Oops. Um, Mister, how much do you know about elves?
…I was afraid of that. Okay, that means I cannot start my story straightaway. You need a history lesson first…
Oh, stop complaining! I am going to tell you about Mythilda—eventually. But you must learn a few things about elves so you can appreciate who she was. Now, let us begin your schooling…
Millenniums ago, the elves ruled the whole of this continent, Nisse Cul Tairna. They had dwelled here since before recorded history. But Nisse Cul Tairna was more than just a place to reside. To the elves, Nisse Cul Tairna was their collective soul…
Oh! How silly of me. Elves did not exist back then. They called themselves the Innuatti. The name “elf” came into being much later. And it was thrust upon the elves against their will, but more on that later. Let us continue with the history lesson.
Now… Where was I? Oh yes! The Innuatti alone ruled Nisse Cul Tairna.
Then the dwarves came here after a cataclysm destroyed their homeland. With the Innuatti’s blessing, the dwarves founded a colony in the Dwarfdwel Mountains in northern Nisse Cul Tairna.
Relations between the species soon soured, however, because the dwarves required more space. Delving deep into the bellies of the mountains, the dwarves carved them up and formed new settlements—the dwarven Research Mines. But they never asked the Innuatti for permission to do so.
Enraged by the dwarves’ audacity, the Innuatti attacked the Research Mines. A long, bitter war ensued. It ended in a stalemate. The dwarves built no new Research Mines, but those in existence remained operational. Nisse Cul Tairna had a new tenant. And the Innuatti lost a piece of their soul.
This was neither the last nor the worst misfortune to befall the ancient Innuatti. Another species arrived in Nisse Cul Tairna—the humans. As with the dwarves, the Innuatti welcomed the humans at first. They gave the newcomers land in the western half of Nisse Cul Tairna. There, the humans established the Holdings—a group of allied, yet independent, provinces.
The humans initially had land enough to create just three Holdings. But the humans were not satisfied. They gobbled up more land, creating new Holdings—seventeen in all.
Too late, the Innuatti decided to deal with the human threat. War erupted between the species. It lasted for centuries. And it ended in a devastating defeat for the Innuatti, one from which they have not recovered. They were the dominant species of their homeland no longer. Their soul belonged to another.
This was not the end to the Innuatti’s misfortunes. After the war ended, a schism formed amongst them. Some continued to cling to the old ways. They withdrew from human lands entirely. They dwelled in what little remained of their ancestral home—in strange places like Tawa Li’leuf, Caholka, and The Reserve. These traditionalists became the six Innuatti clans that exist still to this day.
But others remained in the human Holdings, oftentimes against their will. Sundered from their kin, they ceased being the Innuatti. A true Innuatti, after all, would have died before allowing him or herself to be ruled by humans. Or so the traditionalist claimed. Renounced by their relations, hated by the humans—these people had a new identity trust upon them. Thus, the elves came into being.
Elf. It was an insult to be called that, you know. Elf was another name for slave. That’s what the elves were. Horrible, is it not? Imagine shackling people—stealing their freedom—for no reason other than personal gain. My family had once owned elven slaves. Long before I was born, fortunately, but still…
Almost two hundred years before Myth and I were born, the Holding Dawn outlawed elven slavery. Over the next hundred years, the other Holdings followed suit. Until, at last, the Holding Bramble became the seventeenth and final Holding to outlaw slavery.
It was a new day for the elves. But a serious issue remained. What should the Holdings do with the elves? As before, Dawn led the way by creating the first Elvenhome.
How can I best describe an Elvenhome? Hmm… Take a thesaurus and look up the entry for slum. Any of the related words will do. To make up for centuries of slavery, the Holdings gifted to the elves the most rundown district in each Holding. And that was where the elves had to live. They were given no choice. Their lot in life was to be at the bottom of society without hope of a better tomorrow.
As a further insult, laws prohibited the elves from owning their Elvenhomes. The noble Lords and Ladies of the Holdings received that honor. And these landlords did not bother to care for their properties. Humans used the Elvenhomes as garbage dumps. Rats roamed the streets, spreading diseases. Gnomes burrowed into basements, further weakening the already rickety buildings. And yet, the landlords had the gall to charge exorbitant rents. If an elf protested, they would be cast from their home and be forced to seek shelter in an alley or the sewers.
Bigotry towards the elves remained strong. Though the humans had given the elves their freedom, they did not like them. “Coney” became a popular slur for the elves. It referred to their ears. You know… An elf’s ears are long and pointy, like those of a rabbit.
Aargh! Talking about this makes me so mad. Oh! I would love to slap someone so hard right now. Do not attempt to console me, Mister. Do not say, “But Izzy, it wasn’t your fault. You weren’t alive back then.” No. I was not, but that does not matter. Humans like me did that stuff. My taking solace in not having been born yet will not change that. And… It’s not true anyway. That exploitation was still happening when I was alive. And I ignored it! I romanticized the elves; I created a fantasy because reality was too bleak. Yes. I did that—until I met Myth. Sorry. Let me take a deep breath and grumble to myself for a moment.
… Okay. I feel better. Here we go…
The Elvenhomes were slums. But they were the only quarters the elves had. So despite their poverty, the elves set about turning the Elvenhomes into homes. Painted bright colors, the shabby buildings transformed into cozy abodes. Wreaths adorned the doors. Flowers brightened the windowsills. Streamers and banners fluttered from the roofs. Against all odds, the elves turned the Elvenhomes into cheerful places worth living in.
Their adversities also drew the elves together. They ceased being one another’s friends, neighbors, or associates. Instead, they became an extended family. They laughed together, celebrated together, cried together. An elf’s happiness was the community’s happiness. And an elf’s grief was the community’s grief.
This was the world into which Myth, or I suppose I should say Mythilda, was born. It was a world of happiness despite a multitude of hardships—a world rich in love, but poor in all material aspects. Bigotry kept the elves low, but they lifted one another up. They tended to their sick and fed their poor, and they never complained about having to do these things. Discovering joy in their families, their community, and their homes was their way of protesting their plight.
Thank you for bearing with me, Mister. You can be quite sweet at times. When you try, that is. Usually, you are simply intolerable. I have lost count of the times you have said, “Stop picking flowers, Izzy. We’re in a hurry.” Oh, and let’s not forget, “Please stop talking, Izzy. You’re giving me a headache.” Well, I shall reward your patience. For now, I can take my story to the Holding Dawn. And there, I shall introduce to you a sixteen-year old woman named Mythilda.