The Final Blow - A Journal

Teiron of the Rulien Blood, Library of the Forever Tale, c. 1AF

Taken from the Book of Sylvan

This document came into the library's possession in very recent times as an exchange with the Great Library of Magic. Recent scholarly belief is that the Rulien Blood were a bloodline of the Sylvan Elves - Number One

The Final Blow

(excerpt from the journal of Teiron of the Rulien Blood, describing the turn of the Race Wars in the Humans favour)

I can still recall the many lessons taught to me by Erion when I thought I wished to be a Swordsinger. Though ultimately it proved that I lacked the discipline to be wedded to the blade, much of what I learned in that time remains with me. After a long-training session, there was a long talk about various target points on an adversary. Where to strike and how to inflict the most harm without compromising one's own stance and defence. Where to strike so as the blade could pass the armour rather than have to do battle with it.
Erion said nothing that he did not also show us. Flowing from strike to strike, displaying cut and parry with equal fluidity as though he had not just been working us to exhaustion. Arm strikes, leg strikes, chest strikes and even the ill-regarded head strikes. There was not a single form that was unknown to him.
After he had finished, Erion asked us of all the blows that there were, which was the only one that a Swordsinger had to fear. We gave our answers duly. To the eyes? The heart? The neck? The lungs? We expected to be wrong but Erion nodded. They were all blows to be wary of and could be the one to fear. For the one blow to fear is the final blow. The one that kills you.
A Swordsinger could take any blow that was dealt to them so long as the final blow belonged to them and not to their enemy.
It was in the study of my manor in the Silver City when that lesson was made clearer to me than ever before. I cannot even recall the text I was reading at the time. Not a word of it was going in. Not that I had expected it to. I was merely attempting to pass the time while I waited.
So it was when Neir came to my study. As the person I was waiting for, a measure of my expectation was completed. What he had to tell me was, however, not in the least what I had expected.

"Teiron," he said, the only introduction he gave to the five words that were our undoing, "The humans have the Tome."

They were the words that sounded the Final Blow for our land.
That the humans had been winning the war was clear to all. Even then we could have stood strong had not the Uruks overrun our brethren in their land. Maybe then we could have stood strong had not the Fey betrayed us by withholding their aid. Maybe then we could have stood strong were it not for the cursed Incantation Device. Yet right to the last we knew that we would survive for we had the Tome of Air, the most powerful of all the Tomes of Magic.
Now that too was lost to us. Worse than that, it was in the hands of our foes.
"Why did Allirin not destroy the Tome rather than let it fall into the hands of those that will destroy us?" asked Neir, the tiniest hint of despair creeping into his voice.
Though the question was rhetorical, I recall answering him.
"The Creation of the Tomes was one of the most sacred times in all history. It was an event like no other, set in a time like no other. They are some of the single most precious things in all the Void. To destroy such a thing would be to betray all that has made us what we are.
"We have held the Tome of Air for countless centuries and for all that we have studied it and learned of it, we could not even begin to copy it or shape another in its likeness. No. There is not a Clave alive that would conscience such an act.
"Furthermore, to do so could even be worse than to have it in the hands of our foes. Recall your histories. The Creation of the Tomes did cause a Cataclysm. What do you think the result be will if they are destroyed?"
"So," began Neir, his weakness still on display in the most shameful way, "what hope is there for us?"
From the moment that Neir had uttered the fateful five words, the whole of the future had slowly unfolded before me. I knew with a cold certainty what it would be.
"The ritual will still be attempted - but without the Tome. So it will be that we cannot all be spared. You will go and lots will be drawn to see if you shall live or die. However, the Blood Rulien know their duty and we shall be the shield that spares you from the Final Blow."
The expression on Neir's face just filled me with more contempt for him. In his sycophantic manner, he thanked me. He even offered to pray for me - but I bade him keep his filthy habits to himself. We each went our ways and I never knew which lot he drew. For my part, I gathered my forces and went forth. On the way, I recounted Erion's lesson to me. I then sought to recall all the other things I learned from him. Though I had not wedded my sword, we would die as one.
So now I wait for the human forces to come. Strong in the knowledge that though my fate is sealed, we might still buy with our blood, a future for the Elves.