3. History of Tyal, and Nulda Alassë, and the Weave

History of Tyal, and Nulda Alassë, and the Weave

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    Game Login: Tyal_Wood
    Character Name: Tyal
    Forum Login: Tyal

    Nulda Alassë [secret joy], a small elven community in the giant maples of Cormanthor, is my home. Like all the youth of that land, I grew up practicing the longbow, longsword, song, dance, painting, literacy, herb craft and the Art. The Art became my most serious pursuit. For me, to practice the Art is to perceive the Weave and play its wildly complex fibers as a kind of harp. A spell is a marvelous, melodious song (thus, when I came of age, the elders gave me the name Tyal - to play). Necromancy is an exception to spells being a harmonious vibration of the Weave. Rather, I perceive such as a renting of the Weave which pains me to witness. Necromancy, therefore, I study but do not practice.

    In greater lands it is taught that the Weave is the body of Mystra and that she is the conduit through which all spellcasters channel. In Nulda Alassë it is taught that the interconnection of all spirits forms the Weave. The spirit of a single tree or brook contributes a part of the Weave that does not extend much beyond its physical location. The spirit of the whole of Cormanthor forest is most concentrated in the Weave within Cormanthor, but reaches, like the branches of a great tree, throughout the entirety of the Weave. The Art is the knowing of these spirits: their names and their stories. By knowing them, an adept can influence the Weave. This influence is manifested as the casting of a spell. Therefore, many are the songs of my village that tell of the twelve deities of the elven pantheon, and of the myriad of lesser spirits named by each brook, plant, and creature.

    I hold with my home teaching of the Art, but unify it with Mystra being the intelligent, organizational structure that maintains the Weave as a great tapestry with many individual images forming a beautiful single image. It seems to me that without such an intelligence, that the casting of spells and death in the physical world would, over time, cause the Weave to erupt into wild magic. Wild magic that would destructively interfere and dissipate until all the world were devoid of spirit and therefore magic.

    Of those lesser spirits which are beyond our local streams, and hallowed trees, there is little song to be heard in Nulda Alassë. I yearn for the songs of the elves of Silverymoon, and Methwood and the High Forest, the songs of the dwarfs of the Great Rift and the Smoking Mountains, of the humans of the great cities and the halflings of Luiren. My dearest mentor is one of the few in my land who had once traveled far beyond our borders and fought in a war with the drow. Once I asked him of Vhaeraun. He set me to spend three days in solitude on the forest floor for answer. Like all my kinsfolk, I harbor a hatred for Vhaeraun and all his drow followers, but I will stay my hate for a chance to understand, and a chance to discover that my hate might be misplaced.

    Thus, shortly after I received my name, I set forth to venture beyond the edge of Cormanthor. I was alone and my heart was heavy as I climbed a tall oak and viewed, with both wonder and sadness the frozen peeks of the Giantspire Mountains and the lands beyond Comanthor. Descending to the last branches before leaping to the ground, I was struck with momentary paralysis. Hovering just above the forest floor was what I thought to be a hatchling dragon. I was not afraid of the hatchling, but of what such a presents implied. However, I noticed that the creature watched me with an intelligence that did not speak of a hatchling. I dropped, bending knees and with finger tips touching the mossy ground as I kept my head up watching the creature. After some time, there came into my mind, like a sending, a song. A song that as I sung made visible in the Weave that this creature before me was to be my familiar. It was not a dragon but a pseudodragon, already full grown, named Ki. I saw in the Weave that Ki’s threads were bound with my own beyond the horizon of life. For a long while, I stood and scratched the scales along his spine. As we set off to the foothills beyond Comanthor, I thought of the disapproval my da would express about my finding a familiar that is cousin to a dragon. The dragon races being the most widely feared throughout Faerûn. Then I laughed aloud with the thought that I would not dare retort by pointing out to my da that he is cousin to the drow.

    Tyal, son of Macilinta and Isilcala of Nulda Alassë


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