The Rovim

"There weren't always dragons in the Valley." Alecto had whispered over to me.

It was late. The sun had fully descended the horizon and disappeared beneath the sea. Grandfather had instructed us in the appropriate blessings and spells that coincide with nightfall, although he never taught us the words of the sacred language. Alecto and I had secured the entrance to our hut with a large stone, while mother kindled the fire. The Kikelev Isles dipped well below freezing each night. Fully lethal for humans but even elves would succumb if not indoors by nightfall.

Our hut was small, adjacent to the village market. My brother and I slept on each end of the room, a small clay stove separating us.

My brother always attempted to scare me with stories of old, before our people where exiled to the northern fringes of the known world. Our family name was "Rovseema." I did not know the true origin of this in the Elvish language, but grandfather had let various details slip over the years. "Rov" or Rovim where the Priests of the Holy Temple, which sat at the foothills of several mountains in the Eyehu Valley, sacred land to all elves. The Rovim where the keepers of the sacred faith, and practitioners of magic. My ancestors had belonged to this caste for many centuries. "Seema" meant something along the lines of soldier or warrior, although this is my own speculation.

In the days of old, our religion was studied by way of 7 sacred texts, and passed from father to son. For the last 300 years, our ways have been reduced to an oral tradition, and our people forced from our ancestral homeland.

As a child this was the extent of my knowledge. I turned once more to my half asleep brother.

"What do you mean?"

"The Holly Valley was once lush green, as far as the eye can see. The Human King had sent a legion of dragons, and 50,000 human knights to exterminate us for heresy."

The Human King was the monarch of Melgaria. It is the greatest taboo among all classes of Elvish society to utter his name, for he declared elves an inferior race, our land his, and our religion as heresy. For this reason, we do not say his house, clan or name. He is known only as "The Evil One" or "The Human King."

"The Dragonian Holocaust?" I asked Alecto.

"Yes. Grandfather has one such book about the events of those times. The great tragedy."

"There's no way. Nothing more than a Jest." I told off my brother.

"I swear it. He keeps it in a chest in the barn's attic, he goes each evening to pray. Go see for yourself."

Alecto turned his back to me and pulled his blanket up to his shoulders. I waited a few moments before doing the same. A gentle snowfall began to descend onto the island. Sometimes, when it was quiet enough, one could hear monsters at night.

The Kikelev Islands were a collection of seven mountainous land masses, 200 miles from the continent. Most dragons couldn't fly this distance without needing to land at least once, so The Human King had not bothered to push his forces north across the sea. However, these islands were inhabited with their own monsters. 3 out of the 7 had various races of ice giants, preventing them from Elvish settlement. The worst was Shivo Island, which also contained large deposits of gold and coal. The acquisition of these materials was necessary for our survival in the winter.

In was under these circumstances that the elves became a seafaring people. Fishing, trading, piracy, hunting and mining were now the ways in which we sustained ourselves. It became a coming of age rite among our kind to go to Shivo Island and return with the head or heart of an Ice Giant. My father was killed in one such pilgrimage just after my birth, as were many hundreds of elves.

My grandfather disagreed with such practices. He was a gentle man who cared deeply about the cultural history of elves. He taught Alecto and I that our people were historically artisans, craftsmen, architects, goldsmiths, musicians, monks and painters. He tried, to the best of his faculties, to fill the void my father left.

I laid there for what must have been an hour. I could hear my brother snoring over the crackling of the fire and wind outside. I thought about what he said, about grandfathers "secret chest." I kept my self awake with such curiosity. I eventually freed my self from beneath my covers, slipped on my winter tunic, and braced for the sprint between our home and the barn.

The whole village was fast asleep. I gazed at the barn from my window after removing the cover. It was a dilapidated structure made so by the many years of difficult winter. I positioned myself within the wooden frame of the window, before jumping out into the snow, covering my hands with my tunic as I ran.

I made it. The pain of subzero temperatures only set in when I stopped, so I swayed back and forth in an attempt to keep the blood in my legs and arms from freezing. Farming was largely futile in this part of the world, but barns served the purpose of storing mined goods, and a small amount of vegetables that we were able to grow. Immediately upon entering the barn I ascended a ladder tucked away in the far corner of the building.

Once upstairs, my attention turned to the art on wall. Hung up on the second floor was an Elvish house blessing. This was a large tapestry with a prayer and spell in the holy language, dedicated to Elam, the Elvish God of the sea.

Elam was historically a minor God. As stated before our people were artists and musicians. Over the last 3 centuries of exile, he served two roles: The first was protecting those that fished and sustained our food supply. The second was protecting us from raids from the south.

I recited the spell in the holy language. It was behind this tapestry that I would find the key to the chest, which was tucked in a small crawl space on the other side of the barn. I saw it out of the corner of my eye while praying. I never considered myself a particularly religious person, but I thought it better not to take any chances and invoke the wrath of Elam.

Within this crawl space was a small alter to Elam. In the corner was the chest. I knelt before it and inserted the key into the appropriate vacancy. The chest unlocked. I sat there for a moment, not immediately opening the the chest. The wind still sung from outside. I looked over my shoulder, back at the idols of and offerings to Elam that my grandfather must have made the previous night. Hopefully the Sea God would not punish me for mere curiosity?

"What are you doing Shamal?"

As if my grandfather was Elam himself, he stood in the doorway of the small prayer room with a wax candle in hand, staring down at me. I had not the slightest idea of how to explain myself.

"Grandfather. I was...Alecto told me."

I couldn't find the right words. We stared at each other. Grandfather glanced over at the alter.

"Did you say the blessings?" He asked me.

"Of course" I responded.

"Perhaps it's time." With that, my grandfather came and sat before me, on the other side of the chest.

"What do you think is in there?" He challenged me.

"Alecto said there were books. Books of the old ways, but I thought all of them were burned in the Dragonian Holocaust."

"Not all of them" my grandfather stated bluntly. He looked down for a moment.

"Before the time of the dragons, most elves lived on the continent, in the Eyehu Valley and in Tamir. The valley was where we built our temple dedicated to the Gods, and this place was the center of all Elvish life. Every summer, all of us would go on pilgrimage to the temple, those that lived far from the Valley."

"What about the Rovim?" I asked.

"The legends and sacred writings tell us that the Temple was built by an Elf by the same of Rova Emor. He established the order of the Priests, the Rovim, who looked after the Temple as long as it existed, and protected the sacred texts and books of magic."

"Who wrote these books?" I asked.

"The patriarchs, before the Temple. When it was destroyed a new order was created. The Seema, the guardians. The protectors of the old ways."

My grandfather and I stared at each other for a moment before I opened the chest. Inside were several books, emulates and charms.

"These books tell the stories of our people. Spells we may use on the human King so that one day we may reclaim our land."

I pulled one such book out of the chest and opened it in my lap. I began reading.

"Let it be known that the Holy Temple is no more. Under such circumstances, it is necessary that a new order must be established. This shall be the order of the Rovim and the Seema. A priestly father must teach his son in the ways of magic and sorcery, so that he may return to our sacred land and take part in its liberation, thereby liberating all Elves from Human domination."

-The Epic of the Umek

I sat there for a moment. The wind outside continued to hit the exterior of the barn. By now the weather had evolved to a heavy snowfall.

"Father is still alive? Is he not?" I asked, holding back tears.

My grandfather was silent.

"Your father is a master warlock. He was needed in the insurgency, to fight against the humans."

"You lied to me. The pilgrimage to Shevo Island. All of it. You lied." I challenged my grandfather.

"I was necessary at the time. Children are not to be concerned with such things. I was to wait until you were older, so that I may provide context." He explained.

"So where is he then?" I asked.

My grandfather stood up and motioned to a small crack in the wall. Looking out across the sea, one was able to make out the lights of Tamir, and to the East, the Eyehu Forests.