Chapter Two: Golden Flames in the Golden Realm

Anwen of the Third House of Naiyth was staying late in the famed Library. She was close to completing her translation of the poems of Glanin the Stoneborn. It would be the greatest achievement of her long life. Anwen had been hard at work translating the hundred thousand page manuscript for the better part of a decade, and before that, she had spent another decade adventuring and cave-delving to uncover it. Anwen grinned deeply, revealing perfect pearl-white teeth. Telvayne, the librarian of Arenaen, would have to kneel before her achievement and admit his inferiority to the Master Librarian of Naiyth.

Glanin the Stoneborn was the first and only aethontembi, meaning "from stone" in Elvish. The aethontembi was something that supposedly never existed nor could have existed according to many elven and dwarven lore-masters. They were a breed of beings that were borne of an elf and a dwarf. Glanin's existence, and therefore the possibility of aethontembi, would be proven with the completion of Anwen's work.

The manuscript itself was a series of hundreds of poems that wove into a single tragic story: the life of Glanin the Stoneborn. Glanin had been born to an elf-woman named Glaetha and a dwarf-man named Kaladrin. Glaetha and Kaladrin were slain for their grave sin, and Glanin was left to perish in the dead of winter in the treacherous northern Ashwall Mountains. Against all odds, Glanin survived and was raised by a farming Lizard and his wife in the Rolling Hills. The lizards who raised him were slain by elven rangers from Naithaer. The elven rangers left the "abomination" for dead. Glanin would go on to wander the world in sorrow, avoiding contact with other sentient beings for fear of being hunted down or getting others killed. Eventually he would return to his mother's home of Naithaer looking for acceptance. He was turned away by Glaetha's older brother, and the King of the Golden Realm, Glaerim. Glanin was deeply saddened by this, but he had not given hope up just yet. Glanin would go to his father's homeland of Narthe Siilerskeig un'il'Dwarva, but he was turned away there as well. However, before he could leave the city, he was kidnapped by an extremist group known as et'Zrodt or The Defiant. The Defiant stripped him, tied him up, and tortured him publicly for weeks. Glanin was finally rescued by Kaladrin's brother, Cadroc. Glanin was once again hopeful that his loneliness had come to an end; he believed that he had found acceptance and family in the form of Cadroc. The aethontembi would be proved wrong when the dwarf cursed him as an unnatural thing and attempted to drown him in a river.

Anwen's eyes filled with tears as she translated the final line of the final stanza of the final poem. It revealed that Glanin the Stoneborn had taken his own life after failing to find acceptance. She sat down at her desk, hit by the weight of both her achievement and his tragedy. She should've been overjoyed at her completion of the extensive work of translating the language that Glanin had handmade. It had been an odd mixture of dwarven runes, elvish script, and lizard-scratch.

The master librarian quickly wiped away her tears as a library assistant walked in. The elven girl smiled pleasantly and bowed her head. "Have you finished your translation, Master Anwen?"

Anwen smiled at Selwyn's younger sister, Soranna. "I have indeed. Glanin the Stoneborn took his own life," she choked on the words before continuing. She had grown attached to Glanin via his poems. "The words translated to 'I am never to find the light that I seek. Never to find the warmth. Never to find the love. The light avoids me. But the darkness beckons. And at long last, the end.'"

Soranna was visibly disturbed while still intrigued to hear what her master had uncovered, and Anwen continued. "Glanin was born amidst a great war between the Elves of Naithaer and the Dwarves of the North. Strife and bloodlust was at an all-time high. There has never been a bloodier era than the years during which Glanin lived. Being half elf and half dwarf, he failed to find kinship with either race. The war would continue for another hundred years and end with the Peace of Aredor."

And the ground shook with the force of an unearthly blast. Screams pierced the night sky. The terror of war broke the serenity of peace over Naiyth.

The elf rangers left to guard Naiyth were taken unawares. Swift dark arrows quickly dropped the scouts from their perches among the golden leaves. Small groups of darkly garbed goblins charged through the Golden Realm ambushing elves as they came upon them.

Once the elves were able to counter attack the goblin scouts, it was too late. Winged imperials raced through the treetops, wrestling the rangers from their posts, and dropping them to their deaths.

One elf ranger raised the warning horn to his lips, and a black arrow shot though his arm, forcing him to drop the horn to the ground below. He braced himself against the pain that vibrated throughout his body; he drew his silver blade and launched himself onto a goblin scout. Before he could land a strike, a mutated Imperial yanked him into the sky. The pair flew high into the sky towards the glistening moon. And then, the Imperial released the ranger to his death.

Grokuk the Red stood before the massive tree-wall that stood guard around the elven city. Two elven rangers approached him wearily, arrows aimed at the goblin-king. He raised his hands above his head and smiled, revealing razor-like fangs. "I have come to surrender myself to Lytril, the King of the Golden Realm." He let loose a throaty laugh, and put his hands back down. "Oh wait. I forgot that your beloved King was slain."

The elves were far from amused. "Throw your weapon on the ground."

The goblin's eyes glared into the elves' own. "No. Hand over your bows and blades or you will be as dead as the First House of Naiyth."

"You are unworthy to even think of the honorable First House, mountain rat."

"Well, gents. I tried civility. Now, you die." Grokuk made an almost unnoticeable motion with two fingers, and the two sentinels collapsed to the ground with black arrows protruding from their eyes. A score of camouflage-armored goblins broke from the cover of the trees. Each bore a distinct flame tattoo on his forehead. "Boys, I think its high time we introduced the fair city of Naiyth to the Hellfire Division of Uragoth Uratt." He drew his ten-tailed iron chain whip. "Light them up!"