Encyclopedia Dominia: Histories and Fables - Ambassador's Tale, Bigasdat's Escape

 The Encyclopedia Domnia had various stories, lore, and information of the worlds of the multiverse.  Here we're restoring some of the online duelist's tales.  The Encyclopedia was gathered by the planeswalker Taysir, here is the section of "Histories and Fables" with stories: Ambassador's Tale, Bigasdat's Escape.  We are continuing our reproducing of them: they are not original content, but created by Wizards of the Coast for the Online Duelist in the 1990s.  

 

The Ambassador's Journal

The following account was composed by a Shanodin dryad living in the Llanowar forest. The Llanowar and Shanodin peoples share a deep respect and connection despite the tremendous distance (several thousand miles) between their forests. The dryad, Sythia, did not record this story on paper, as most cultures do. Instead, she sang it into the wood of her tree. The connection between a dryad and her tree is so strong that the dryad's thoughts are imprinted within the living wood--for those who know how to read them. --Taysir

Although I have lived within the Llanowar's comforting shade for several bloomings of the crocus, I have seldom ventured from Hedressel's sheltered peace. The druids still seem overawed by my presence. Whenever I pass into my tree to rest or meditate I fear the younger ones will swoon at the sight. Perhaps this reaction comes from envy of the dryad's bond with the forest? Perhaps not.

The elves here in Llanowar divide themselves into tribes, or elfhames, as they call them. Each elfhame has a distinct populace, territory, leadership, and social structure, and although most of the elfhames get along with one another there is occasional strife between them. In the past, elfhames have even warred among themselves, although no such grand hostilities mar the tranquillity of the forest now.

The other month I asked the druids if I could begin to see more of the splendors of Llanowar. The structure of the elfhames intrigues me, and I have seen practically nothing of the forest, save the holy ground of Hedressel, since my arrival. The druids readily assented, asking only that I allow a cadre of the Order of the Steel Leaf to escort me. When I asked why members of the military should accompany me, Cedrian, the eldest druid, responded that such an escort was first and foremost a show of respect, but there are also dangers in the woods, with orcs from the Ironclaw Mountains occasionally making raids into the forest. Thus, escorted by nearly a dozen Steel Leaf elves, I ventured out to see Elfhame Loridalh.

Over the course of our journey (which lasted nearly a fortnight) I learned much of Girian and the Steel Leaf under his able command. The young elves, with their eye patches, tattoos, and brightly colored hair, remind me of the young everywhere: overeagerness and passionate belief are their greatest faults--and their greatest assets. Long ago given a mandate by their goddess, Freyalise, to guard the forest and the elves, the Steel Leaf have never shirked their duties. In fact, they seem to have stuck so staunchly to Freyalise's words that they can even condemn elves who act in ways the Order does not believe fitting. Still, Girian and the others were the souls of courtesy to me.

When we arrived in Loridalh I was immediately reminded of a child whose mother has come home from a long journey. The child clings to her mother's skirts, as though to remain attached to her mother forever so that terrible absence can never occur again. Likewise, these elves seem forever striving to increase their connection to the infinite life-giver, nature.

The buildings of the Loridalh are unlike any I have seen elsewhere. The structures are created from living wood, coaxed into existence over countless years (although the elves did admit to me that their magic hurries the process). The Loridalh carefully set up frameworks, physical sketches of rooms and buildings, beside a chosen tree. The tree's wood is then encouraged to flow in the shapes indicated, creating ever-ascending buildings that reach well into the heights of the forest. I found this arrangement beautiful and highly indicative of the elves' psychology. It is no wonder they look on my ability to live within wood with such envy and awe.

All this time, the Steel Leaf's patience seemed frayed. As I discussed the Loridalh building philosophy with the elders, I noticed the strained looks on the faces of my waiting escort. While they thought I was sleeping, I overheard several of the Order grumbling about drawing such gloryless duty as escorting an ambassador. Ah, youth!

It was just as I was getting ready to depart the city that I saw something I believe brought me to a slightly deeper understanding of my hosts.

A young mother hovered on the edges of the small crowd observing my visit, her child cradled tenderly in her arms. I glanced up to find her looking at me with tears in her eyes, and I began to cross over to her. Girian stepped up, reminding me that it was past midday and we might want to consider leaving for home soon. I patted Girian's arm reassuringly and approached the young mother (I never did discover her name). When I asked her why she was crying, she responded that she was certain my visit was a sign from Freyalise, for her child was named Llonya, which means "dryad" in Old Elvish. With such a sign from the goddess, surely her child must be blessed.

Staring down at the solemn elf-child, I watched the girl's fragile hands reaching up towards me, or perhaps the sky, a braided twig-toy clutched in her hand. I took the child into my arms and held her up towards the dappled light; still the child waved impatiently. As I glanced at Girian, who stood with arms folded grimly over his armor, I presented the child to the largest tree in the town. Grasping at a living branch, the child pulled the smallest leafy twigs into her mouth while her other hand tangled itself in my hair. Then little Llonya began to cry. Hastily, her mother collected her, apologizing for her daughter's behavior.

The Llanowar are like this child, I thought. Although they see themselves as ancient sages and warriors, they are really still youngsters torn between the desire to leave their home and the desire to stay within their mother's arms forever.

Smiling to myself at this insight I could never share with my escort, I nodded to the relieved Girian. It was time to return home.

 

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Bigasdat's Escape

This tale provides an outsider's view of the elves of Llanowar. It is often interesting to see how one people appears to another, very different race. One often learns something of both the object and reporter of the tale. Readers should bear in mind, however, that the outsiders in this case are goblins. Goblins are, by their very nature, prone to exaggeration and hyperbole.-- Taysir

I never did like Bigasdat. Mom Three-Slugs named him "Bigasdat" 'cause he was big as two cats when he was born. I only got named "Flegg" 'cause Mom had a cold when I came out. So, I never did like Bigasdat.

Anyway, Bigasdat stole one a' Gramma Gooseguts's kites the other day and went flying. He says he borrowed it, but from Gramma's curses I don't think she agrees. Anyway, Bigasdat got a good wind and whoop! off he went. Giblet, did he go! All the way up and out 'til he hung over da Forest of Death. Then he dropped like Grampa Umph after he ate dose three rocks. (We never found out why Grampa did that.)

Anyway, I was happy then 'cause I thought Bigasdat was gone. But now he's back. And he thinks he's a hero. Sheesh!

So Bigasdat starts bragging: "Yah! I crashed dat kite--kerbang--right in da Forest of Death. The crash woulda killed Flegg here, or any of you, flat. But I swung into a tree and lived."

Which means Bigasdat closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and waved his arms like he always does when he's scared, and his hood probably got caught in a tree branch.

"Da forest had the hugest trees ever a goblin saw. They went up to da sky and da roots went almost as high. And everything was silent like when we all wait for Chief Blurglump to belch. I knew if I waited da death elves would come. But I couldn't see da sun, so how's I to start runnin'?"

If the trees are so high, how come I can see da sky over 'em now, huh?

"Then I heard 'em--there musta been five . . . nine . . . no, ninety of 'em, all comin' fer me! Death elves with their pointed teeth, evil eyes, and poison arrows. So I knew home was da way they weren't. I coulda fought them if there were only ten or so, but with so many I had ta run. Mom Three-Slugs woulda hated it if I died."

Yeah, who'd she have to klunk when I'm not around? And who'd ever believe so many elves came after Bigasdat? 'Sides, even one elf'd send Bigasdat screamin' naked into a snowstorm.

"So's anyway, I ran and ran for hours. I don't think any goblin ever ran so long. I could hear da elves everywhere, and once I hadda hide in a pile of leaves. But they didn't find me, no."

Then da elves are stupider'n Bigasdat's pet stone. Bigasdat can't hide from Gramma Gooseguts, and she's half-blind and deaf!

"Finally, after what musta been two or three days, I escaped da Forest of Death and got back to da Ironclaws. So's even a whole tribe of pointy-ears couldn't get one goblin--and dat's me. Hah!"

"But, 'Gas, you was only gone fer an hour. And your kite only crashed a stone's throw inta da forest," I pointed out.

"Well, it seemed like days, and if it was only an hour it's 'cause I'm so fast! Anyway, da kite's at least an hour's run inta da forest."

"Yeah? Den how come I can see it from here, bug-burp?"

Bigasdat stared at da forest and da kite hangin' from a tree right there fer as long as it takes Gramma ta catch a bug with her toes. Then he musta seen the logic of my statement, 'cause he bopped me. So I bopped him back. My fist can out-logic Bigasdat's anyday.

Anyway, dis went on until we both fell asleep. And in da morning Gramma twisted Bigasdat's ears for hours. Guess my brother's good for something after all.