The History of the Feir'Dal (House Item)

Story 1
Our mother is Tunare, goddess of nature. One day, she walked alone in the woods and an oak leaf fluttered to the ground before her, so that she need not walk in the mud. She picked it up and breathed upon it, creating the Feir'Dal. The Feir'Dal are most at home surrounded by greenery. Long ago, we lived on Faydwer, in our city of Kelethin among the trees.

The woods of the Faydark spread as wide to us as any sea and as bountiful. All we could want or need was available in the trees, from food to shelter to weapons and shields. Stories tell of first day of the Growth season, when the Feir'Dal bards would position themselves among the branches and sing songs of blessing and thanks to Tunare. For those below, it was as though the trees themselves were singing.

From the trees first saw the smoke of the first fires in the War of Fay. The twisted Teir'Dal and their minions thought of us as mere inconveniences between them and the Koada'Dal. They thought to march through Faydark to Felwithe.

Our resistance was strong and yet, we had not faced an enemy like this before. The Teir'Dal pushed their minions to death and when one fell, another came from behind in its place. They fought without honor. They cast us aside, burning our homes and mocking our sorrow.

We stood with the Koada'Dal before Felwithe, those who were not still locked in skirmishes throughout Faydark. It filled our hearts with such sadness to look beyond one battlefield to see our homes burning beyond.

Story 2
The War of Fay ended, the Teir'Dal scattered and we looked upon the ruin of the land. And then one of the Feir'Dal children climbed a blackened tree and began to sing the song of renewal, as though it were the first day of the Growth season. And we wept.

A tree may take many, many seasons of Growth to reach its maturity, yet it can be destroyed in less than a day. Though much of our home was beyond repair, we did what we could. Our platforms were smaller, perhaps, but we rebuilt among the branches.

War had not finished for us, as the Rallosian Army arose anew during the Age of War. You are asleep in the branches of your home and hear the rhythmic thump of iron-shod feet below. Our dreams were constantly filled with the sound of marchers heading to battle.

Though we felt safe enough in our rebuilt homes, our dreams were troubled. Many Feir'Dal took this as a sign from Tunare that we must go to war to protect Tunaria, that which is now called Antonica. And so we took up our bows and knives and made for Qeynos.

There were many dark days in the city of men, unable to feel true grass or touch living bark. Even in such a terrible time, we looked over the walls of the city with great longing for the woods. Many gardens in Qeynos today were built by those we brought with us who did not fight.

Story 3
The war ended with the terrible slaying of the Rallosians by the Green Mist. Their army weakened and leaderless, they fled into the hills. Finally, we were able to leave the city to heal the trees that were damaged by the foul Rallosians.

We stayed to help repair the forest surrounding Qeynos, never dreaming that our own home may have been in danger. For the Rending began then, and the world as we knew it before the wars changed. Beneath our very feet, the ground split and Antonica was splintered apart.

The seas roiled, tossing the ships in the harbor about like toys in a rain barrel. We climbed the highest branches, which broke in the winds. Luclin too shattered like the lands around us. We called to Tunare but she did not answer. We had to stand strong and prove our worth as her children.

The leaders of Qeynos granted us lands that we could rebuild a home as Faydwer was considered lost. The Willow Wood is beautiful to me, yet I am mindful that a willow can also be called a "weeping willow."

The tears of our elders watered the ground, and from their tears sprang green grass and tall oaks. Some days, I walk into the remnants of the Elddar Forest and sing songs of the old days. I sing the song from the first day of the season of Growth: Tunare, mother of all, bless the lands we live on.