Of all the peoples on this Terminus, the Halflings' tale most reminds me of our own. While it is true that they lack the same sense of higher culture, their outlook towards their life under a broken curse is the correct one; had I the opportunity to steal an oppressor's voice along with my people's freedom, I would seize it. I am glad for their presence in Faerthale, for their aria of musical laughter fills the air and my ears as does the light scent of the thale cress that fills the fair city that shares its name. They are welcome in my city.
That these jovial, even mirthful people are three, as we once were, and that they came so close to losing themselves in empowering wicked forces (albeit at the behest of a king, not a general) leaves me with a heavy knot, set deep among my insides. It fills my mind with a scene of whatever remains of S’iolaen, the Northern host, and the demons who took the North under their horned wings. But five generations away from being erased, the Halflings were. Five generations of an ever lessening lifespan. Headstones with ever decreasing ages upon death. A sense of hopelessness and self hatred, for being foolish enough historically to allow their king to throw away their lives. Their entire people.
I wonder what is worse, to lose your people over generations or to have them turn against you. Unity seems to be central to the Halfling's core traits. I would that the Ember learn from their example, for the Tree needs protectors, but I digress.
The Halfling's beginnings are remarkably similar to the Elves' first crucible, when we were forced from our ancestral homes by S'iolaen's North and their allies. Both the Halflings and the Elven people were nomadic for a time, though for the Halflings their nomadic period was from their inception 'til they were granted fire, so tis not possessing the same sense of loss as does the tale of we Elves. No, their trials came as a result of fortune, not misfortune.
One can not help but wonder what would have become of the Halflings had they had allies against the then-Chuckling Ghost. From the Halflings' own lips comes the tale I have heard, and tis a tale of jealousy that I hear. Five whole peoples ready to assist no-one but themselves, for want of a deity's love. We Elves, too, bear the blessings of a deity's love, though until recently we were actually able to witness it first hand, not in the form of a gift.
But, the gift of fire endures and secures the higher being's place in the hearts of their faithful. No tales of the Elves' first fire remain, that I can find, and so much history was lost as both young and old fled, ultimately and unbeknownst, towards Lumos. That we can likely thank Aellos and Dythiir for our long ago mastery of fire one can be assured of, but how long ago and how the Elven people came into their own is a tale of which I am sadly ignorant.
Nay, dear Journal, I do not hold any hardness in my heart for these young Elves of diminished stature. They have suffered, and have come out of it stronger, as have we from our own trials. That their people were and remain saved by a cultural study of their enemy combined with a sharp wit speaks to their quality of character, and spending my days scouring the planet for the being who wronged my people sounds like a worthwhile task.
If only we were still home. If only I could grasp the throat of every treacherous dirt-eating bastard pseudo-Elf and burn them from the inside out with fire forged from violently radiant coals of hatred. Burn first the demon inside to leave the traitor, and then the traitor to leave ash.
I leave you here, dear journal, to continue my studies. I am close to being able to make a leaf's edge smolder. One day I will know more. One day I will burn my enemy. Until that fateful day, I remain,