halken knew his time was near. With a trembling grime-covered hand, Halken gently stroked the mares ivory mane for what would be the last time. The sadness of the moment managed to pull a solitary tear from the elf's eye. Goldsong had been his first companion. The companion he had spent most of his time with as a child and the friend whom he talked to through the lonely nights on patrol in the forest.

With a quick kiss and a hug around the horses brown neck, Halken took a step back and heaved the axe down with the all the strength he could muster, immediately ending his friend's suffering. With the clang of the axe head on the floor came a shout of rage and complete defeat from the young elf. Halken regathered his strength and set about ending the rest to the winged creatures suffering, one by one.

When he finished his gruesome tasks, Halken knew one thing remained. He must give his parents, the king and queen a suitable burial.

By now his bleeding had subsided and Halken was able to rig a small cart to carry his parent's bodies in to the only burial site he felt appropriate. After thoroughly exhausting himself with pulling his painful load, he came to the one place where peace could be restored to his parents souls - the glade where they first met and fell in love.

Twilight was in full bloom in the western sky by the time Halken finished burying his parents. As he sat down to rest, he drank fully in the skies glory. It seemed as if the skyline was a pink stretch of open sea the way the sleeping sun lit the sky a soft orange, almost pink, like flox in early spring. Slowly it melted into the cool blue of the approaching night sky. Halken wondered if he could ever remember seeing this many stars out before. It seemed as if the heavens were sprinkled with fairie dust. The earlier events of the day seemed like wretched dream as he lay in the long verdant grass and wildflowers.

Halken thought he might be on the verge of dying and indeed he probably would have if not for a ghostly voice which told him "Get up�get up and go� get up and go son." Thinking in his numbed mind that his father was alive, Halken immediately sat up and looked around for a sign of his father. But all he saw were the soft lights of playful fairy wings in the darkening green shadows of the forest and the billowing clouds as they soaked up the suns last rays. Disoriented, the voice came to him again, "Get up and go my son�goooo��," the voice trailed away like smoke into the mystical twilight.

Halken picked himself up, said a quick prayer to Corellon for his family, and walked straight into the pathless forest, and away from the burning kingdom of misery and death that had once been a jewel of Elven serenity called Tel' Vanima, his home, never once looking back.

It wouldn't be until much later that he would begin to torment himself with the unanswerable questions as to the events of the grim and bloody last day of Tel Vanima. A lost kingdom and a lost home.