So, you really want to hear this one? Sendarriel grins and breaks off a branch from a nearby tree. He hands it to you and nods. You notice that the leaves of the tree aren't green. Rather, they're a fiery red, dappled with green spots. You mention this to him.
"Aye. The season of Riftdale is perpetually autumn, despite the weather outside the valley walls," Sendar replies. "Would you like to know why that is?"
Your reply is negatory and Sendar sighs.
"Really. You are no fun whatsoever!" He glares down at the ground for a few moments before he continues. "Anyways, just dip the leaf of that twig in the water and close your eyes."
You ask what purpose such a silly act would serve.
"The combination of the leaves of that plant and the water in the pool allow one to see the happenings through another's eyes. Usually, this 'other' is dead. It also allows one to see clearly what a bard or a spy is trying to relate if he is not very good with words. For elves, though, it is basically used as a suppliment to such happenings as we are all eloquent speakers. Now do as I instructed, unless you really don't want to hear the story."
You see the elf's reasoning and close your eyes, dipping the leaf of the twig in the water. Suddenly, your mind's eye receives an image of the elf surrounded by mist.
"Now, then, I shall begin to tell you the story of why it is that elves and orcs are mortal foes. Please, don't interrupt."
Not as long ago as one would think, the orcs and the elves got along splendidly. They were great allies. The elves would provide the orcs with culture, and the orcs would, in turn, provide the elves with food from their exceptionally rich farmland. All was smooth for a long time.
That was the time of the elven king, Argius III. The orcs' ruler was Trilk II. They seemed to get along simply wonderfully, that is, until Argius died suddenly and mysteriously. It was speculated that, because he died in Trilk's private chamber, the orcan leader had poisoned him. No one knows for certain if he did or not. However, the fact that the elven prince (by then crown king), Darpol I, had personally accused the orcan leader of such an act drove the elves into turmoil and the orcs into a fury.
It was no big secret, though, that Darpol in no way liked Trilk. Indeed, the young king had been jealous that his father spent so much time with the leader of the ugly race. He had tried, even in his youth, to dissolve their comradeship, but no mere boy can do such.
Some people speculate that Darpol (who turned out to be horridly power-hungry) had agents poison his father, not intentionally killing him, but sickening him. However, these agents were either idiots or double-bribed into killing the king. It was a pity, too, for he was such a good ruler.
The days were black after that. Darpol had all the local tribes enforce conscription. He had the infantry and the like trained (badly) for what he thought would be an easy victory. After all, the elves did outnumber the orcs seven to one.
Unfortunately, the elves lost miserably. They were forced back onto their lands in wretched defeat. They lost most hope for winning in just one battle.
Many elves pressured for a change in the government. They called for a republic, or a delegation, or somewhat that gave the people more of a choice. Some even called to go back to the way things had been run for thousands of years: tribal council.
Such was not to be for decades, though. In those decades, the elves basically lost their battles. Eventually, Darlop was so weakened by his greed and defeat combined that he killed himself without ever producing an heir.
The elves reverted, quickly, to the old ways and a national republic. Each tribe would send one representative each year to tell what his tribe had decided. Thus, the elves pressured for peace with the orcs.
Unfortunately, the orcs would only settle for a cease-fire agreement. They would not sway and make the move for peace. The cease-fire that was signed lasted for fifty years. By that time, two generations were spawned. The leaders of the countries were completely untrained in the aspects of warcraft.
The cease-fire ended, and the orcs attacked. The elves, though, did not care to become part of a vast orcan empire. Rather, they wished to remain free to roam and travel as they pleased. So it was that they pushed the orcs back, forcing them to call for peace.
The elves, though, were young and naive to war once again. They allowed only a cease-fire contract. This one, also, only lasted fifty years.
Now, the second fifty-year marker is approaching quickly. We should pressure for peace talks, but my tribe is pugnatious. We live in the center of our nation, away from the border skirmishes. We know nothing.
"You can open your eyes," Sendarrial says.
You do so and see him perched on the rock again, spinning a steel-tipped arrow between his two index fingers. He looks depressed, upset, angry, afraid, and thousands of other emotions that you've never seen before on an elf. You ask him what's wrong.
"I'm an apprentice bard," he replies. "They have me doing the work of a soldier up here in the mountains. To fight as we have for a century at least while forgetting the cause is wrong. One should not attack without due reason. We had no right to attack the orcs after the cease-fire. We were wrong. We were wrong. We're a culture of intellectuals, but we can't figure out the first things on warcraft and motivations and hatred. We live in the light while the orcs, our blood bretheran are forced to live in the darkness by the order of nature. Do you know that it's speculated that orcs are merely night-walking elves?"
You reply that you didn't even think of it that way before.
"They very well could be. It's quite possible that I'm training a dragon to kill a people that could be like my family." Sendar sighs. "I hope everything works out right. If that egg hatches, I don't want to use it for warcraft. It wouldn't be right for the dragon and it won't be fair for the orcs. Once it becomes an adult, I'm going to take it far from conflict. I swear it by my blood."
After saying this, Sendar slits his palm with the arrow tip he's been spinning between his fingers. He forces the blood to fall from his hand and licks it solemnly. Thus, he seals the elven vow.