#sunvein lore

[valthalore-sunvein]

The Sunvein Civil War.

Many years ago, before the rise of the Blood Lords, before our ascension to glory and power, there was a war. The elves are not new to such a detail, we've all faced many wars - Some wars were personal, some were for survival, some were out of boredom, and some were for power... All of us have faced a war either with blade and bow or with tears and rage.

This war was different.

It was not against a grand evil, or even a rivaling house hold. This war was waged against blood, Mother versus son, son versus mother, brother versus brother, brother versus sister... This was a war that was so wretched and vile that much of the recorded history was burned and hidden, those that spoke of such a past were punished... Those that remembered it; would not last long.

When our first Blood Father faded away, the spinning void opened wide and created a strong suction of power - urging all those that sought after personal glory to take their rightful claim as the new ruler of the infant Sunvein Dynasty; they and we all knew that on our Father's death... History would be altered forever, and as always it will be written by the victor.

There were several 'factions' that fought in this war, each led by a clear individual.

The Blood Mother, a primary wife to the recently fallen Blood Father; determined to establish her own reign - her argument remained that the First Born son was still too young to lead the dynasty. Her goals were to violently change the methods of Sunvein, establishing a culture similiar to the current day sentinels.

Vartharious Sunvein, a childhood friend to the First Born Son, Ratheal, and by law the rightful heir. At this time, Ratheal was indeed young, hardly a teenager. However, Vartharious was a loyal friend and fierce warrior; combining blade and magic. Vartharious led the forces that supported Ratheal's rightful rule.

Tel'thadria Sunvein, the first Daughter to the Blood Father, and Orilus, her husband. Both believed that as the first born and the eldest child, that Tel'thadria has the highest claim to the throne. They sought after their pursuit to not only rule Sunvein, but the newly established Quel'thalas.

Mytharian Managaze, Lord of House Managaze, a bordering territory to the Sunvein lands. This elf sought to take advantage of the chaos and destroy the Sunvein, taking their lands.

(To be continued.)

arendas-greywind dratheas ladyallowyn zenethil-wra syrinity-sunvein

[valthalore-sunvein]

Meaningless Wretch

Val’thalore felt the impending clench within his throat as tears swelled at the corners of his youthful eyes. A stream of blood beat the bitter liquid, as a gash on his forehead began oozing with the familiar warm crimson; leaving a trail down his pale flesh to drip off the dirt-hugged chin, falling to the ground at an alarming rate, forming a puddle. His hands lay in the grass at either side of his sore thighs, defeated thoroughly from the long day of training. Val’thalore was but a child, still not even carved in the toned Soldier that most would know today; yet still he faced the same atrocities.

“Meaningless, a meaningless wretch... That is what you are. How you were begot from my loins is a mystery not even our Magistrate will learn of.” Bal’thalore spat beside the broken boy, fist clenching tightly to his side as the only mercy within his soul orchestrated his actions; forcing him to stop the beating and take his brutal teachings to another elf, an elf worthy of the title Sin’dorei. He snorted, turning upon his heel and walking away; letting the boy waste the blood of Sunvein in defeat.

Val’thalore's gaze was hazed over, drifting in and out of reality to be coddled by the shell of his mind; from a young age he learned that his body may be broken but his mind would always hold true. Soon, the boy’s fist gathered the grass at his sides as he too made a fist in a brutal desire for acceptance. Val'thalore sat quietly for a time, as he does, staring down at the rugged and torn leathers that clenched around his body loosely, only allowing the release of tears to charge into the stream of blood. Now drifting in and out of reality not by his own accord but by nature’s own protective will; Val’thalore dug into his reserves, reaching forward to grip his knees and pull them towards his heaving, bruised chest; a guttural groan escaping his busted lips as his legs spasmed. Holding each knee strong; he created a ball like form and allowed the dazed head to lay against the mud-n-blood covered leather patch of his knees, not sparing the energy to weep now.

Soon he'd be taken out of consciousness, allowing the darkness to pull around the walls of his eyes, forcing him into submission as he'd sleep for the few hours allowed.