THE WINGED ONE
Courtesy CD Mjollnir

I had just learned of the history of the Trioch when the sage I was speaking to introduced me to a dark-looking creature, of tiny stature and brilliant eyes. I had heard of the Delfae before, but have rarely encountered any of this shy, enigmatic race. A delfae is a diminutive creature with dark skin and dark hair, but there is a palpable aura about them of power that is held within their tiny frames, such that even I, a non-mage, was able to feel it.

The dwarf sage had requested the delfae to speak with me, and I learned the delfae, one Arhiawoddyvariannigoddu by name (I was permitted to shorten it to Ahriaw for simplicity) whom I discovered was one of the better-learned sages of their race, having even visited the elven city of Silverdawn and read of their library there.

I asked for a tale, and I was given one. Arhiaw spoke very little; much of what he told me was put into my mind in a most unsettling manner that nonetheless pictured the situation for me perfectly. The tale Arhiaw chose to speak about was of the Winged One.

It seems that the delfae were once a surface race which adored the sun and the trees and lived in them happily. But early in their existance, the Delfae as a race were blasted by horrible magics which twisted their beings and turned them black as night.

Thier love of the sun was now a curse; the pain the sun put on them blistered their skin and blinded their eyes. Some delfae went insane, heading for the sunniest places they could find in a desperate effort to return to the sun's embrace. The Desert of Tahnn bore witness to the deaths of too many of this race.

Hiding from the sun, veiling themselves from the light, the Delfae searched for a place where they could be spared this pain. The images I was shown were like that of a holocaust; blistered fingers pulling thick veils over faces to be shielded from the sun. The delfae searched, but could not find a place that was not revealed to the sun at least a little bit of the time.

Then, among their number was born the Winged One. The nubs on his back were a mystery, and the child was nearly left behind in fright. But no, they allowed the child to grow, and when he came of age, the nubs on his back burst in a terrible pain that nonetheless revealed the most beautiful wings ever before seen, like that of a butterfly and of the most brilliant colors that were visible even to eyes half-blinded by the light and unused to the dark in which they now tried to live.

With the release of his wings, the Winged One suddenly recieved a burst of revelation, and guided by these visions, found a complex of caves that centuries later, would be discovered to be connected to those of the dwarves. The caves were beautiful, scintilating gems and gleaming metals covering the rock faces and though it was not the beauty of the trees nor the sun that they remembered, the race grew to love these new sights.

The delfae came to be able to see better in the dark than anyone, and their magics were perfected in an effort to discover what had changed them. Eventually, however, the pursuit of magic no longer had a goal...because the delfae had come to love living underground.

The Winged One died in a normal lifespan, but to a small merchant family was born another child with wing-nubs. Since then, there has only ever been one Winged One in the entire race, and that Winged One leads them. When he dies, another is born to replace him, and that one born might come from any family, no matter how humble. They can never return to the lands of the sun for long, and must do so heavily veiled and protected, but they no longer wish to, having come to accept the beauty of their rocky homes.

-- By the hand of El'ian Bjor'dian, Bard