I awoke at some amorphous time before noon and walked into the kitchen. A pot of coffee brewed itself as I idly moved my hands in aid of the implements' well-rehearsed routine. The first sip stirred my senses and I turned towards the window to behold the elf jar where it sat upon the sill. It was uncorked, and inside were gently spooled parchment pages almost frayed at the edges, but damaged only by the passing of time and protected from other problems by some unknowable practice of pristine preservation. I plucked them from the stem of the elf jar and laid them out gently with one hand.

I never question how the elf jar works, I simply act in servitude, playing my part in its greater machinations. It was immediately apparent to me, however, that the format of the writings delivered to me on this particular morning was strikingly odd. Something about it struck a chord which brought me out of my waking stupor, and away somewhat from my previously acquired role as simple archivist and translator. The notes I received were most cryptic and peculiar. Their language was as I'd come to expect and understand — the script I had come to call elvish and was at this point quite familiar with— but the presence of the accompanying notation was especially unconventional. It was like nothing I'd seen thus far; I could equate it only to a musical score. And so I found myself gleefully accepting the weight of this new summons, and I began my translations in a style wholly unexplored until now.

The following recordings are as faithful reproductions of the original intent of the pages as could be achieved, and they come as the result of months of careful study and experimentation. The elvish has, where possible, been directly translated, with creative liberties taken only in minor syllabic and rhyming amendments to preserve the original linguistic rhythm. The melodic and harmonic elements, however, proved somewhat more difficult to faithfully reproduce. In my intensive time translating the notation, I found that direct translation led to significant dissonance of the intended tone when perceived by the human palate. A direct reproduction of sound from the source material would be perceived by earthly ears as most unlovely, and would likely serve to be appreciated by no more than a dedicated few who would sit with the initially jarring sounds for months as I have. In my time with these direct translations, I learned their intricacies and uncovered the emotional values within, and as a result of this research I present to the public a full translation, linguistically and sonically, of the contents of the elf jar.

The tale told is one of loss and torment, of beauty and acceptance. I know not the name of the protagonist — or indeed whether they truly existed as anything more than an entirely fabricated character of some otherworldly creative mind — but I have nevertheless come to understand their plight quite well. The story begins in their unnamed homeland, a small island from what context I can ascertain. A summons to war sweeps across the land, and the protagonist sets sail with their family and local community, but becomes lost and estranged along the way. They find a new home on unfamiliar shores with accepting strangers and settle here for several years, but before long the call to war reaches them again, though this time they refuse and are cast down in their final stand for freedom.

Any deeper analyses of the implications of the tale are not delegated for one of my purpose to present, though doubtless there are many to be made. I simply present to you the stories and the songs, in what I deem to be a faithful reproduction of their original intent. I have received no further notes from the elf jar since, save the usual tattered and torn historical accounts which I find to be of little external interest. I eagerly await another spool of stories and song, but that they would be a direct continuation of the content presented here I find unlikely, if any arrive at all.