My story follows ...

I have had many names ... too numerous to recall. I shall have many more. Yet, if there is one which I prefer over others, it should be Cyng Swiftwind. It is by far the most well-known, though it is a distortion of my first name. I have felt a need, over the past few years, to write down my stories before they fade from my memory entirely. Portions of what follows are not what I directly experienced, yet are what I later learned to have happened. What follows details portions of my existance, yet not every portion, and it has no ending, nor shall it ever. List well:

Powers existed. Called many things by many peoples, they are faceless, timeless, endless. Struggling between order and chaos, between creation and destruction, a world was created. The world has been called many things by many people, yet the world is all. Creatures became. Mindless, they did naught but exist. Aeons passed. Time is nothing in the eyes of the world, in the eyes of the powers.

A race was created. The first race. They were the People. They sprang full from the world, perfect in every way, as timeless and ageless as the powers themselves, yet they were neither great nor powerful. They existed. They spoke, they built, they created. These last, their creations, are what separated them from the world's other creatures. They were beautiful.

Tall, angular, sculpted, they were without flaw. Regal, dignified, they were the true kings of the world, though they flaunted this not. They spoke a language, though it was by far not the only language. The land, the seas, the forests have always had their own words, their own songs. The People called themselves Elf. Flawless, they existed, creating great things, achieving wondrous feats of beauty and art. The powers were pleased.

From the struggles between order and chaos came another people. These were much different from those who called themselves Elf. They lived apart from the first people, at the farthest reaches of the mountains and the deepest delvings into the earth. Yet these, too, were beautiful. Sturdy, broad, stocky, they were. Of enduring strength and power, they differed from those who called themselves Elf nearly as order differs from chaos. They, too, created. They, too, had their own tongue with which they spoke. These called themselves Dwarf, which also means the People. The powers were again pleased.

So it was with the world for aeons.

Over time, a new sort of creature became. It is not known if they stemmed from those who called themselves Dwarf, from those who were called Elf, or from something else entirely, yet these were no creation. From something, this new people became.

Of powerful build and rough ways, what these people lacked in mind they more than made up for in body. More than twice the height of those called Dwarf they stand, and yet broader as well. These people called themselves Ogre, which, in their own tongue, is known to mean 'strength'. The powers saw this, and were pleased.

Yet, over time, these who called themselves Ogre became very strong in numbers, and began to overrun the peaceful elves and caused the Dwarven folk to retreat into their earthen delvings. The powers were not pleased. A new kind of people became. They were created for a purpose. Nearly as physically superior as those who called themselves Ogre, this people possessed a higher degree of intelligence. They were called Orc, named so by the powers themselves, though the word's meaning, if it indeed ever possessed one, has been lost to time.

These who were called Orc were no match for any Ogre in the purely physical sense, yet their strengths increased greatly when they worked in large numbers, easily overwhelming even the strongest of the Ogre-kind. As was planned, these who were called Orc worked to keep the Ogres from overrunning all the world. The powers were pleased with their work.

So it was with the world for aeons.

The Elven folk had achieved unsurpassed feats of beauty in architecture, visual art, music, and many other fields. Their scholars produced works of great learnings. And then they began to die. This had never happened.

Why the powers had created them as eternal beings is not known. Why no other race has ever been so is not known either. Yet their gift of immortality was taken, and their lives grew shorter, though still longer than the Dwarves, and longer by far than either the Ogres or those called Orcs.

The Dwarven folk worked the earth with their hands, creating great works of art from the metals and minerals found only deep within the ground. Their scholars recorded many things of what lay beneath the world's surface, and their kind flourished.

The Ogres continually fought with the Orcs, and this was to be. Yet they, too, flourished. They achieved no great works of art nor made any discoveries of reknown about the world and magics which are contained within it, yet this does not name them failures.

The Orcs grew into clans and tribes, achieving a level of civilization above that of the Ogre kind, though it was far surpassed by those of the Elves and Dwarves. Yet this, too, pleased the powers greatly.

But more was to come.

The powers, though greatly pleased with the civilizations of the Elves and the Dwarves, and the physical feats of the Ogres and the Orcs, desired something which could capture both worlds. They created a people physically durable and powerful, though not nearly as so as the Ogres or Orcs, intelligent and civilized, though not so advanced and beautiful as the Elves nor so quiet and refined as the Dwarves. They created a people which had the destructive powers held by the Ogres and the Orcs, and the creative drives of the Elven folk and the Dwarves.

This people called themelves Human. In their time, they have achieved great feats of art and beauty which can be compared with Elven works, have built workings with the earth to be compared with Dwarven feats, have reached physical prowess nearly on a level with the Ogres and Orcs, though have never surpassed any of these.

They lived short lives, on a level with the Ogres. Yet their unique combination of physical durability and intelligent adaptability lent to them a great advantage over any other creature to ever exist. They could live where none else could, they tamed the lands to their advantage, destroying wide swaths of forest for their plows and herds, cutting mountains away for their cities, building out over the waters of the seas.

Their ingenuities and intelligence with tools rendered the threats of the Ogres and Orcs nearly null. They improved their own lives to the depreciation of the land and the creatures around them.

Though immensely pleased with the successes of the Humans, the powers of order and chaos feared that their new creation would, given time, overrun the lands and destroy nature's beauty. They bred faster than any other race and survived in more inhospitible lands than any other creatures. Something had to be done.

The powers decided to give into the protection of the other races certain realms of the world. To the dwarves they entrusted the care of the earth and the mountains. To the elven folk went the preservation of natural beauty everywhere. They entrusted the plains and savannas to the orcs, and the wetlands and swamps went under the protection of the ogres.

Yet there remained the forests and the seas.

The powers formed themselves into physical bodies and walked among the first people for a time. They chose an elf for a very special task. To this elf, the forests were unequalled in beauty and importance. Her love for the woodlands was unsurpassed by any. She was called P'hyxziey, which, in the elven tongue of the time, can be translated to 'Beautiful Maiden of the Woods'.

The powers took her into the ancient forests of the world and caused her to sleep. While she yet slept, they changed her. A new creature was made. They caused her body to become one fifth of its former size, which placed her at one foot and six. They caused a pair of wings to sprout from her back. They gave her the ability to float into the air. And then they vanished from the physical world.

When she awoke, she was startled to see her new size, though her shape was not changed. She, as if by instinct, floated into the air, up through the branches of the trees, and above them, and gasped in awe of the view which spread out before her. P'hyxziey maneuvered using her four dragonfly-like wings to push her through the air. To her was given the care of the forests.

The powers were greatly pleased, yet she was just one and the forests many and great.

All of this was told to me countless years ago. I did not experince any of this, as I had yet to exist. My first memory is of her face, looking down upon me with wonder. P'hyxziey. I was truly and wholly in love. I remember, hazily, great rosewood pines rising above me, as though I lay upon the ground. Yet the sight of her took all of my attention, as well as my breath.

She reached down with two delicate hands to hold mine. Then she lifted from the ground, pulling me into the air. I was afraid at first, clutching to her hands, yet soon I grew accustomed to the feeling, and could float on my own. After all, this was what I had been created to do. I experimented with using my wings to direct myself. There was naught a wind there, deep in the forest, though I later learned to battle even the fiercest.

She told me what I was, a being made in the shape of the elves, yet smaller and with wings, and that to the two of us had been given the forests as our realm, and their survival and preservation as our duty. Nothing felt more right, except, perhaps, they way that her hand fit within my own.

We spoke what was then the elven tongue, for she was of the elven kind. Yet I had no name. She was called P'hyxziey, my beautiful maiden of the woods, yet I was nameless. I went so for a very long time.

We lived for a very long time. Yet we were the only two like us. We decided to give ourselves a name. We were not the People, for we came from the elves, who were the people. We were creatures of the air. Our home was made within a tree, and we spent most of our time darting and flying swiftly upon the wind. Finally, it was this that we began to call ourselves: Swift as the Wind. In the ancient elven tongue, this is called Allarri. But she was P'hyxziey of the Allarren, and I still had no name of my own.

One day, one among countless, as I was resting upon the branch of the rosewood tree in which we made our home, playing upon a wooden flute which I had made for myself, P'hyxziey came bursting from the tree's bole, making me drop my flute in surprize. She flew up before me, beaming. I asked her what had excited her so.

"Forest Song!" she exclaimed. Not knowing of what she spoke, I furrowed my brow. She said the words again, then said, "Your name!" I chuckled, looked down at my flute fifty or so feet below me, and nodded. It fit.

My beautiful maiden of the woods had come up with a very proper name for me, which, in the anciet elven tongue, which we spoke at the time, translates into 'Cyinge'. P'hyxziey and Cyinge of the Allarren were we. The only beings who were Swift as the Wind to exist. Our solitude did not last very long after that.

To my beautiful wife was born a child, a male. I regret deeply that I cannot recall his name, nor the names of any of our children, yet he was the first Allarri to be born into the world, as P'hyxziey was made into one and I was created from nothing. We had many children after that; went through many flying lessons and taught them everything which we knew of the world and its forests. I spread my love for music to the new generations.

Our people grew numerous.

After ten centuries, Allarren lived in every forest of the world, a great people. The powers knew this, and there was no longer any need for the mother of the race to continue creating our people. Ten centures, twenty, and four years beyond her first as an Allarri, the powers took her life. It was a peaceful death that took her into the lands beyond. Yet my heart was broken. A deep despair soon began to grow within me.

The powers of order and chaos had created me for the sole purpose of fathering a people. They had created me to love my maiden of the woods. I was made for her in every sense of the words. And now she was gone.

The music which had been a part of my life since my first breathing day grew dark and bitter. Angry. I railed against the powers, screaming in fury and pain. All became a dark madness and my life seemed futile. I lived this way for nearly two milleniae.

I could not understand why they had taken her and not me as well. My reason for being and my will to survive ebbed. The powers had used me for their own purposes. Well I had had enough of that.

I do not know where within the realms of my kind I was at the time, yet this does not matter. My strength was gone, my will to live was gone. I floated to the ground beneath a great rosewood pine. From my belt I drew a simple knife. It was an old blade, dwarven-made, I believe. Tilting my head back to look towards the heavens, I whispered, "My dear, dear P'hyxziey ... I am come once again to you ... this time, by my own hand. Forgive me, my love. Forgive me my weakness. I need you so, and we once more shall be together. Forgive me."

I slowly drew the blade across the insides of my forearms. The pain did not exist. I felt nothing of it. As the blood ran down my arms and dripped to the ground, mixing with my silent tears, a stray thought skitterred across the emptiness within me. "How can a substance so warm come from a heart so cold?"

Darkness drew around me, and my last feeling was of a great release. Now I would be reuinited with my beautiful maiden.

'Twas not to be.

Three centuries passed. The Allarren grew in numbers and spread across the world during this time, protecting their realm from harm, though the humans did take portions for their own realms. The humans also grew in numbers, far more quickly than the winged folk. Soon, the Allarren were split from one another. They grew into different tribes, different peoples. As the humans grew in numbers, the remaining pockets of Allarren began to shrink. Their numbers rapidly dwindled to an alarming point. The land-hungry humanfolk nearly caused the race to disappear. The powers knew what must be done.

My next memory is an infuriating one. My eyelids fluttered open, and above me rose a great pine. I almost forgot what had happened what I later learned to be around three centuries before and half-expected my love to come floating above me, allowing a fleeting and tantalizing glimpse up her legs. Then I remembered. I remembered all. How cruel are the gods.

I clenched my eyes, clenched my teeth, and felt my face grew hot. I stood, my eyes yet closed. A wind sprang up. A chill wind, yet not nearly so bitter as the cold which seeped from my heart. Fury coursed through my veins, rage so pure that it heated even my frozen heart. I felt it running through my body. My eyes flew open and I pushed a hand towards the tree before me. A bolt of energy from the sky crashed into the thick trunk, splintering it, accompanied by a ground-shaking clap of thunder.

I turned and let lose another bolt of lightning at another tree, shattering it. Screaming in rage, I flew high above the forest and focused all of the hatred which coursed through my body. From the heavens I pulled a beam of energy straight through my body to the ground. The blast was so powerful that it tore a rent in the earth, a deep chasm, from which heat and vile stenches rose.

My voice went hoarse from the cry which rose from my throat as the lightning flowed through my body. It singed every hair on my body, burnt my skin. When it stopped, I fell to the ground far below me. Every bone in my body shattered. I held onto consciousness through it all, letting the pain soak up my energies, soak up my hatreds and furies.

Using the forces which flowed through my body, new to me, yet somehow very familiar, I began to heal my body. My bones knit themselves together. My hair grew back, though this time it was a deep forest-green. My skin healed. I stood.

Before me, two shapes began to take form. They appeared to be some sort of mix between elf and human, yet I knew that they were something more. I stood in the presence of the powers of order and chaos. Surprizingly, I was nowhere near awed.

"You know who we are, Forest Song," one said, with a voice that was at one time a single voice, and yet many voices as well. I nodded.

"Things change, young one," the second said, with a voice that was at one time many voices, and yet a single voice as well. "We have need of you."

I did not respond.

"We need one of your strength, Cyinge. Your people are scattered, their numbers dwindling." I did not respond.

"You must bring them together, Allarri. You must make them strong, as they once were."

"You have used me enough," I spat.

The one looked to the other, who shrugged.

"You are the only one who can do this, Cyinge of the Allaren," the first said.

I shook my head. "You will not do this. You will bring me to be with my wife, whom I was created for."

"Your wife no longer exists." A sharp fear shot through my soul.

"She does. You took her to the far-off place. You took her to the beyond." My voice took on a fevered edge.

"There is none, young Cyinge. She is no more."

"NO!!!" I cried. "IT IS NOT SO!!!" I drew upon the magics of the land, felt them coursing through my body, searing my newly-healed bones. I threw them forwards, causing a great bolt of energy to smash into the two figures before me, flooding them with the destructive powers of nature and the hatred of my rage. Yet the lightning did nothing. Again and again I threw it at them, yet it did not even seem to touch their bodies. I screamed in fury and despair, tears streaming down my face. "You will not use me!!!" My words were nearly unintelligible through my sobbing. "I will not be used!!!"

I fell to my knees, face wet with tears, soul heavy with the pain and hopelessness. "I won't be used ... "

"It will be as it has been planned, young Allarri. Unite your people. Do not let them die. Do not let them disappear. It will be so." I did not see them vanish. My world soon grew darker than it ever had been. A mountain settled itself upon my shoulders. Perhaps, after this, they would let me die.

I wandered through the woods for a few years before coming upon another of my kind. It was an old man, grizzled and worn. He called himself Darniss. He seemed very surprized to see me, said that he had not seen another Allarri for thirty years. I asked him his age, as the age tendencies of the races change over the years. He told me that he'd seen over one hundred and forty winters. I asked him long it had been since the passing of my P'hyxziey. Some twenty-three hundred years, he supposed. I quickly calculated my own age to be approximately thirty-five hundred years. Well, my soul's age, as this body seemed much younger than the one which I had killed three centuries in the past.

Darniss asked me how I had come to live in these woods, as all of 'the others' had died years before, and he had not seen aught else since. I gave a vague response. He nodded. We spoke for a very long time. I did not tell him much of my past, as I feared that he either would not believe me or that he would attempt to deify me as a god or some such.

I did not learn much. He was old, yet not wise. He died twenty years after. I moved on, wandering once more.

I learned that forest and its ways very well over the following years. It is strange to think, even now, that although I spent practically eighty years in that forest, I visibly aged no more than two. It wasn't until sixty years after Darniss' death that I left the forest, knowing it to be empty of any others of my kind.

I avoided the large towns and cities of men, their noise and stink affronting to my forest-bred senses. I avoided the swamps and wetlands where the ogres lived, as their ways were far too physical for me. The orcs I left on the plains ... those wide places have always given me a strange sense of vulnerability and exposure. I spent some time among the elves, however, studying their works and their books. The language had changed some, yet I soon caught on to the new twists of the script and grammar. I spent forty years or so at many different elven cities, doing nothing more than soaking up information. The dwarves I also left alone.

In all of the two centuries of my wanderings, I came across not a single other of my kind. Yet I paid this no heed. I was not about to allow the powers of order and chaos use me again.

Just when I thought that they had forgotten about me, I was unpleasantly made aware that they remembered.

During my stays in elven lands, I frequently would sleep high up in trees within the cities or towns. One night, my sleep was disturbed.

I did not awaken until my clothes caught fire. I darted up high into the air as quickly as I could, and the wind zhaunned the flames. I looked below me to see the tree in which I had been sleeping engulfed in flames. They touched none of the buildings surrounding the tree, nor the grasses below it. Wiping sleep from my eyes, my jaw dropped wide as I realized that the flames were not red ... they were green.

I stared in wonder at this sight for a few moments. Then a familiar voice rang through my head, at one time one voice, and yet many voices as well.

"That is the green of the burning forests, Allarri. That is the death of your people. That is the fire which is engulfing your lands, your realm. When the forests are gone, so too shall your people be no more. You will do as we have commaned, Cyinge of the Allarren. It will be so."

Abruptly, the flames were no more, through the tree stood blackened and charred beyond life.

Yet the flames still burned within my mind's eye.

I flew up, higher and higher, where the air grew thinner and colder. Still, I climbed. Spread out below me, lit by the moon's pale light, was the land, the realms of the peoples of the world.

Not a single forest was in sight. My heart clenched in fear. I soared above the world, searching throughout the night for forestlands, the ground remained free of them. High over the dim glow of the human cities I flew, high above the campfires of orc tribes, high above the mountain holts of the dwarven peoples I soared, swift as the wind.

It was not until the pale light of false dawn made the eastern horizon glow that I found a small wood, consisting predominantly of oaks and maples. I dove straight for it, halting my descent just before careening into the thick bole of a tall elm.

I looked around. Something felt ... right. The trees rising above me gave a comforting shelter, and it was wonderful to be in a forest once more, yet there was something else.

My pointed ears just faintly picked up a sound I'd not heard in what seemed like countless years: a soft, sweet humming. The voice came from the north, it seemed. I was drawn towards the tuneless melody. I floated up a few feet and flew towards it silently.

Before me was a small clearing, one I'd not seen from the air high above. The dawn was just beginning to break, which cast a hazy light upon the place. In the centre of the clearing lay a rather large pond.

From its rim grew tall trees, thickly, forming a near wall. The clear voice came from that clearing.

I flew closer, keeping myself hidden behind the leaves of one of the maples.

The singing vanished for a moment with a small splash, and my eyes darted towards the ripples. Moments passed. A few minutes later, a head appeared from out of the water on the far side of the pond. I could not make out much from this distance. The singing resumed.

The person dove under the water, and I saw a pair of iridescent dragonfly wings upon its back. I traced the Allarri's path under the water to the near side of the pool, where it burst forth and into the air, hovering a few feet above the pond's surface, six feet before me.

I averted my eyes, or tried to, yet my gaze was drawn back towards the being which floated before me. She was beautiful. Her hair was deep brown, nearly black. Her body was long and slender, exquisitely-formed. Her skin was light and pure, her waist slender, flaring at the hips, with beautifully-sculpted avoir dupois. I felt a long-forgotten desire well up within me, and a great ache sprang full into my heart. My face grew hot. Her eyes were closed. She hummed softly in that sweet voice as droplets of water coursed down her body to fall into the pond.

A single tear ran down my cheek, warm. A lump formed within my throat. Though it pains me to admit it, I forgot everything of my lost P'hyxziey.

I floated forwards from the maple, towards the woman silently. Her sweet voice filled my ears. I leaned forwards and touched my lips to hers. The humming stopped. I pressed my lips firmly against hers. They parted and I tasted her sweet, cool tongue. I kissed her deeply and sweetly.

Of a sudden, she gasped, her eyes openning widely, and darted into the pool, showing only her head. I flew back hastily, stammering apologies and that I'd not seen anything and I meant no harm or insult. I must have looked like a fool, my face red and my eyes full of unshed tears. She looked at me and her face began to soften. It was her eyes which made me stop babbling. Of a green nearly as dark as my own, they seemed to pierce my soul. They touched something within me, and my soul cried out to hers as it felt an ageless wound begin to heal. The image of her body also was strong in my mind.

"Who are you?"

"I - m-my name ... I am called Cyinge ... Cyinge of the Allarren. I do truly apologize for my rudeness, my lady ... I-"

"There is no need to apologize, Cynge," she said in that allurring voice. Her words were odd to my ears ... as though she spoke a different language which was almost the same as mine, yet subtly changed. She slurred my name, yet it sounded fine on her lips. It sounded wonderful. "My name is Asalen. I have no last name."

I tried to puzzle out what her name meant, yet the words have changed over time.

"It means 'Moon's Voice'," she said, nearly reading my thought. A fitting name. "Yours sounds familiar, yet I cannot quite decipher its meaning."

"Forest Song. That is what Cyinge - Cynge - means. Allarri is what I am, what we all are ... Swift as the Wind," I replied.

"I have never heard of that name ... Allarri." Oh yes, a voice as lovely as the moon, it was true.

"I ... I apologize for my ... my very ... forward actions, my lady. It was uncalled -"

"Do not apologize. You merely startled me, that is all. And I am not a lady by far. Oh please, do not cringe so. I do not bite," she said.

I realized that I was huddled up against a tree, half-hidden behind it. I came out into full view and felt her eyes run over me. She gave a smile so slight that I was not sure I had seen it.

"I will leave you now to your ... swim ... my la- ... Asalen," I stammered. I felt like a complete fool.

"Oh, don't worry, Cynge Allarri. In fact, I would be most ingratiated if you were to join me. The water is wonderfully warm." My pulse began to race.

"Really ... I shouldn't ... "

"No, really. I assure you, it is okay ... I am tired of ... swimming ... alone."

Blushing madly, I tried to excuse myself, though I dearly wanted to accept her offer ... and more. I landed upon the pond's bank. Her clothes lay a few feet away from me. She swam to the edge and stood. My breath caught in my throat once more as I tried to avert my eyes. She walked up to me, naked, water dripping from her perfect body. Only her eyes could have captivated my vision more powerfully.

"There is something about you ... something ... " she began. Her brows furrowed as she studied me. "You are different, Cynge Allarri. I am ... drawn to you." I did not know what to say, and so I stood there looking like a fool, trying not to glance downwards. Her gaze peirced through my walls just as powerfully as her voice filled my ears. "I have felt attraction before, but this ... "

She tilted her head to the side a bit and reached up with a hand, which she placed upon my cheek. It was cool and warm at once. My eyes closed of their own volition as I felt her touch stir something deep within me. Her other palm now lay across my other cheek and I opened my eyes. I almost lost myself in hers.

"What is it about you? What is different? I can't ... " she fell silent and leaned closer to me, pulling our mouths together for a gentle kiss. Something happened. A strange sort of tingle passed through me and into her.

It was as though her hands were P'hyxziey's, her lips my lost love's. With a cry, I jerked back and landed on my rear, scrambling away, tears beginning to well up in my eyes. I huddled behind an elm's trunk eyes squeezed tightly, shivering.

"Oh my gods," she whispered. I heard a solid thump. Through my tears I saw her kneeling a few feet away, hands clutching her head, eyes screwed shut. "Oh my gods," she kept whispering, over and over. She grew silent, and opened her eyes, tears running down her face to match my own. She looked at me with such compassion that I was nearly swept away. "Oh my gods," she said again. "I am so sorry ... you-"

She crawled over to me and drew me into her arms. I sat there, huddled, silently sobbing. She held me against her bare breast for a very long time ... long enough for my tears to run out. By that time, I became more aware of exactly what part of the woman's anatomy was so close to my lips. I kissed her soft skin. Her breath caught. Then he sighed. I pulled back and looked into her eyes, and felt a sense of rightness. She leaned down and we kissed a third time. We made gentle love beneath the trees.

Asalen brought me to her home: a small, two-room abode carved from the trunk of a tall oak. There was a small community of Allarren, of which Asalen was part. They numbered fifty and seven. I asked their tribal leaders - chiefs, they called themselves, though there were five of them - if they knew of any other of our kind in the area. They did not.

They accepted me into their tribe, and asked me of my past. I threw an apologetic look towards Asalen, and lied. When they learned of my last name, and the story behind it, they declared that they, too, would adopt it, as they realized it less a last name and more a racial name. Previously, they have called themselves the winged folk. Yet this was a link to their heritage.

Asalen took me to her home, and into it. The next evening, I told her of my charge, though she knew it already. It seemed that, through some strange magic, all of my strongest memories had been transferred into her own mind. It was only because of this that she could feel such compassion for me, and only through this that I could accept it at its face value.

I fell in love, though it nearly broke my heart to do so. Asalen knew this, and, somehow, there, in her arms, it was all right. She, too, knew love for me. How could she not, she maintained, after learning of my life in such a way?

She asked me what I planned to do. I told her that I could hardly believe that these were the last remaining of our kind, that there had to be others. She suggested that I ask the new Allarren to accompany me upon my gods-given task.

Hesitantly, not wishing to tear these Allarren from their homes, I asked. To my wonderment, they aggreed enthusiastically. They said that we would spread the truth of our kind to all who would hear it. They were ready to leave within one week.

Throughout the years to follow, we travelled much, searching for more Allarren. After some time, our small tribe grew to be quite large, and soon, instead of bringing the entireity of them along from tribe to tribe, we sent out delegations to bring them to us. I, always, was part of these, as was my second wife, Asalen.

Times were not easy, though. Some groups did not desire to join us. Others violently made their refusals clear. Yet enough did come. We soon began to prosper, as it had been in the beginning, and even some of those who had at first rejected us eventually joined their own kind with us.

Yet it was hardly an easy time, as I have said. My nights were fraught with memories. My dreams were ever tainted with the memory of my beloved maiden of the woods. I sometimes felt as though the dreams were sendings, punishing me for being unfaithful to my lost love. Yet, when I would awaken in the night screaming or crying or merely staring blankly into space, Asalen would be there, holding me to her bare breast as she had done so many years before. Time heals all wounds, yet some take much longer than others.

After a long time, four hundred, thirty, and five years since my reawakening, my Asalen began to age. The numbers of our kind were great, and the threat seemed to be no longer dangerous. Again, there was no longer any need for my mate. The gods took her from me, just as they had taken my P'hyxziey.

As I placed a final kiss upon her yet-warm lips, I left our home. Floating a dozen feet from the great rosewood pine in which we had lived for nearly fifty and three years, I looked upon it, upon all that we had done in our short time together. That same despair came over me, this time tinged with a silent fury, for this was my second greatest loss in all of my years. From the sky I drew a great bolt of lightning, which came down upon the tree, splintering it into two pieces. I felt my heart shatter into two pieces.

The tree was soon engulfed in flames, and however they may have looked to anyone else, they were green to my eyes.

I watched as it burned itself out; no other thing caught. I made sure that the tree burned itself to the ground. A chill wind came and spread the ashes into the sky, where my second love belonged. The despair returned.

I wandered for some time, what I guess now to be two thousand years. I cannot recall much from that period, other than many, many forests. Yet I came out of the haze in a startlingly familiar scene. A rosewood pine rose before me. A knife lay upon my palm. No tears were shed this time. I knew that I would not go anywhere to join P'hyxziey or Asalen. I hoped, at least, that now the gods would let me die.

'Twas not to be so.

Many centuries passed. A new race of lizard-like drakyns sprang forth from the world. These were physically nearly a match for the ogres, and mentally nearly on par with the humans. They proved to be a sorely-needed balance against the humans. The powers grew pleased with the world, the return of the Allarren.

As sometimes happens, one of evil soul was born. Unto the elven folk was he birthed. This elf studied the ways of magic both light and dark. He twisted it to his own uses, attempting to delve deeper into the powers as a dwarf delves deep into a mountain, and farther.

He was power-hungry, it is true. He soon tore power over many of the elven folk from the hands of more just rulers, though only just. He attracted a large following.

None could stand against him, it seemed. The dwarven folk remained aloof, the ogres did not interest themselves in the affairs of the elves, nor did the orcs. The humans were too busy growing and expanding their cities and kingdoms and such. The Allarren were just retaining stability as a race. The drakyn were too busy keeping the humans from overrunning the lands.

This dark elf lead many elven folk and many of half-elven, half-human stock far astray. The powers were not pleased.

They saw that this could go on no longer, and, for the first time in milleniae, took physical form and walked among the first people once again. Appearing before this dark elf, his name lost to the ages, they told him that his time was ended. He was to have his connections to the magics of the lands severed, and was to cease his present actions. The dark elf laughed at them, thinking himself more powerful even than they who had created all, and tried to dispose of them. Needless to say, it did nothing.

The gods were sent to bring this elf and every last of his followers to a place deep below the earth. Here they would remain for all time, guarded by the dwarven folk.

Over time, they adapted to their new surroundings, learning how to see in the utter absence of light. They prospered, in their own way. Yet, even though they grew in numbers, the powers were pleased.

So it was for aeons.

By this time, the true name of the Allarren had been forgotten by the other races, though many of them yet remembered their true name, and they began to be known by the others as a time-altered form of the original Allarri, P'hyxziey. They were called Pixiey.

They eventually grew together into a great nation, living within the greatest forest of all the races' realms. Yet this was not good at all. Far beneath their forest home lay an immense system of caves. Allarren exploring these oft disappeared.

Then something terrible happened, something which not even the powers of order and chaos had foreseen.

From the depths of the earth came a great army of the dark elves, calling themselves Zhaun. Surrounding the Allarren, they began to burn the forest. The other races flocked to their aid, yet the Zhaun turned all attempts of aid aside, killing thousands.

In the end, nothing remained of the great nation of pixieys. They were thought to have been wiped from the face of the world, yet in truth the zhaun had taken them below the ground. There they lived for centuries, as a slave race for the dark elves.

I recall little of this time. Strangely, I was born into many different bodies, though I retained all of my memories from previous lives. At first, I asked others who they had been before ... this awarded me many strange looks and many lost friendships. I began to realize that I was alone. Yet I took well to solitude.

I was not born into great roles, as I had been in the past. It seemed as though the powers had given me a hundred lives of my own in reward for the two which had been for their purposes only. I would rather have never lived again.

In every life, I remembered my pain, my hurts, my furies. Nothing could make it go away. I knew that unless I was going to be reborn for the use of the gods, I would never find a love such as my dearest P'hyxziey or the sweet, gentle Asalen. And if that ever did happen again, I knew that I would lose her once more. It was almost worth the loss. Almost.

In that dark time under the world, I had many lives. I have been as low as a farmer who did not own his own land, and as high as a personal bodyservant of the royalfolk, ordered to perform unspeakable acts.

To this day, my loathing for the zhaun is unmatched.

There came a time when the Allarren (I refused to call us 'pixieys', as they reminded me too painfully of my lost love) were to be freed from the zhaun, yet, amazingly, the powers did not ask anything of me. I was not alive during this time.

The powers saw that the Allarren would not survive longer under the harsh fist of the zhaun. They took action.

A great magic wielder of the time, named Argent Eventide, was born. With the aid of another powerful Allarri, Martih Sunglory, he created the Sunblade, filled with the powers of the night, the strongest powers in the eternal night of the underworld.

Martih, possibly the greatest warrior ever to have lived among the winged folk, wielded the Sunblade, leading a great uprising against their zhaun masters.

They broke free from their enslavement, as the powers had planned, and escaped on boats made from scraps scavenged from the rubble of the zhaun city, floating aimlessly down an underground river.

Eventually, through a whirlpool, they surfaced in the middle of what they later named Lake P'hellias, which, in the Allarri tongue of the time, translated into 'Forest Haven'.

As the crafts which survived the trip surfaced, the Allarren were set upon by strange beasts, giant crab-like creatures who were later known as homarids.

They fended these off, and took refuge upon the northern shore of the huge lake. A few centuries passed, during which they grew in numbers.

The powers were pleased.

However, not all of the Allarren escaped ... not all of them joined in the rebellion. Some remained loyal to their zhaun masters. Yet the zhaun no longer trusted their servants and banished them to the deepest reaches of the caverns and caves.

They have lived there to this day, never having returned to the surface.

These banished Allarren grew bitter. Their own kind had left them, their masters had betrayed them.

Over the years, they lost their need for their wings, and a complex religeous ceremony has formed around the ritualistic removing of and cauterizing of newborns' wings. They have since developed the zhaun ability to see even in the blackest of caverns as well.

They call themselves the Arwa, yet their time in the above-ground world is yet to come.

I had a few lives during this time. They were rough times, as the homarids were a constant threat to our new-found freedom. While not very intelligent, they were strong creatures, the likes of which we had never seen. Then something happened.

Cyinge, Cynge, was reborn.

By this time, our kind, the Allarren, were called 'pixie' by other folk, and not many of our own remembered our true name. A tribe of what were mainly warriors grew, calling themselves the Sunglory tribe, after the fabled hero Martih Sunglory. As well, the Eventide tribe of magus grew, fashioning itself after Argent Eventide.

Knowing that all things change, and that our true name as a people, Allarri, was soon to be lost to the ages, I decided to preserve it in some form. I called myself not Cyinge of the Allarren, not Cynge Allarri, but Cyng Swiftwind, pronouncing the g softly, as in 'sing', which went along perfectly with my love for music.

The powers had caused me to be reborn for a reason. I awaited their next task with loathing. Yet it turned out to be easy.

In the area, also known to harrass our folks, though to a much lesser degree than the homarids, lived giant dragonflies. The powers told me that I was to tame some of these, to be used to protect our people until they could more firmly establish themselves here.

Many recognized my name, though the Swiftwind was unfamiliar to those who did not recall our true name. I was hailed as Cynge Allarri reborn. some even guessed at my older identity as Cyinge, Swift as the Wind. Yet none of these claims did I acknowledge. I was merely Cyng Swiftwind.

I did tame a great dragonfly, and found a joy like none before, soaring above the treetops and the lake, mounted upon this powerful creature. I had no fear of falling, as I could fly on my own. It was an exhilliration like none other.

I taught others to do the same, and soon we drove the homarids far to the southern shore of the lake. I was once again hailed as a hero. This time, my death was not caused by myself, but by nature.

I lived through many other lives in those years. Soon after my third death as Forest Song, an unequalled feat took place.

Ellese Winterthaw, a cleric of nearly unparalleled strength, along with the help of Arrin Woodbark, an ingenious inventor, used the magics of the land to create seven gigantic trees, the largest ever to exist. Of differring species they were: the Great Birch, Pine, Maple, Ash, Oak, Willow, and Rosewood. These were called the LifeTrees, and within them the pixies made their new homes. I have lived within each over the centuries. They are a work of magic, art, architecture, and nature of unmatched beauty.

Since that time, the Winterthaw, Hazeldrift, Sunglory, Eventide, Woodbark, and Swiftwind tribes have become. As well, many of our folk have left the great Forest Haven to live in other places.

Over time, the threat to the waters increased, as humans polluted the rivers and shores, for there was no race to protect these realms. The powers of order and chaos once more took phyical form.

They appeared before me in a dream. At least, it seemed a dream to me. I was no living thing at the time ... I occupied a between space.

Order and chaos came to me in a featureless place, glowing and insubstantial as always. They imparted vast knowledges unto my being, gave me a simple command, and then left. I was to do something too few had done before.

I appeared before a group of pixies whose task it was to protect the LifeTrees beneath the waters of Lake P'hellias. I asked of them which would be content living the rest of their lives landbound, yet able to live under the waters as well.

All volunteered.

I brought them into the forest north of the lake, and caused them to sleep. While they slept, I worked changes upon them, utilizing the powers bestowed upon my spirit by order and chaos. Their wings were removed, formed into a single, small dorsal fin. Fins grew from their wrists and ankles as well, and their skin took on a thicker, more scale-like consistency. Then gills I placed upon either side of the pixies' throats, allowing them to breathe both in and out of the water.

When they awoke, I was gone.

They looked at their new forms and rejoiced, beginning their new lives under the waters. At that point, the race called nixies became. They spent their lives protecting the LifeTrees from the harm and attacks from the homarids. Many moved far away, spreading their kind throughout the world, to protect rivers, lakes, and oceans everywhere.

Not long after, I came to be born as a Swiftwind pixie named Intrinsic. The name meant nothing, which was not unusual for the time. I was not a great hero, yet I was a very powerful cleric. Yet this was only chance.

I befriended a royal family among dragonfolk, of whom the drakyns are relatives. The Kjeldoran family is a powerful one among the dragonfolk.

The twin princes called Gjeck and Tarish Kjeldoran had been lost some years apast, and thought dead. I, as Intrinsic, found them and returned the young dragons to their home.

Their father rewarded me thussly: he allowed me to take along on my adventures his twin sons, Gjeck and Tarish, and a younger of his sons, Ranjir. Their help was enormous.

In my travels, I learned of a place called Alanholt Keep. It was the keep of Duke Thomas Perkins, ruler of the small Duchy called Norway, a name whose meaning I have never learned.

Far beneath this Keep flows an underground river. It is from this freshwater river that the Keep draws its water, as it sits high atop the cliffs above the northern shore of the Southern Sea, which consists salt water.

The underground river, which has no name that I have ever learned, happens to be the same which flows south from the zhaun realms, feeds Lake P'hellias, and runs far out into the Southern Sea, directly below the Keep.

Knowing, better than most, the importance of this river to my people, I began a group named after the Duchy. The group called clan Norway sprang into life.

Over the years, it grew considerably.

Then something strange began to happen to me.

I awoke some nights to find myself changed. I did not look at all like Intrinsic Swiftwind. I looked like my old self: Cyinge of the Allarren. I would wonder at this, and then, before my eyes, change back and forth in the mirror between Cyinge, Cyng, Intrinsic, and Cynge. I became very frightened.

Over the years, the tales of Cyinge, Cynge, and Cyng have been told countless times, Cyng's most often as it is the most recent. The more they were told, the more often and more strongly I would change into my past bodies.

Then, one strange night, two beings appeared before me, looking a mix of human and elf, though I knew them to be much more.

"Cyinge of the Allarren," the power of order said in a voice that was at once a single voice, and yet many voices as well. "You know me."

"Cynge Allarri," the power of chaos said in a voice that was at once many voices, and yet a single voice as well. "You know me."

"I know you, order and chaos. You have tortured me numerous times. I had thought you through with me," I replied, the ancient angers beginning to flare anew.

"We shall never be through with you, Cyng Swiftwind," they said as one.

"What do you demand of me this time?"

"Nothing ... yet," chaos replied.

"Your deeds have become legends, Intrinsic of the Swiftwind tribe," order said. "You have recently begun a change which we often look for when such legends are told throughout so many years."

"You are becomming legend, Jhuryyl," chaos told me.

"Jhuryyl?" The name was oddly familiar.

"One name means the same as the others, be it future or past."

"Inye Swiftwind, we are here to grant you the change which becomming legend brings," order said.

"The increased awarenesses which you have felt over the past few months as you have awakened in your sleep as your past lives will now become permanent once you choose a body form to inhabit during your life as a legend."

"Life as a legend?" I asked.

"When a hero of legend becomes famous in story, when that hero's story is told enough times, that hero is brought again into the world, yet as an immortal being. A being of legend. So long as a hero's tale is told, he may be reborn as legend. Once the legend is reborn, he and his story shall survive throughout all time. Once you make this change, Allarri, you shall live forever."

"I already do, powers. I have lived countless lives, retained my memory thoughout all."

"That is something else entirely, Draekhor. You-"

"Call me Cyng. Enough with the names. Cyng Swiftwind," I cut in. I could have chosen my first name, or any other, even Intrinsic, yet Cyng is the name of mine which is most widely-known at this time.

"Done, then," they said in unison. A change came over me. My awarenesses increased a thousandfold. My body became that of Cyng Swiftwind, also known to have been Cynge Allarri, the PixieLord, and Cyinge of the Allarren. "You shall be thus for eternity. Yet, if you should choose, you may also be reborn in mortal bodies. This is the other gift which we have given you."

"I do not undertand. Must I not die first?"

"No, PixieLord," the powers said as one. "You are what is known as a EverSoul. You have been given the gift of an eternal soul, such as your wives P'hyxziey and Asalen never had. Though your body may die, your soul shall ever live onwards, living in a new body beyond that one. Yet, as a legendary being, Cyng, your body is now immortal as well. These are the rewards of your labours for us."

"Are there others of my kind," I asked.

"Your kinds. There are others of your kinds, Swiftwind," Chaos said. "There are and shall be other beings of legend, some more powerful than you, other less so. There are and shall be other immortal bodies, some which your people call the gods; again, some more or less powerful than you. Also, there are other EverSouls in the world. Lastly, there will always be others who are Swift as the Wind, Allarri. You ensured that yourself."

I wondered at my new life. So many questions had been answered. So many more floated to the surface of my mind.

In the following years, I would learn the answers to many more, as well as come up with many new ones. Since, I have taken the forms of many different mortal bodies, and will quite likely never cease doing so, though brief pauses may occur between them.

Very recently, I met a person very special. I learned of her while in the guise of a human named Jhuryyl Kodran. She is called Sandy, of the Swiftwind tribe of the pixies. I spoke with her and adventured with her at length as Jhuryyl, and grew to love her. I finally approached her as myself, revealed my identity, and was greeted with a proffession of returned love. Because of my past and what I have endured, I of course was cautious. I had no desire to watch another die.

And then I made an amazing discovery: Sandy Swiftwind revealed herself to be an EverSoul! Such was my joy that I asked for her companionship throughout enternity there on that spot. She willingly gave it. Perhaps things will be different for me this time. I can only hope.

It has been quite some time for me, here. Many things have happened. I have watched love grow and blossom. I have outlasted hatreds. I have been through much in this world.

And I have grown weary. This world no longer holds any interest for me. I have seen too much go the way of the zhaun. I have seen too many things which were so important to me be left by the wayside, ignored and trodden upon. And so I have chosen to go my own way.

My final goal, the complete preparation of our Forest Haven, is all that kept me here. It is a safe place, though. What happened with the zhaun will never happen again. I've made sure of that.

My people are safe, and that is all that matters.

Sandy Swiftwind and I? We are no more present in this world.

Perhaps Aurealis will remain. Perhaps more and more will fall by the wayside. It is of no moment.

And, regardless, I was. My memory will live. That is enough for me.

I thank you for your time.

Written by Cyng Swiftwind.

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