Mounted elven toy soldier

This item was a prize from the Hunt for History.

Item

a mounted elven toy soldier

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Once brightly colored, the paint is now faded and chipped on the elven toy soldier. He appears to be clad in the uniform of a Ta'Vaalor regular, complete to the last detail. Years of neglect have taken their toll, however, and the toy has seen better days. The soldier's steed, once noble with flowing mane and tail, is caked with dust. The soldier's saber is snapped off and the steed is missing a front leg.

Details

No other details are known.

Loresong

As your song begins, a pleasant scene unfolds before you. Birds chirp gaily, their songs punctuated by the occasional low and bleat of farm animals grazing placidly nearby. Bright sunlight illuminates a tidy cottage in front of which a small, golden-haired human boy is playing. No more than five or six summers old, rosy cheeks, bright eyes, and boundless energy bespeak a happy, healthy child. Before him are a number of toys laid out in formation with a mounted elven toy soldier at the head of their ranks. With chest puffed out and a playful air of importance, the boy calls out orders to his toy militia. No matter how stern the commands, the toy soldier neither blinks nor complains. Unwavering, his tiny saber is raised to the sky. Beneath him, its head held tirelessly erect, the wooden steed lifts a single hoof, as if to match the soldier's salute. A gust of wind stirs a cloud of dust, obscuring the toys from view.

You lift your voice in song once more and are answered by giggles and squeals of delight as images of a child's bedroom fill your mind. A brightly painted toy soldier atop his trusty wooden steed occupies a place of prominence on a bedside shelf. The golden-haired boy is being tickled by his mother as she tucks him snugly into the coverlets. He reaches for the toy soldier, but the toy is beyond his grasp. "Have you forgotten their kisses, again?" the mother asks. Heaving a tender sigh, the mother chuckles softly as she presents the toy to the youngster. First kissing the horse on the tip of its snout, then stroking its mane, the boy promises a polishing on the morrow. He whispers something to the elven soldier and winks, then kisses the soldier's cheek. Satisfied, the boy stretches and yawns widely. The toy is replaced on the shelf and your vision falters as the child's eyes flutter sleepily, dreams of his favorite toy already forming in his sweet mind.

You smile openly as your song brings a new scene to shape. A number of families are gathered in a small meadow surrounded by lush green woods. Colorful blankets are laid out upon the ground, each spread with mouth-watering culinary delights. Laughter rises above the clearing as the families compete in games, share tall tales, and celebrate the bountiful year. Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet begins to rumble and a shrill noise pierces the air. Mothers gather children to their apron skirts while fathers grab weapons and strike a protective posture. One by one, the children step woodenly away from their parents to gather 'round a small sapling. The little boy who had so eagerly displayed his toy to his friends is now transformed as a vacant expression overtakes him. The toy soldier slips from his hand, bouncing once before coming to rest on its side, sword snapped in half and horse's front leg broken off at the knee. In unison, children open their mouths in a dismal chant. As the parents look on in horror, your smile turns to sorrow and you are jolted back to the present.

Your song returns you to the cottage where first you met the little boy, though the scene has changed dramatically. Sections of thatched roof have given way and the cottage door stands ajar, creaking as it sways in the breeze. To the side of the house are two graves, one half the size of the other. From inside the cottage you hear the sound of weeping. A black-clad woman kneels beside the bed of her child, tears flowing freely. She rocks slowly back and forth, an object clutched tightly to her breast. After a time, when the tears are spent and exhaustion has silenced her sobs, she unfolds her arms to gaze once more on the broken toy soldier. With utmost care, she places it on the shelf beside the now vacant bed. She stands to leave, head bowed low, hesitates, then turns back to the abandoned toy. Lifting it slowly to her lips, she kisses the snout of the steed and strokes its mane. She then whispers something to the little elven soldier and kisses him on the cheek. A single tear falls on the dust-caked toy as her trembling hand sets it back on the shelf. Unable to bear any more of the tragic scene you gladly return to the present.