It is said that in Vanaputa, the Imperial City at the very center of the Great Crater Dhatasa Bhuvainda, Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan, Descendant of Ravan the Indomitable, He Who Bears Strength and Wisdom, Soul of All Folk of Dhatasa Bhuvainda, Guardian Against the Great Hungerers, and Most Exalted Emperor of the Heavens and the Earth Within the Ringing Mountains reigns from a throne carved of solid gold. All that he surveys from his high seat is similarly appointed, whether gold or silver, carved from ivory or alabaster, mother-of-pearl from distant seas or dark woods of blood-fed jungle trees.

Yet it is also said that all these wonders pale in comparison to their master the Emperor Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan. Such is said to be the radiance of the hallowed Descendant of Ravan that only those of surpassing strength and fortitude may safely witness his personage – Elves are not permitted in the presence of the Guardian Against the Great Hungerers, Humans may not lift their heads lest they accidentally view too much of the Soul of the People of Dhatasa Bhuvainda, and none but the very greatest of the Rakshasa themselves dare to meet the gaze of their beloved and dreaded Emperor.

Despite the grave practices forbidding that an elf come into the presence of Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan, there were many of their kind who served in his palace. Those counted themselves the greatest and most blessed of all elves for their proximity to the exalted Emperor. After all, every elf was bound to serve, and while the elves in the palace of Vanaputa never set eyes upon their master they still swept his marble floor, dusted his statues of ivory and alabaster, and polished his golden throne. In this, they were largely content, for no elf could expect a better lot.

Yet not every elf in the palace of Vanaputa, who served the Emperor Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan, was happy with the facts of life, and never seeing the barest glimpse of the Steward of All Within the Ringing Mountains. One so disaffected was Adajusa Adarma – she was very young and had come to the understanding that one did not simply gaze upon the Soul of the People of Dhatasa Bhuvainda as one did upon one’s peers or even as one did upon one’s own father, but had yet to grasp in truth what the reason was for this. After all, she could see the Rakshasa Emperor’s hall and his treasures and his throne – why not the man who strode through the hall, and owned the treasures, and sat upon the throne?

Adajusa Adarma did not ask her elders nor her superiors these questions, for she had learned long ago that questions in these lines were sure to be answered that the way things were was simply the way that they were supposed to be. Instead, she thought very long and very hard on finding a way that she might witness even the least part of her emperor.

From resolving to herself that she would lay eyes upon the Bearer of Strength and Wisdom, it took a fortnight and a night for the opportunity to present itself. Then, far into darkness, Adajusa Adarma was one of many slaves set to clean the imperial hall and polish the imperial seat and prepare for the radiant and glorious Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan to sit upon it and gaze over it the next day. They worked under the direction of the human Vatmimid Rananamata, who was majordomo to the Emperor and thus highest of all humans. Yet in the midst of their work, word came to the majordomo Vatmimid Rananamata that his supreme and mighty gloriousness was in such a state that he no longer desired to rest in the dark hours of night and would for the moment prefer to seat himself upon his throne of graven gold.

Since it was forbidden that any elf should be in the presence of Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan, the Majordomo now had the task of removing all their lot from the room that the Emperor would shortly be inhabiting once again, but so rushed was he and so late the hour for the important man, who rose before Emperor to fulfill his duties and rested far after, that when Adajusa Adarma concealed herself behind an arras, so small and quiet was she that Vatmimid Rananamata could be forgiven entirely for missing her continued presence in the chamber when all the other elves had gone.

No sooner had the exit of all the other servants been made than the grand doors opened and He Who Causes Mortals to Tremble, Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan, entered the throne room. Not willing to risk revealing herself yet, Adajusa Adarma waited. Within a few moments, the Emperor spoke.

“Leave me, Vatmimid.” He said, his voice smooth as silk, grave as death, echoing as thunder. And surely his Majordomo could not refuse the order so given – being himself quite thankful for what could be taken as a chance to rest, for there was no telling how long the Emperor would remain upon his throne into the night any more than one could know how long the throne would remain his.

When the majordomo had left, as Adajusa Adarma prepared to peek from the arras, the Emperor spoke again.

“I have banished my servant from this hall,” he said, “Because I know I am yet not alone. Reveal yourself, interloper. If you are a spirit I shall heed you as your words demand. If you are an assassin then strike, and I shall strike you down, for I am Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan, mightiest of all that live within the Ringing Mountains.

So cowed was Adajusa Adarma that she did not heed her emperor’s command at first, but sought to conceal herself from the surpassing ears and eyes of the Rakshasa who reigned from that great throne.

“Show yourself,” the Emperor repeated, “Or I shall strike you where you now stand.”

At this Adajusa Adarma flung herself from behind the arras, in stark terror lest the voice of the Emperor alone would burn her alive.

To each of Adajusa Adarma and Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan, the other was an exceeding wonder. For Adajusa Adarma, her emperor was what she might have imagined, sitting tall and proud upon his throne of solid gold, orange and black and white fur radiant in the moonlight, a sarong of cloth-of-gold wrapped about his waist, for any greater concealment than modesty commanded could only reduce his presence, no matter the richness of it. He was indeed the Emperor, Descendant of Ravan, and a magnificent specimen of Rakshasa kind… but not so radiant that Adajusa Adarma was struck dead or dumb from observing him.

For Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan, the slave girl was a very strange sight indeed, for owing to the laws that no elf could exist within the presence of the Emperor of Dhatasa Bhuvainda, the emperor had never before laid eyes upon a living elf. Nor did he have a good understanding of her shape and small stature, for while he knew the cub and heir to the golden throne, Irarakshan, that his wife had borne him five winters past, young Rakshasa are not like young humans or elves and never had he had cause to see so much as a human child, let alone an elven one. And, of course, what he saw was not in the canon of any being he expected to be concealed behind the arras in his throne room.

Of the two, it was Adajusa Adarma who was the first to speak – tearing her eyes from the sight she had sought, she pressed her brow to the Emperor’s marble floor, and begged the emperor’s forgiveness.

“It is but a simple thing,” she said, “I wished to glimpse but the tiniest portion of your majesty, O emperor, and meant no harm nor offense by it.”

This, at least, identified the general sort of being that Adajusa Adarma was to the emperor, and allowed him to guess the truth that what he gazed upon was an elven child. This meant that he did not have to ask her what manner of creature she was, a fact that pleased Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan enough to place him in a charitable mood.

“It seems a very natural wish to me.” He said, “Though reckless – did you not know that you might die in the endeavor, if your strength was not great enough to endure the sight of an emperor.”

“I might have heard something of that sort.” Adajusa Adarma admitted, carefully omitting her former thought that such a thing was a baseless superstition.

“Well,” said the Emperor, “It does not do for me to have my subjects risk their lives recklessly. I-“

The emperor coughed. And after the mighty cough, struck his chest once, twice, thrice.

For Adajusa Adarma, the threat and power of the man upon the throne faded for an instant, and she spoke once more.

“What ails you, O Emperor?”

Without thinking of who he was speaking to, Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan made swift reply.

“It is the fire of my soul.” He said, “Some nights, when I feast as my ancestors before the days of Ravan might have done upon a great and successful hunt, it wells up within me and sears the mortal part of me, that I may have no rest in my bed and am obliged to sit straight upon my throne the whole night through.”

“I know nothing of the ailments of such exalted personages of yourself,” Adajusa Adarma said, “But I do know that my father sometimes feels an ill of similar description, and that a few sips of goat’s milk hold it somewhat at bay.”

Now, Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan had a quandary before him. On one hand, who had ever heard of a Rakshasa, let alone the Emperor, taking the advice of an elf, let alone a girl-child? On the other hand, he did very much desire even the most mild of relief from the fire that burned beside his heart. These truths were reconciled when he remembered in a moment’s introspection the wisdom of Ravan and the nature of his strength – no emperor since had taken the advice of an elf, but if Ravan was strong for turning to humans to preserve Rakshasa and human alike, surely an emperor could take a glass of milk upon an elf’s advice.

“Get yourself behind the arras again,” Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan told Adajusa Adarma, “I shall summon the servants that attend me and see if that which quenches an elf’s fire may have even the least effect upon a Rakshasa’s.

And Adajusa Adarma obeyed, concealing herself well from the sight and hearing of any human bothered at such a late hour. Servants came thereafter to hear their emperor’s command, and upon receiving it scattered, only to return with greatest haste bearing a golden chalice set with star rubies the size of a man’s eye and sparkling with diamonds like the stars far above. And when Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan had drunk the contents of that grail, he found the pain that had roused him from his bed began to subside somewhat, such that he was certain he could sleep rather than sitting upright upon his throne for the night.

When the hall was again empty, the emperor called the little elven girl again from her hiding place, at first intending to spare her any punishment for her hiding within his throne room in the first place. However, a thought stuck Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan that had not occurred to any of his ancestors before him. If this small child could grant him the cure for one ailment, might he not be strengthened even further by learning more of the ways of those people whom he was soul of yet upon whom he had not until that night laid eyes?

“Your cure has been true and good,” he said, “And your emperor thanks you for it. But more than that, I would ask you share other cures and wisdoms of your people with me some times.”

“This I would gladly do,” Adajusa Adarma said, “But it is forbidden that any elf should come to be in your Majesty’s presence. How should I come to defy that?”

Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan thought on this, and finally came to a solution, that he would shortly become very particular with the work his servants did, and if Adajusa Adarma would leave some sign when she was the one to polish the golden throne, he would know to request whatever elf had done that job be given tasks in such places as it would be easy to slip away from watchful eyes.

To this, Adajusa Adarma heartily agreed, and from that night onward it was noted in some ways that the reign of the emperor Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan grew wise and far-seeing, not knowing that this was because the elves, nearly invisible to their superiors, saw and heard much of discontent and problems long before anyone otherwise would have voiced them to the Emperor.

And for his part, Bhurarad Vunyova Ravan was satisfied that he had remembered the wisdom and strength of his ancestor Ravan: Alone, even the mightiest of Rakshasa is weak in some ways. Together, the people of Dhatasa Bhuvainda could be stronger than ever.