Prologue: Introductions

Lizbeth

"As the sun breaks the horizon and pushes out the beasts of the night, there is a single moment, that moment of peace. The fleeting eternity before the real monsters show their faces. " - Lizbeth Demore

The cool breeze on my skin wakes me, and I write in this journal under the tree I have known my truly short life. Well concerning Elves. My Name is Lizbeth Demore, I have lived my entire life on this cliff side paradise. I say paradise lightly, the night is the true bliss, the daytime is for training. My 18th turning is in just 3 days and I will be submitted to the council for my calling. I have no one except my mother and uncle. She teaches me the way of the sword and he teaches the ways of the seamstress. Well, that is enough writing for now, mother calls. Petals 3

I stand and rush to a small house made entirely of stone, it's walls surrounded by a lush garden of various herbs and flowers, its tile roof all but glistening. "I am coming," I say stepping into the stone doorway. The room is filled with plants and a small fountain at Its center adorned with flowering vines, and a centerpiece of the fountain crowned with a large amethyst geode. The smell of herbs and spices fill the air, this is my home I tell myself.

"I was by the tree writing in the journal you gave me," I say a slight hint of hesitation on my voice. A woman with hair of bright crimson hues resting on top of her shoulders, her eyes meet with mine, her eyes are a black so dark it makes the night without a moon seem like day. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever know and also the most terrifying, my mom.

"Today is the one day you don't want to be late, and you are quite late… your uncle is in quite the mood," she says letting the slight hint of an accent, soft on the tongue, but still harsh enough to hold the seriousness of time slip by. Just then the blood rushing out of my face sending it plummeting to new levels of polar frost punching me in the gut, either way with my mom's statement I have already ruined this. Before any further words could be said I tap my face a few times to shake off the imaginary icicles turning my tan cheeks to a ghost's pale hue and dash out of the house. I grab the string tied to my wrist and pull it free gathering up the locks of my hair, 'I think I might die today; he might kill me." The sound of mom's soft chuckle following me out making the butterflies in my stomach transform into a pod of dolphins or something like that because it was all too much for me to handle. My last day here, the last time I have to be on time for his training and here I am showing up late . . . Wonderful!

The mile-or-so run made the dolphins turn back into butterflies as I drew nearer to the small circle of stones I use for my training grounds, or as I like to call it my uncles torture wheel of doom. The butterflies were nice, that is until dread whales of the boxing variety began punching me in my stomach and kidneys and the creepy crawly bugs of my demise began to creep back into me, once the small structures of stone crested the hill I was moving up. In all the years of my training I had only been late once before. Just once! And even to this day nine years later, I swear that my muscles are still sore from the punishment of my tardiness. I stop moving toward the hill as I hear the wind taunting me, and the birds and bees and I swear to you the ocean itself stopped moving and making a noise. There he stood atop the stone pillars that had been arranged into a circle atop the hill, "You're late," My Uncle Verek yells down from the fifteen-foot-tall pillar, a devilish smirk resting across his face.

"Well Fuck."

Rowan

"Sounds of life are much differed from the final sounds that life makes. The moment a tree falls before and after it breathes its final breathe, can hold off even the chaos that is Nature, in the fleeting eternity of silence cause by the lumbering ancient's final moment, only then can one know, what true silence is." - Dianne "Rowan" Evaris

It is a custom for all trail seekers to have a list and catalog of their adventures, and misadventures of their time with The Council. To catalog the troubles and successes during "the Time of the Fallen Moon." To my family I am The Lady Proper Dianne Evaris, But I prefer something much simpler. The Noble Rowan Evaris.

I do not accept the stereotypes of the womanly appearance; however, my family insists, I dress and appear as a delicate flower. I do not agree to these matters, I would much rather them look at me in the light of my true calling that of a tender, not just based how I should be, solely on what genitalia I have between my legs. I must report for my training now.

Petals 3

I stand and push back from my desk, press the small leather journal shut, look at it, and it is a simple thing nothing too fancy, no gold or silver trim, not embroidered initials only plain leather and paper. My family scoffs at my choice but damn-it it was mine to make. I find myself turning to look into the mirror. A woman looking at me in that image. Gorgeous, their hair a golden-brown cut shoulder length, which is short in royal families; their eyes a sharp silver, their body is covered in a silk robe that shows off their curves. "To hell with my family's image," I say pulling off the robes revealing what I am not. However, I find myself venturing back to those eyes. The eyes of a puppet dead and obedient, just like my mother has always wanted, wearing not much else underneath them. I then begin applying the wrappings that press my breasts down to my chest, grunting and groaning, all the while, not at all lady-like. The wrapping hasn't taken long but it is getting harder to hold everything back I notice...Annoying body. I stride over to the bed in my almost cavernous room and begin to slide the black and silver garbs we commonly wear for training in the house.

The final piece, the cowl, goes on and I am no longer my mother's "Dearest Dianne" and am instead now myself: Rowan. I think of the time, and smirk knowing this will be the last time in the near future that I will be imprisoned in this bedazzled and glamourous cage of my parent's home. I pull the hood over my brow, it's familiar worn leather from years and years of use comforts me one last time.

As I walk through the elaborately decorated room, into the hallway of the seemingly endless labyrinth that is the Evaris Estate, I take one final notice that the halls are all but empty. However, a presence lingers about the estate. After several twists and turns through the halls, I come upon an archway into a large chamber. A figure dressed in garbs identical to my own but with decades more use, looks up. "Are you ready for the final training?" I feel my face flush with a nervous excitement, and a manic smile begins to play at the corners of my mouth. Looking up to see the man, my mentor of many years. In an instant, the silver lining of the training garbs burst into a fierce crimson. My face is that of amazement and horror as I realize the implication of that small sentence.

Aven

"The blood of oaths is thicker than the water of kin, the fleeting eternity of the moments that forge those bonds are of the brief and often overlooked but forever hold us and the spaces in our hearts." - Aven Coveer

"This writing this is all new to me. . . The name I have been given is Aven, no Fancy last names not time or money to worry about such things. Besides if I am selected the state will give me one otherwise, it's off to where the poor and abandoned like myself go the mines or the infantry. I have no family, and no one to bail me out before the government can snag me up. My tasks still need to be completed before the mistresses of the house catches me slacking in my final day at the covenant before my voyage."

Petals 4

I grab the small book and jam it into the pockets of my trousers, the burlap they are made of is rough against my hands but what else is new. I begin to move to the yard and beads of sweat begin to form on my face as the incredibly hot sun pounds my skin. Overall, the challenging work makes my days feel better. It seems after every day my skin is a little darker, and the olive tones are becoming a mix match blend of browns. As well as these god-awful locks I must keep pulled back are getting heavy.

"Aven, when you are finished in the garden report it to the Master of the complex. It is your eighteenth today, and I wish you best of luck in your seeking," a woman dressed in long robes that hide all but her face. Her face is that of a wiser intellect aged by years of servitude in the Church of Illuminations. "Yes, Mother Anili" I spout out, my accent is thick and doesn't match that of the people around me at all. I reach up and grab at my long locks, and adjust them to the back of my head, "These things might just have to go. How long has it been since I last cut? Three? No, four years ago."

"I am almost finished ma'am," I say approaching the final weeds of this task, I let my mind begin to wander to the leaving of this place I have called home for nearly 15 years, and the mystery of the family that left me here. "Finally," I say as I remove the last of the weeds a sweet but sour feeling floods my head as I realize this will be the last time for such simple tasks, but soon I will have my answers. My strides to the headmaster's door begin to weaken, from a strong excited almost run to a somber stroll, as my mind races with all of the questions and worries of leaving. This is the only place I can ever truly remember as...home.

"Come in," a voice calls to me from the other side of the door. That so rudely just appeared in front of me, waking me from my daydream, to show me that I had reached my destination. I slowly push the door to reveal a man with sun beaten skin and hair that was as white as silk with eyes that matched. The man who I knew as father and mentor, the only man kind enough to accept a strange baby from what I would think is strange people around, Father Gothell. "You knew this day would come, we prepared you the best we could," Father Gothell says as I press into the room.

"Yes Sir."

"Relax my child, you shall serve the elements well, may the Fires' light keep you warm and guide you, the Waters cleanse and carry you, the Air fill your lungs giving you the gentle push to what is needed, and the Earth always hold firm beneath your feet," the old man says wiping the tears from his ivory eyes.

"Thank you," I say my eyes becoming a blur matching his blind ones and no. I'm not crying.

Gronaan

"Hope is the most unstable aspect in any life, it can change the outcome of a single day that seems to have no merit, to the tides of wars. The most notable aspect of hope is the fleeting eternity when it shifts from the powerful enlightenment of hope to the desperate grasps of despair, or vice versa. Nothing in this life fades or flees faster, in the moment that feels like eternal torment or bliss." - Gronaan Versric

"Well, this is going to be short; words aren't really my strongest suit. My name is Gronaan Versric. I am going to The Council like my father before me, and his before him. Just another charmed by the earth and all she has to give us, and all we have to give back. A Seamstress not the manliest sounding title, but none the less a respected among us Dwarves. I leave for the council at dawn."

Petals 4

I slam the dainty little book and lay out at the foot of me bed. "Well, best be going then," I groan as I ever so masculinely pick myself up, not like I was laying on my stomach writing in my diary or anything. I slide to my feet, putting on my heavy boots, that rest next to my bed. I grab the large stone chest plate made for me by my father. "If only this thing weren't so heavy," I complain sliding it over my chestnut hair and stubble forming at the tip of my chin. I grab my bag and head to the wooden door casting one final gaze over my room. If my brothers could see me now, they would say things like we all said to them before their callings, "Oh! Look at the dainty boy doodlin' in his journal gettin' all soppy before he leaves the hole in the ground." Though only one of them returned from his calling, and the other two lost to only god knows where. "The next time I pass through this doorway, I will be a different person...at least I hope," I feel myself mumbling with what I believe people call, a melodramatic chuckle.

The creak of the wooden door against stone betrayed me, the damned thing, as I enter the room with three older dwarves startled awake and gathered waiting for me like a trap. "We knew you were going to try to sneak out on us," the closest dwarf says standing from his chair in the small stone room. He was an older man. His hair a wiry mess, the grand silver beard of a dwarf who has seen too much, and the smile forming in his eyes along with what I like to think of as liquid minerals ground fine. My grandfather does not cry, okay? "At least without saying goodbye to your own pa." The dwarf slowly moves toward me pushing his ebony hair out his face and laying his gaze upon me. Eyes pure as gold dimmed only by years of pain and struggle, he faced in times before coming to the mountain and losing two of my brothers.

"It isn't goodbye you know you old coots," I say wrapping my grandfather in a tight hug, "I will be back before you know it! 5 years isn't long in the life of a dwarf."

My father looks him in the eyes, "May the earth ever hold firm." This monster of a dwarf towering up from his massive stone chair brown hair hiding most his face, but a slip of silver gold trails over his shoulder in the form of a mole's whiskers.

"May the earth hold firm," I force out as a smile and a bit of a tear creep onto his face, "You keep them old geezers out of trouble you hear, Paku."

Council of the Fallen Moon

"Our four, the four, it may not seem like a whole number, but we trust in it. The four elements, Fire, Water, Air and Earth. The Four cycles of life, Birth, Childhood, Adulthood, and Death. We respect each and only through the respect and trust of the elements and life; we understand that The Four will always give us honest answers." - The Open to the Speech of Seeking

The world is of great wonder and equal if not greater pain, and yes, they do go hand in hand. In this saying the elements are the only ones who hold the answers to which souls they choose and attach themselves to.

Each element seeks out their own form of person.

Fire births the Tenders.

Water births the Wickers.

Air births the Streamers.

Earth births the Seamstresses.

Upon the time of seeking, the Council of the Fallen Moon has overseen and will continue to oversee the seeking and birthing process. The safeguard the meteor that allows all who wish to attempt a seeking; when they come of an adult age that is. The Council also takes the price of seeking at a high cost. Those selected and birthed into an element will be taken to the academy for three years of training and two years of service to our country. Those who fail their seeking, not chosen, are sent to either the regular infantry of our army, or they will work in various mines and labor camps for 5 years to pay the cost of admission to the seeking. All are welcome. These debts can be paid by a family with gold and donations to the state, but will only remove a year or two, off the labor time for the failures. It doesn't seem life too bad of a deal to me.

Viceroy Mercer