Maegwyn
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A Question of Eldron
By Eldron
Eldron, The Caelestian Grey Elf, reputedly their god of good, the yin to Falerin's yang: Just who is he, where did he come from, and how can someone so good be so bad?
These and more questions will be answered in Mage, Fighter, Thief: A Grey Elf Journal (The Story of Eldron), a Zardian Exclusive!
Note: For those who know Eldron and his story, some names have been changed to protect the guilty and avoid a lawsuit.
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Mage, Fighter, Thief
A Grey Elf Journal
Vol. 1: Mage
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Entry 1: The Summons
It is not often that my father officially summons me to the great hall. When he does, you can be sure it is not trivial. Dear father, Mythron, Lord of the Grey Elves, ruler of the Grey Elf Citadel at Stone Mountain. To say that the Grey Elves are a noble race does not do my father justice. Yet, he is an elf of great passion and compassion. I wonder now which will I see when I enter the great hall. My mind races over the past week. Was there something I did or did not do? No, nothing comes to mind. What then, I wonder as I push open the huge doors.
"Eldron," acknowledged Mythron as his son entered. "Come forward."
"Father," I answered, with the proper bow. "You wish to see me? I asked. I quickly glanced around the great hall. Even now, after spending so many years here, I am still impressed by it. I noticed, registering for the first time my father's use of my common name, we were not alone. Telierion* the High Councilor, with his stonelike face, was there. As children we would joke that Telierion could turn a Medusa to stone with those eyes of his. Elishal, High Priestess of Borelion, was present as well, her countenance as kind and mild as Telierion's was forbidding. Another, hanging back in the shadows, I could not make out. And, of course, my mother, ever present at my father's side ...
"Come forward Eldron. Sit - we must talk," my father replied.
Compassion, I thought. He speaks in gentle tones - or is it the prelude of great passions to come, or the aftereffects of great anger already spent?
"It has come to my attention," he began, "that there are certain rumors about your desire to pursue certain, er shall we say, fields of study."
"Father? I questioned.
"Do not interrupt," he replied. "I hear tales of a certain young Grey Elf prince searching the countryside for tomes of magic and sorcery. This occurring during the time one is to be studying with the priests. One day this young prince will be called to rule, and how will this foolishness serve him then?"
"I have no desire to rule, Father," I answered, "and I have not made any secret of that fact."
"Indeed you have not," snapped Mythron. "Unfortunately, our desires often have nothing to do with it!"
"Never the less, Father, I am going to be sixty," I replied. "Time to put away childish things."
"My thoughts exactly," answered Mythron. "We have discussed this at length," he continued, indicating the others in the room.
"I do not wish to rule," I stated bluntly.
"SILENCE! yelled my father. "As I was saying, we have discussed this at great length. Tell me, Eldron, with all your searching, given the choice, would you apprentice or go to a school of magic?"
"Apprentice," I answered.
"Good," answered Mythron. "A close relationship to one's master is often better."
"And," my father continued, "Who would you apprentice to?"
"There are many great wizards; it would be hard to choose," I answered.
"But if you had to," interjected my father, "who would it be?"
After a few moments of careful thought I answered, "Ramalad."
A smile played on my father's lips as his whole face and countenance seemed to light up.
"GOOD! he said. "Good, indeed."
"Wizard! called Mythron. The figure hidden in the shadows stepped forward. To my utter amazement and disbelief, before me stood Ramalad, Grey Elf Wizard, and Great Master of the Plains.
"My lord," answered Ramalad.
"You heard? asked Mythron.
"I heard, my lord," answered Ramalad.
"Do you accept, wizard? questioned Mythron.
Ramalad turned and looked at me - no, he looked through me and turned to my father. "I accept," he replied.
"He is yours," answered Mythron.
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* The aforementioned bears no relation to Tirlerion, Therlion, or to Gerlimon, the great mage whose exploits are most known through rather strange impersonations of the Terran governor of the region known as California. How a man such as he could have become aware of the legendary feats of Gerlimon is somewhat a mystery. That is, alas, another story.
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Entry 2: Dust
The days following the summons are a blur. There were many preparations, things to be done, goodbyes to be said. Time seemed to blur together, and now, as I stare out my high tower window, I look upon my new world. I am Eldron, Prince of the Grey Elves, and Wizards Apprentice to Ramalad! Indeed at this moment if pride, as the priests claim, was a sin, I had much atoning to do.
Suddenly I was jarred to consciousness by the sound of a bell ringing. At last my lessons begin! I raced down several flights of stairs to the laboratory in the deepest part of the keep.
There sat Ramalad, who was poring over his tomes.
"I am ready," I said, bursting into the room.
"I," replied Ramalad coolly, "was ready ten minutes ago."
"I did not hear the bell," I offered as my excuse.
"You did not LISTEN to the bell," corrected Ramalad.
"As you wish," I replied. "I am here now."
"Are you?" questioned Ramalad. "Do you see that broom in the corner?"
I nodded.
"Get it," he replied.
I did so.
"Now?" I asked.
"Sweep," he replied.
"Master?" I asked, puzzled.
"Sweep," he said again, "and when you are finished, dust the shelves."
"SWEEP?! DUST?!" I yelled. "Need I remind you, sir, that I am..."
"Mine!" Ramalad interrupted.
"...I am a Prince of The Grey Elves of Stone Mountain," I finished.
"If you are to be a prince, then be a prince," he stated flatly. "If you are to be a wizard, then, be a wizard. The choice is yours."
I stood quietly for a moment, and shame filled my very core. With my head bowed low I said, "Forgive me, master. It's just that my lessons..."
"Have begun," he answered.
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