Of Things Long Forgotten..

Once, in a time when the race of man was not yet known
and the race of Elves was still quite young,
There lived the Dwuerden'shae.
Their knowledge great as was their power
these Beings of almost pure life essence.
They were all that stood between the creatures of the dark abyss
and the land of the light where life was starting a new.
They kept the land safe from the corruption of the darkened beasts.

This was the way for many long eons
till one day came the Great War upon them all.

A great beast of darkness, a deamon spawned from hell,
came to do battle for all that was.
His army of minions spilling forth under a bloodied moon.
Races unknown before, being birthed into the darkened night.
Came the Orcs, the Orakae, the wyre-beasts of all kinds
The firsted of the accursed, birthed whole from the abyss a vampyre.
Many more fell creatures emerged to plague the land, the sea, the air.

The Dwuerden'shae saw this and gathered all that would aide them.
In defense of the land came the Elves, the Centaurs,
the Minotuars, the Fae, the Fawns and more.
All the beings that stood against the coming darkness.

The sun rose upon the field of battle
The Dwuerden'shae at the ready.
The minion's of hell shrouded in darkness
a foul protection from their Deamon Lord.
The sun rose high to the midday and time seemed to stand still
The Earth shuddered and the moon, hidden by the day,
came forward to swallow the sun.

Day became night and the battle cry was given.
The two sides rose and crashed as great waves of the oceans.
Blood was spilt for blood taken, carnage ruled to a mournful cry.
The war raged on for hours neither side giving quarter.
For each fell beast that was laid down the Deamon would raise two more
and soon the numbers of the foe grew greater.
The Dwuerden'shae saw the cause and with a last great strike
pooled all of their power together.
The blow struck the Deamon square.

The heavens shook and the Beast raged a great cry.
He stood frozen and fractured like broken glass.
The dark minions that could, scattered to the far corners of the earth.
The unwise fell to the buring sun and rightious blade.
The tide was turned and broken, the land preserved.
Even as the earth opened up to drag the great beast back to hell,
the Deamon sent once last curse in a bellow of hatred.

The Dwuerden'shae where struck, as if by a wave,
snuffing them out in mass as if candles before a wind.
Those that remained where shattered.
The battle won, but at terrible cost.
The Mystics and healers hurried to aide
but no cure could be found for the fading.
The days went by, and with each, more of the Dwuerden'shae were loss

With nearly all hope of a cure lost,
a small Fae called Drielynn approached.
She carried a finely crafted mithril blade of elven make
and spoke of the Fae who could sing stone into life.
Then of the gifted Fae who could sing mental to the same.
Her offer was simple, to sing the Dwuerden'shae into the blades.
Their knowledge to always be at hand, not lost.
Their defense of others to still be their calling.
With much debate and counsel the Dwuerden'shae agreed.

For seven days and seven nights the great elven smiths labored.
At each smith's side, a gifted Fae to sing the blade into being.
When the last hammer fell and the last note was sung,
only threethousand tewnty Dwuerden'shae remained.
The task started a new as each Being was carefully sung into it's blade.

A pact was made that night,
an oath of honor for those they served.
The Dwuerden'shae would forever more soulbind to an elven host.
Their knowledge freely shared as well as their power.
The knowledge of the host to be pasted on to the next generation as well.
For the gentle Fae who freely lent their skill and voices,
the Dwuerden'shae would always honor and defend those in need.

Eons passed and as they do, such things faded from the memories of time.
The Dwuerden'shae's name and origins long since forgotten
even amongst most of the elven races.
Only a few of the truely anchient Fae recall the name Drielynn,
Mother of the Dur'va'sheen blades.
A name still remains among a few, rumors and faery tales
Of beings of light that live within a host
A of magical blade that lives on.