Excerpt from Volume 3 of F.M-P’s folklore anthologies. The editor’s notes have been included.

Learning the creation mythology of the Elves was a rather involved task. Unlike the halflings and the Dwarves, the Elves as a whole are rather reluctant to speak of the age before recorded history. That does not mean that I was unable to hear this tale; rather, I had to piece it together from numerous laments before I managed to convince one of them to tell it in full. […]¹ Nevertheless, with the help of that favor and a friend, I am able to bring you this:

Enlightenment and Our Lament #

There was a time once, long long ago, before people had learned how to live. Back before we knew good from evil, before there was fire, farming, and the written word, you were animals in all but form. We do not judge you, for we were no better.

Yet there was one who knew the potential all of us squandered. She clothed us and cooked for us, she healed us and held us. We called her Teacher, and listened closely to her teachings, for their value was self evident. She taught us how to make fire, and how to cook our food. She taught us how to farm, and how to preserve what we had grown for later seasons. She taught us how to write, and how to keep records of what we had and what we had done. But the most important thing she taught us was how to tell good from evil.

“Good things,” she told us, “help all even when done by all. Evil things are harder to know; some help certain people whilst hurting others, some help when done by a few yet bring harm when done by many. But evil always finds a way to hurt others.”

With this lesson, she sent us to spread our enlightenment to the other people, the ones who had not yet learned how to live. We clothed them and cooked for them, we healed them and held them. We taught them how to make fire, and how to cook their food. We taught them how to farm, and how to preserve what they had grown for later seasons. We taught them how to write, and how to keep records of what they had and what they had done. And, most importantly, we taught them how to tell good from evil.

“Good things,” we told them, “help all even when done by all. Evil things are harder to know; some help certain people whilst hurting others, some help when done by a few yet bring harm when done by many. But evil always finds a way to hurt others.”

If only we had remembered those words ourselves.

We led the people in the construction of a place to live well, the First City. We laid the stones for the streets with them, we tilled our fields side by side, and nobody wanted for anything during this bright time.

The people asked for us to lead them, and we accepted gladly. In the early years we did good things, sharing our knowledge and our beds; nobody went hungry, and nobody was cold. In time we found magic, and shared our discoveries of its nature freely. We opened academies and schools, we sponsored artisans and inventors, we passed laws and drinks. Yet as the years went on we drifted away from where we began. We forged Mythril in abundance, yet children on the streets were hungry. We held parties celebrating new discoveries, but we left the farmers and the builders out in the cold.

“Good things,” we’d said, “help all even when done by all. Evil things are harder to know; some help certain people whilst hurting others, some help when done by a few yet bring harm when done by many. But evil always finds a way to hurt others.”

“Others”, she’d said. As if people’s fates could be untangled so easily.

As the years passed, we grew to let so much evil into the First City that the very world rebelled against our tyranny. The stones we had laid leapt from the earth, hurling themselves towards those who’d let them be stained with filth. The ink of our spell books caught alight, demanding retribution for what it had permitted. The mythril we’d surrounded ourselves with crumbled away, refusing to serve us for even a moment longer. The very world condemned our actions, and if it had claimed our eternal lives in that moment it would have been justice.

Our Teacher denied the First City its prize. She had been watching us from shadowed corners, yet still trusted us to learn from the mistakes we had made. She stood against the world we had wronged; she shielded us from the stones, she doused the fires of the ink, she bled for the fragments of the Mythril, all so we could be forgiven the evil we had done. She gave her life to save all of ours, and at the end this was her final lesson for us:

“Now you have seen it, haven’t you? How evil things are hard to know? A mistake is a mistake no matter what name you call it by; the key is to learn, and to avoid retreading faulty paths. You called yourselves rulers, and so separated yourselves from those you served? Then cast off the title! Know yourselves as guides and teachers, for your work will never be finished. Now go: just because the work is done with you does not mean you are done with the work.”

With this, we were left to grieve. We cut our ears, as a reminder of our crimes and our duties, before dispersing into the cities the people made. We are and will always guide you, keeping you away from the faulty paths we once walked. And we will remember.

We will always remember.

Although that was the end of the tale, I feel it is important to record the discussion me and my friend had shortly afterward.

We were finishing our meal around the fire whilst our dragonborne mercenary crew tried to pull the carriage (and its cargo) out of the river – a task which, for the record, they insisted had to be done right then – when Yyrvil decided to preempt a question of mine.

“F―², I know you too well. Your studies of history have doubtless taught you about such groups as the Scalebreakers, the Qystrian Empire, the Blue Leaf… I’ve heard about what Koshchei the Deathless did, but none of my incarnations were involved with that, same for any of the other groups you’ve doubtless heard about. I also know that if I don’t address this right now, you will somehow find the worst moment to spring this question on me – given the importance of our mission, that would be a very bad moment indeed. So lets get this out of the way, and if you have any other questions to ask lets excise them as well.

See, the gnomes have an excuse for their behavior. Nobody can really tell whether their harebrained ideas are good ones or bad, so with the sheer quantity of thoughts in their heads nobody minds when they act on the occasional bad plan.

The gnomes have many bad ideas. Us elves have just the one.”