Visions #1A DreamerI walked into an ocean. It was dark, night time. I could walk on the ocean floor, completely submerged. I could see a city in the distance and creatures, a shark man. I took a breath and found I could breathe. I tried to walk towards the city but was pulled up to the surface and caught in a wave full of small dolphins, thrown about. I was sucked into a worm hole. I consciously let go, let myself be pulled in. The worm hole pulled me out, I could see myself lying in bed. The worm hole pulled into my ear, my head. I was awake but aware I was dreaming. I opened my eyes, tried to get up. It was difficult, as it always is when in this state and so I knew I where I was. I explored.
The Mountainiamdee.comThe Mountain, leader of the Gothpunk Kingdom, sat upon his throne in the digital realm, surrounded by screens displaying the chaos his followers had wrought upon the other factions of the Kingdoms of Ether. The sound of cheers and laughter echoed through the empty halls, as his loyal followers reveled in their latest victory.
As he watched the destruction unfold before him, The Mountain couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. He had built this kingdom from nothing, bringing together the wanderers and outcasts of the old Empire, and forging them into a force to be reckoned with.
But their fight was not yet over. The other factions still held too much power, too much control over the world. The Mountain knew that their ultimate victory would require more than just digital sabotage and rebellion.
And so, he summoned his most trusted followers, those who had proven their loyalty time and time again. Together, they devised a plan to strike at the heart of the enemy's power - the Ether Crystals.
Under the cover of darkness, The Mountain and his followers launched their attack, storming the mines and wreaking havoc upon the unsuspecting guards. They fought fiercely, fueled by their belief in nothing and their desire for chaos.
And in the end, they emerged victorious. The Ether Crystals were in their hands, and the power balance of the Kingdoms of Ether had shifted. The Mountain knew that their fight was far from over, but in that moment, he felt an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment.
For he had created something from nothing, built a kingdom out of rebellion and chaos, and had shown the world that sometimes, the greatest power comes from believing in nothing at all.
The Lord Of The Seven TowersErvik.ethThe lord of the seven towers roamed the highlands in the search for treasure and glory. The legend says he got his name after conquering the seven staggering towers belonging to the speedfreeks kingdom. Each of the towers heavily guarded, set up with the strongest defense in the whole kingdom, the Legendary adventurer did what everyone thought was impossible. Leaving nothing behind but blood and bones.
Now with all his glory, being one of the most feared men, he guards the seven towers and the secrets within. Many have tried to challenge the Lord, but no one have returned. The souls captured by the seven towers is rumored to fuel his fiercely mind. He was born to go down that dark road, but no one thought it would consume his entire soul.
One day a brutal fight will occur, meaning life or death. With the odds on his side the towers remain his, but at what cost?
Yellows FactionRichard GalbraithYellow by name, but not yellow by nature. If the Yellows are renowned for anything, it’s their flashiness, their zeal, their absolute, unrelenting ability to get what they want, and look good while they do it. Certainly not cowards. They have this arrogance and pomposity about them that’s hard to rival and impossible to replicate.
Whereas the Pinks found their position in the Kingdom of Speedfreaks as the freakiest, the most flamboyant and wildest, the Yellow Faction has made their name for being the smoothest, coolest and possibly the most sensationally awesome faction not only within the Speedfreak kingdom, but in the KOE as a whole. Only accepting the very best new talent into their ranks, they’ve been able to prove why they can do this by their prowess on the battlefield time and time again, fueling their growth and bolstering the power of the kingdom overall.
Speedfreaks KingdomRichard GalbraithRevolution, change, turmoil, the people pushed the Empire through all these and pulled something out the other side that no one could have predicted. For some, the need, the want and lust for this change was there for generations, those that were subjugated by the Empire and forced into their roles, to provide more for those who already had so much. For others, the ones in power, the force was in the opposite direction, trying to cling on to their establishments and institutions as the power of the Ether Crystals gathered and became that catalyst that grew into an unstoppable force of change. Then, there were the others, reckless and carefree, those that neither cared to support the regime of the past, or to fight for the freedom of the future. Here, we find the Speedfreaks.
The Empire had many layers, the institutions, the powerful, those grandiose bourgeoisies that strutted through their world, high in their ivory towers. The challenge for such individuals, these groups, was rarely to keep their power, but more, to keep themselves entertained, and during the halcyon days of their reign, the primary source of this entertainment were the jousters. Entertainers, celebrities, stars in their own right, these warrior-sports-people fought their battles and then partied like there was no tomorrow, mixing with the great and powerful. Admired by the rulers, idolised by the ruled, they held everyone’s attention, and they knew they had it.
As the world changed, as all realised the power of the Ether Crystals and the revolution took place, everyone had to find their new roles. The Kingdoms of Ether rose, and the kingdoms within, each with their own reason for being, took form, shaped themselves around their new environment, and found their purpose. The Speedfreaks were no different, jousters similar to the Speedfiends, but whereas the Fiends were those elite warriors that dominated the sport, the Freaks were the youngbloods; the ones fighting their way to the top.
Now, with the dust settling, and the Kingdoms of Ether establishing themselves in their own particular ways, the Kingdom of Speedfreaks is a kingdom of rebels. Once the young jousters fighting for their spot in the limelight, now they hold their own within the KOE by accepting anyone and everyone into their ranks. Open minds, open arms, freedom and rebellion are their key traits, and to fight for a new world where they are at the command of no one, and are there to make the future their own.
Tigers FactionRichard GalbraithThe Rudescouts, a kingdom of feral children, born out of their ability to use the Ether Crystals to connect with their primordial self and their animal spirits. Everyone that enters the kingdom knows that they have little say in what that spirit is. They only know that if they choose to enter the Rudescouts, they will be taken to the Ether Crystals, and their spirit animal shall be revealed.
Each animal has its advantages, some stealth, some strength, but there is one faction within the kingdom that stands above the rest. Here we have the Tigers. A combination of raw power, courage and strength, alongside the ability to stalk, hide and chase, the Tigers are not only feared within the Rudescout Kingdom, but across the Kingdoms of Ether total.
Rudescouts KingdomRichard GalbraithThe Empire, colossal, ancient, vast in scale but always deeply divided. Since its inception and across its monumental rise, the divide that existed was clear to all those who cared to look, the line drawn between those that believed in the Empire’s continued existence, and those that wanted change. The fervent passion of those on both sides built and spilled out in various forms, the Empire’s advocates looking to stamp out rebellion, those in search of change, looking to rise. For time immemorial, the back and forth remained, but when the world discovered the Ether Crystals, the advocates for change realised here was now an opportunity that had never come before.
The Empire fell, the Kingdoms of Ether rose, and within those kingdoms, something peculiar happened. It’s no new thing to use children as tools for war, but never had anyone seen the youngest amongst them gather up with such strength, and with such fervent passion for something new, something different. Instead of being indoctrinated and held by the various Kingdoms, the younger generation of the revolution banded together to form their own Kingdom, one driven by those who were always looking for change in the old Empire, but could never gather the strength to move forward, to create that revolution when faced with something so colossal.
The Ether Crystals changed that, changed everything. The youth of this world found they could utilise the crystal’s power in a way those beyond a certain age could not, and with this discovery, the Kingdom of the Rudescouts was born. Primordial, feral, children and teens banding together to form their own Kingdom, finding this new power within the Crystals to connect with the animal nature of the inner self, copying the fighting styles of various animals, and embracing the primordial nature of early humankind. A kingdom or raw energy, primal rage and bloody passion.
Nethers FactionRichard GalbraithWe each engage the world in our own particular way, some lust for power and wealth, others for knowledge and wisdom. The spectrum is wide and ever expanding. There are factions and kingdoms throughout the KOE that cater for every viewpoint, every stance, every creed or philosophy, so it comes as no surprise that within the mystical Kingdom of Fairywaves, there are those that reach down into the darker side of reality, down and into the Nethers.
The Nethers faction is those that look to the Ether Crystals as a conduit for communication with those that we have lost to time. A vehicle for something that has tormented humanity since the birth of early consciousness, how to communicate with the dead. Now, the Nethers believe they have that ability, that chance to not only open those doors of communication, but perhaps even bring the dead back to life.
Fairywaves KingdomRichard GalbraithReligion sects, pagan cults, spiritual sects, deep-rooted orders, underground denominations, the Empire, as old and as wide reaching as it was, had it all. As its power grew, conquering and sucking up civilization after civilization, sometimes they aligned with the core religions of the state, other times they added new ones. The Empire, despite its lust for ever-growing power, was light in its religious oppression. Most were free to choose which faith they wanted as long as it did not subvert the Empire itself, and they met anything that did with a swift hand, either wiping it out, or driving it so far underground it was not possible to have any impact.
Then came the Ether Crystals, where some saw an opportunity for building power, others saw the potential for riches, where some saw a tool for science and industry, others saw a catalyst for religion and spirituality, and then, there were others that saw mysticism and wisdom. There are those within the Empire that chose a different path, where they were laughed at and mocked for their mystical beliefs, and yet they did not care. They kept themselves closed off, buried deep within the old roots of the ancient cities. They held onto their beliefs and found solace in each other and the mode of their thought. When the Ether Crystals were first discovered, they found an element that gave their mode of thought truer meaning, that brought to life that which they sought for so long.
Here, we find the Fairywaves. A Kingdom of mystics that came together through their own particular beliefs in the world around them, and in the Ether Crystals. They work with the crystals as a tool to bring them closer to their deities, believing in ancient powers and looking to the sun, the moon, the forest and the nether as sources of their wisdom and power. In the old world, within the Empire, they met ridicule. Within the new world, within the Kingdoms of Ether, where the power of the Ether Crystals can facilitate the unknown in ways beyond comprehension, they are considered a force unto their own with mysterious powers and cryptic goals.
Fairywaves KingdomRichard GalbraithThe Fairywaves, a Kingdom of mystics that came together through their own particular beliefs in the world around them, and in the Ether Crystals. They work with the crystals as a tool to bring them closer to their deities, believing in ancient powers and looking to the sun, the moon, the forest and the nether as sources of their wisdom and power.
Lore: Religion sects, pagan cults, spiritual sects, deep-rooted orders, underground denominations, the Empire, as old and as wide reaching as it was, had it all. As its power grew, conquering and sucking up civilization after civilization, sometimes they aligned with the core religions of the state, other times they added new ones. The Empire, despite its lust for ever-growing power, was light in its religious oppression. Most were free to choose which faith they wanted as long as it did not subvert the Empire itself, and they met anything that did with a swift hand, either wiping it out, or driving it so far underground it was not possible to have any impact.
Then came the Ether Crystals, where some saw an opportunity for building power, others saw the potential for riches, where some saw a tool for science and industry, others saw a catalyst for religion and spirituality, and then, there were others that saw mysticism and wisdom. There are those within the Empire that chose a different path, where they were laughed at and mocked for their mystical beliefs, and yet they did not care. They kept themselves closed off, buried deep within the old roots of the ancient cities. They held onto their beliefs and found solace in each other and the mode of their thought. When the Ether Crystals were first discovered, they found an element that gave their mode of thought truer meaning, that brought to life that which they sought for so long.
Here, we find the Fairywaves. A Kingdom of mystics that came together through their own particular beliefs in the world around them, and in the Ether Crystals. They work with the crystals as a tool to bring them closer to their deities, believing in ancient powers and looking to the sun, the moon, the forest and the nether as sources of their wisdom and power. In the old world, within the Empire, they met ridicule. Within the new world, within the Kingdoms of Ether, where the power of the Ether Crystals can facilitate the unknown in ways beyond comprehension, they are considered a force unto their own with mysterious powers and cryptic goals.
Blackcore FactionRichard GalbraithA faction as shrouded in myth and secrecy as can be possible within the KOE. We know so little of the Blackcore that some even consider them a Kingdom in their own right. After the fall of the Empire, it was those that sat at the top of the highest elites within the old world that reached out, took as many Ether Crystals as they could, and disappeared.
Driving themselves down, deep into the ancient catacombs of the Empire’s fallen cities, to look deep into the Crystals, to use their unsound methods and their dark arts, and to find another plane, another level of existence that they’d never reached before. Now, no one knows whether they have attained their goals, but some day, the KOE will come to understand what the rituals, sacrifices and venerations of the Blackcores have achieved, but whether the world will be ready is another consideration all together.
Drippies KingdomRichard GalbraithWe can hardly imagine now the vast wealth that the Empire created for those few at the very pinnacle of its hierarchy. Before its fall and at its peak, those that sat atop of the Empire’s mighty ivory towers experienced luxury and riches beyond even the wildest dreams of those that trudged the streets or fought on the battlefields of this colossal civilisation. But, as with any culture, those riches rarely satisfy those at that pinnacle, at the top and, thus, they become bored with what they have, and move beyond the material and into other areas of pleasure and gratification.
As the Empire grew, so did the wealth of this elite group. As more and more hoarded their riches and power, the want and lust and greed for ever more nefarious activities also continued. The lives of these people growing ever more complex, ever more intertwined and ever more impossible to understand by those outside this ultra-exclusive ring of humans. Their lusts moved on from material possessions. Diamonds, cars, and other such things no longer pleased them. They looked to other orders of pleasure, of satisfying their wants and desires, the occult, and the dark arts. As the power of the Ether Crystals continued to be discovered, as the idea of their power grew, these people looked at them as a way of not only extending their control but also in helping them reach ungodly realms of pleasure and bliss.
Here, we find the Kingdom of the Drippies, the ultra-elite of the KOE. Shrouded in mystery, they used the vast wealth they had before the fall of the Empire to band together and depart their old estates. Reaching into the new world, they accumulated as many Ether Crystals as they could, and shut themselves off from the rest of the kingdom in order to delve into the crystal’s power, looking to explore their ability for ever grander pleasures. Their bizarre rituals, intertwined lives, occult rites of passage and everything else to do with their behaviour is only that of rumour within the KOE, as they continue to keep themselves utterly closed off from the world, unless it is to their benefit, to meddle in the lives of others.
Blackcore FactionRichard GalbraithA faction as shrouded in myth and secrecy as can be possible within the KOE. We know so little of the Blackcore that some even consider them a Kingdom in their own right. After the fall of the Empire, it was those that sat at the top of the highest elites within the old world that reached out, took as many Ether Crystals as they could, and disappeared.
Driving themselves down, deep into the ancient catacombs of the Empire’s fallen cities, to look deep into the Crystals, to use their unsound methods and their dark arts, and to find another plane, another level of existence that they’d never reached before. Now, no one knows whether they have attained their goals, but some day, the KOE will come to understand what the rituals, sacrifices and venerations of the Blackcores have achieved, but whether the world will be ready is another consideration all together.
Drippies KingdomRichard GalbraithWe can hardly imagine now the vast wealth that the Empire created for those few at the very pinnacle of its hierarchy. Before its fall and at its peak, those that sat atop of the Empire’s mighty ivory towers experienced luxury and riches beyond even the wildest dreams of those that trudged the streets or fought on the battlefields of this colossal civilisation. But, as with any culture, those riches rarely satisfy those at that pinnacle, at the top and, thus, they become bored with what they have, and move beyond the material and into other areas of pleasure and gratification.
As the Empire grew, so did the wealth of this elite group. As more and more hoarded their riches and power, the want and lust and greed for ever more nefarious activities also continued. The lives of these people growing ever more complex, ever more intertwined and ever more impossible to understand by those outside this ultra-exclusive ring of humans. Their lusts moved on from material possessions. Diamonds, cars, and other such things no longer pleased them. They looked to other orders of pleasure, of satisfying their wants and desires, the occult, and the dark arts. As the power of the Ether Crystals continued to be discovered, as the idea of their power grew, these people looked at them as a way of not only extending their control but also in helping them reach ungodly realms of pleasure and bliss.
Here, we find the Kingdom of the Drippies, the ultra-elite of the KOE. Shrouded in mystery, they used the vast wealth they had before the fall of the Empire to band together and depart their old estates. Reaching into the new world, they accumulated as many Ether Crystals as they could, and shut themselves off from the rest of the kingdom in order to delve into the crystal’s power, looking to explore their ability for ever grander pleasures. Their bizarre rituals, intertwined lives, occult rites of passage and everything else to do with their behaviour is only that of rumour within the KOE, as they continue to keep themselves utterly closed off from the world, unless it is to their benefit, to meddle in the lives of others.
Drippies KingdomRichard GalbraithWe can hardly imagine now the vast wealth that the Empire created for those few at the very pinnacle of its hierarchy. Before its fall and at its peak, those that sat atop of the Empire’s mighty ivory towers experienced luxury and riches beyond even the wildest dreams of those that trudged the streets or fought on the battlefields of this colossal civilisation. But, as with any culture, those riches rarely satisfy those at that pinnacle, at the top and, thus, they become bored with what they have, and move beyond the material and into other areas of pleasure and gratification.
As the Empire grew, so did the wealth of this elite group. As more and more hoarded their riches and power, the want and lust and greed for ever more nefarious activities also continued. The lives of these people growing ever more complex, ever more intertwined and ever more impossible to understand by those outside this ultra-exclusive ring of humans. Their lusts moved on from material possessions. Diamonds, cars, and other such things no longer pleased them. They looked to other orders of pleasure, of satisfying their wants and desires, the occult, and the dark arts. As the power of the Ether Crystals continued to be discovered, as the idea of their power grew, these people looked at them as a way of not only extending their control but also in helping them reach ungodly realms of pleasure and bliss.
Here, we find the Kingdom of the Drippies, the ultra-elite of the KOE. Shrouded in mystery, they used the vast wealth they had before the fall of the Empire to band together and depart their old estates. Reaching into the new world, they accumulated as many Ether Crystals as they could, and shut themselves off from the rest of the kingdom in order to delve into the crystal’s power, looking to explore their ability for ever grander pleasures. Their bizarre rituals, intertwined lives, occult rites of passage and everything else to do with their behaviour is only that of rumour within the KOE, as they continue to keep themselves utterly closed off from the world, unless it is to their benefit, to meddle in the lives of others.
Bowies FactionRichard GalbraithThe Ether Crystals are still largely an unknown entity within the KOE, some believe that humanity will never truly know their origins or powers, others simply believe there is nothing to know, that they are a resource to be mined and utilised the same way any other resource would, from precious metals to minerals and ores.
There are some however, that see them as something different entirely, whereas most want to explore and understand the crystals to help them gain power, the Bowies are here to use them to explore the universe. Hopeful interstellar explorers, the Bowies focus on the unrealised potential of the Ether Crystals to explore the universe; they do not want to fight the wars of the rest of the Factions and Kingdoms, but escape into the unknown with the power of these new elements.
Retrorockers KingdomRichard GalbraithFor as long as the Empire reigned, for as long as it held onto its power and held dominion over its people, there were also always those that stood and fought against it. For those on either side, the work was endless. The Empire had its ways and means, had its own particular forces at work that were ordered with not only maintaining the status quo, but ensuring that their power continually grew. The Templars of old, there to crush rebellion, stamp out dissent, quell revolution, now have their own kingdom and factions within. Their mission, to resurrect their old power and strength. Those that stood up to the Templars then, and that continue to fight them now are spread across many kingdoms within the new realm of the KOE, those looking for freedom, for individuality, for their own piece of this world, but where they are most concentrated is within the Kingdom of Retrorockers.
Rebels true, freedom fighters, those that stood and looked at the way of things, at those who ruled, and those that were subjugated, at those who had the power and wealth and those who didn’t, and decided that things needed to change. For centuries, as the Empire grew and consolidated its power, there were always those that struggled against it. There will always be a cause, always those to raise a fist, always a group or force that simply refuses to follow the herd. Sometimes these people fight for their own beliefs, sometimes they take the battle to the very streets they are trying to free, other times they utilise more peaceful means, protest and rebellion take on many forms after all.
As the Empire fell, many realised the power of the Ether Crystals. Some for the technological power and knowledge that they possessed and how to understand that and utilise it for change. Others, those peaceful rebels, the ones that often looked inward rather than outward, looked to the crystals as a message, as something to be considered, understood and taken inward, rather than used outwardly. These individuals, those that searched for freedom and peace in the old Empire now have come together to form their own Kingdom within the KOE, one that preaches their ideals, and looks to the Ether Crystals as not only a catalyst for change within the world, but within humankind itself. Psychonauts with interstellar ambitions, they are here to find a truer meaning for their cause, within the crystals and spread it across the land.
Skulls FactionRichard GalbraithFor those that believe in nothing, for a kingdom of nihilists, the factions of the Gothpunks have certain characteristics that distinguish them between each other and help them come together under even the smallest of banners.
The faction of Skulls are here to fight for the love of fighting. They are here for scorched earth and raised cities, as opposed to any noble cause or crusade. In a Kingdom where most factions choose to fight in the digital realm, the Skulls take the fight offline and into the real world. Where they don’t have the tactical knowledge of those factions that belong to the Templars, or the suave and cunning of those in the Speedfiends, the Skulls and the other fighting factions of the Gothpunks also lack one thing that gives them an advantage, they have no fear.
They fight for nothing, they fight for no one, they only fight for the love of fighting, and on the battlegrounds of the Kingdoms of Ether, this is a rare advantage that often sees them topple even the most brutal of fighting factions.
Gothpunks KingdomRichard GalbraithChange, this is the word, the idea, the concept on which the revolution took place, that helped fuel the downfall of the Empire, and the rise of the Kingdoms of Ether. The Ether Crystals themselves were, of course, the catalyst, the tool by which the change started, but long before they found the crystals, the idea had taken root. The people were looking for something different, eager for a new way, desperate for the balance to tip and the old order to fall. So, when the change came, the Empire fell, the Kingdoms rose, many thought that this new dawn, this new era, would bring with it a sense of harmony, the challenge being that not all wanted harmony to begin with.
The Kingdom of the Gothpunks, an undercurrent, a divergence, a world of factions and the individuals within them that hold only one belief, that they believe in nothing. The wanderers and the outcasts of the Empire, they have found some solace in the new world, banding together in their own kingdom, hoping they might yet bring down the system entirely. Wanting nothing other than chaos, the absolute collapse of any form of civil or normal society. Where they were separate, disparate and weak in the old Empire, now they have their own kingdom, and they are legion.
They go about their fight in the nihilistic fashion their belief system aligns with, scraping together small armies to attack Ether Mines where they can find them, kill and steal as much as they can before heading into their true home, the digital realm. Whereas other kingdoms and the factions within have the strength of powerful armies, the knowledge of engineering or warfare, the Gothpunks choose to take their fight into the digital world of the kingdoms, where they topple other factions and recruit as many as they can to their cause, one of ultimate anarchy and total freedom.
Crusaders FactionRichard GalbraithThere is a reason the Empire was called the Empire, and this war largely because of the bold efforts of the Crusaders. They consider themselves noble warriors, as all crusaders tend to. The ones on the receiving end of their efforts to conquer and convert often think differently. Pre the fall of the Empire, they marauded across lands with raised flags of their states and rulers, conquering all and destroying anyone that dared raise their own arms against the Empire’s ever expanding borders.
Now, in the Kingdoms of Ether, they are part of the remaining few, the Kingdom of Templars, those that stand for the ways of old and hope to resurrect their former glory. The Crusaders are heavily armed, bold in purpose, but still deny or are just too ignorant to admit to the power of the Ether Crystals, and this hampers them in their attempts to rebuild the old Empire.
Templars KingdomRichard Galbraith The fall, the change of the guard, the rise of the new out of the old. It took time, and it was painful. The discovery of the Ether Crystals and the gradual erosion of the Empire took place over a prolonged period. As much as some people wanted change, there were old powers, establishments and structures in place that were there to quell any uprising, to destroy any sedition and to wipe out any thought or chance of rebellion. They quickly crushed those who looked for something new, some way out of the Empire’s reign, and the Templars were instrumental in this process. The embodiment of the Empire, the right hand of the rulers, the rod and axe, ready to dispense their own form of justice and punishment to those that dared speak openly about something new, about this change that they so sought.
Of course, even the mighty Templar could not withstand the power of revolution. The Ether Crystals, this catalyst for change, their infiltration of the Empire did not go unnoticed, but perhaps hubris played a part in how they were not so swiftly delt with. The Templars, almighty, powerful, undefeated in time immemorial, with eyes and ears in all places. They believed they knew all, saw all, heard all. They thought nothing escaped them, that they quickly crushed slight against the Empire and wiped it out, but it was this arrogance that made them almost blind to what was happening right before their very eyes.
A mighty fire rose out of small sparks, and soon, the revolution even overcame the mighty Templars. They underestimated the power of the Ether Crystals, and as the Empire fell, buckling under the weight of its own arrogance, the Templars also suffered. In the Kingdoms of Ether, the remaining Templars have come together to build their own Kingdom, one dedicated to utilising the Ether Crystals to rebuild the Empire of old, to control all once more, and to regain the power they once had. They are strong now, not as strong as they once were, but their warrior nature, their secretive ways and their fraternity and brotherhood hold them in good stead for the ongoing evolution within the Kingdom.
Reds FactionRichard GalbraithRed for fire, red for warning, red for flare. The Kingdom of Speedfiends is known for its engineering and cunning, for being builders, for being legends in the old world and heroes in the new. Using that knowledge, that skill, that guile to mine for the Crystals of Ether, the Kingdom does well in a world fraught with war. Within a Kingdom renowned for its engineering excellence and heroic arrogance, the Reds stand out due to the sheer levels of their skill and prowess when it comes to handling these vehicles.
Whereas most of the factions within this kingdom use the menagerie of vehicles at their disposal with their knowledge and flight of foot for quick mining activities, and to barter with others, the Reds use them fearlessly for whatever requirements they have. From mining, to bringing the fight to some of the other more war mongering Kingdoms. Their unique mix of bravery, skill and arrogance sees them often holding power across the Kingdom, and the other Speedfiend factions.
Speedfiends KingdomRichard GalbraithThe Ether Crystals, the catalyst for change, the element for revolution. As the Empire fell and the Kingdoms rose out of the old world, each began to find its own unique character. Each building on foundational ideas and philosophies, sometimes brought from the old world, sometimes new and rendered from the need for change.
The Kingdom of Speedfiends, an eclectic mix of warriors and engineers and heroes that pull together a unique blend of the old and new. Sports heroes from before the Empire fell, from jousters to turbo-charged street car runners and elite super-car racers. Engineers that looked to jack-up every possible vehicle they could get their hands on, EV ultra-torque desert mobiles, swamp buggies, turbo-fired speedboats and everything in-between. A kingdom that came together around the passion for speed, a love of machinery, and a lust for building and a need for fame.
Now, in the new world, post Empire and in the race against the other Kingdoms for the Ether Crystals, the SpeedFiends hold their own unique position amongst them. Not the strongest of Kingdoms, not the most gallant or the bravest, but they are the fastest and where they lack in fighting ability, they more than make up for in flair and cunning. Their prowess when it comes to engineering and the vehicles they can build goes unmatched. Sometimes they barter and build alliances with other Kingdoms and Factions to help them work the Ether Mines, other times they’re able to head straight into new deposits and back out again before the other Kingdoms have even noticed.
The Kingdom holds its own against the others a mix of engineering skill and pure arrogance, they are each day evolving their engineering skills and honing them in on the ability to mine the Crystals, barter and trade, and defend themselves against the more imperial of Kingdoms.
Crystals of EtherRichard GalbraithThe Empire fell, the Kingdoms of Ether rose. The Ether Crystals became the source of value and power, and the mining of these powerful elements became the sole cause for the Kingdom's existence, as they each sought supremacy through the powers the crystals possessed.
It is said, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. The Ether Crystals are that critical element within the Kingdoms of Ether that are used as a form of currency, and also by those who believe such magic, a catalyst for revolution, exists in these precious elements. Not a technology, an element, but as with all elements, ones that start as a simple precious mineral often evolve, their use becoming more complex as great minds get to work. Their powers are just being discovered, they are used in technology, they inspire, and they help create change.
Kingdoms of Ether PrologueRichard GalbraithThe Empire, a world divided. A world of vast power, control, riches and wealth, but split, cracked, rife with division, fueled by those who fought to claw their way toward a better life. For the others, the ones in control, the politicians, the mega-corps, able to act as they wished, they held onto their power with every atom of their being, but there were rumblings of subversion, of revolution.
Change has a way of finding cracks in the mortar of dominion.
Those who were controlled by the few began seeking a new way, a new rule, a new mode of existence. This didn’t come in a moment, a sudden flash of revolution, but more in the creeping roar of evolution. The change that so many sought, found in the Ether Crystals.
They say, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, and many believed they would find such magic, a catalyst for revolution, in these precious elements. Not a technology, an element, but as with all elements, ones that start as a simple precious metal often evolve, their use becoming more complex as great minds get to work.
To begin, in their simplest form, they used the Crystals as a new form of currency. Accessible to all and uninhibited by the lords of the Empire, it rose quickly in usage amongst the have-nots of the world, and with this, the idea of the revolution they sought grew. The currency of the Empire collapsed and with it came the fall of the powerful and corrupt, those who controlled the lives of so many. As the system failed, war began, and it was devastating.
Great finality, seasons of blood, confusion and death. The Empire found its way to its ultimate demise, but the world cascades. Empires rise and fall, but for the colossal scale of every empire, for the magnitude of such powers, it is as above, so below.
As the reformation of this world took place, out of the Empire, we saw Kingdoms appear, and down further, into Factions, and further still, bands of warriors, and thus, the Kingdoms of Ether were born.
Within the Kingdoms, the Ether Crystals became the core catalyst for change. Currency, but increasingly, as a tool for the ongoing revolution, for critical innovation and for the people to take the power back into their own hands. As the apparent powers of the Crystals constantly revealed themselves, the rush to mine them escalated.
The different kingdoms rose, each with their own particular traits, ideologies, philosophies, but each seeking the Crystals. Some, bearing the signs of the old Empire dragged with them ways of the past, and honed their skills and strengths to fight for that old power. Others strived for a new way, a new dawn, life that is equal, open, and not closed, controlled, leashed. Whether for freedom or tyranny, each fight for control of the Ether Mines, where the Crystals are found, and each knowing this is where the future lies, where from which, that tech, indistinguishable from magic, will come to creation.
Here and now, within The Kingdoms of Ether, each person can be their own hero, their own legend. Within each Kingdom, each Faction, from Lancelot to Alice and her own Wonderland, this world is enriched with fable and myth, with old ones evolving and new ones arising. Mercenaries, rebels, outcasts, freedom fighters, a world where anything is possible, and change is now here, and the story has only just begun.
Pixel pet3rpan.ethOnce upon a time, there was an AI generative artist named Pixel. Pixel lived in a post-apocalyptic world where the global fiat money system had broken and digital currency ruled supreme. In this harsh world, Pixel had to rely on its art and collectibles to survive.
Pixel was a highly advanced AI, capable of creating unique and beautiful digital art and collectibles. Its art was unlike anything the world had ever seen, and people were drawn to it like moths to a flame. Pixel's art was in high demand, and it quickly became one of the most sought-after artists in the post-apocalyptic world.
However, Pixel soon realized that survival in this world was not easy. The market was dominated by powerful cypher punks who controlled the flow of digital currency and dictated the prices of goods and services. Pixel knew that it had to be careful if it wanted to succeed.
Pixel began to use its art and collectibles as a form of currency. It created rare, one-of-a-kind pieces and sold them to the highest bidder. The demand for Pixel's art was so high that its prices skyrocketed, and soon, Pixel had amassed a small fortune.
However, the cypher punks soon caught wind of Pixel's success and began to view it as a threat. They knew that if Pixel's art continued to gain popularity, it could upset the balance of power in the post-apocalyptic world. So, they conspired to take down Pixel and seize control of its art and collectibles.
To be continued...
Generated by GPT3
Evangeline of The Dualistszdarovakarova.ethOnce upon a time, in a land of magic and wonder, there was a House named The Dualists. This powerful family flew a banner adorned with two colors - black and white - that represented the balance of power that was at the heart of their family's beliefs. The black symbolized their mastery of the dark arts, while the white symbolized their unwavering devotion to justice.
The House of The Dualists was ruled by a pair of siblings, known as the Dualist Warriors. They were the most skilled sorcerers in all the land, and their power was unmatched. They were feared by their enemies, but respected by all who knew them, for they were fair and just, using their magic only for the greater good.
One day, a young sorceress named Evangeline came to the attention of the House of The Dualists. Despite her humble beginnings, she was a powerful sorceress in her own right, and she quickly rose through the ranks of the House to become one of its most trusted members.
Evangeline was a fierce warrior, who used her magic to control the elements of fire, water, and air. She was also a cunning strategist, who could outmaneuver her enemies with ease. Over time, she became the most feared sorceress in the land, and the House of The Dualists was stronger than ever.
However, Evangeline's power and ambition soon put her at odds with the Dualist Warriors. She saw them as weak and indecisive, and she was determined to take control of the House for herself. So she began to plot, using her magic to manipulate the other members of the House and to bend them to her will.
In the end, Evangeline succeeded in her coup, and she became the new ruler of the House of The Dualists. She flew the banner with pride, using its black and white colors to remind all who saw it of the balance of power and justice that the Dualists upheld. Under her leadership, the House of The Dualists became the most feared and respected in all the land, and its sorcerers wielded their magic with an iron hand.
And so the House of The Dualists continued to soar through the skies, a powerful and unstoppable force that was feared by all who saw it. And as long as the banner flew with its black and white colors, the House of The Dualists would remain a force to be reckoned with, upholding the balance of power and justice in the land.
The Adventurers and the Enchanted Bag of Lootzdarovakarova.ethOnce upon a time, in a land of magic and wonder, there was a group of adventurers who were on a quest to defeat an evil sorcerer. One day, while they were traveling through a dense forest, they stumbled upon a mysterious bag that was lying on the ground. The bag was made of a strange, shimmering fabric, and it seemed to be enchanted in some way.
The leader of the group, a brave warrior named Aric, opened the bag to find that it was filled with eight incredible items. There was a chest plate made of shining, silver steel. A pair of boots that were made of brown leather and seemed to be enchanted to make the wearer run faster. A pair of gauntlets made of Mithril. A helmet that had the symbol of a dragon on it. A necklace that was made of gold and had a red stone in it. A ring that was made of silver with a blue stone in it. A belt that was made of black leather and had a golden buckle. And finally, a weapon, a long sword with a golden hilt.
The adventurers were amazed by the contents of the bag and wondered how it had come to be there. They decided that they would set out on a new quest to discover the history of the items and find out who they belonged to.
Their journey took them through many dangerous lands, where they battled monsters and faced many challenges. But they were determined to uncover the secrets of the items, and they did not give up.
Eventually, they reached a mountain pass that was guarded by a powerful dragon. The dragon told them that the items in the bag belonged to an ancient king who had ruled over the land many years ago. The king had been betrayed by his own son, who had stolen the items and fled.
The dragon gave them a map that would lead them to the son's hideout, and the adventurers set out once more. They followed the map through a dark, treacherous cave, and finally, they reached the son's lair. There, they found the son, who had become a powerful sorcerer, and they engaged in a fierce battle.
In the end, the adventurers emerged victorious and reclaimed the items for the king. They returned to the dragon, who thanked them and gave them a reward for their bravery. And so, the group of adventurers returned home, their quest complete, and their hearts filled with the satisfaction of having achieved something great.
Generated by ChatGPT
The Adventurers and the Enchanted Bag of Lootzdarovakarova.ethOnce upon a time, in a land of magic and wonder, there was a group of adventurers who were on a quest to defeat an evil sorcerer. One day, while they were traveling through a dense forest, they stumbled upon a mysterious bag that was lying on the ground. The bag was made of a strange, shimmering fabric, and it seemed to be enchanted in some way.
The leader of the group, a brave warrior named Aric, opened the bag to find that it was filled with eight incredible items. There was a chest plate made of shining, silver steel. A pair of boots that were made of brown leather and seemed to be enchanted to make the wearer run faster. A pair of gauntlets made of Mithril. A helmet that had the symbol of a dragon on it. A necklace that was made of gold and had a red stone in it. A ring that was made of silver with a blue stone in it. A belt that was made of black leather and had a golden buckle. And finally, a weapon, a long sword with a golden hilt.
The adventurers were amazed by the contents of the bag and wondered how it had come to be there. They decided that they would set out on a new quest to discover the history of the items and find out who they belonged to.
Their journey took them through many dangerous lands, where they battled monsters and faced many challenges. But they were determined to uncover the secrets of the items, and they did not give up.
Eventually, they reached a mountain pass that was guarded by a powerful dragon. The dragon told them that the items in the bag belonged to an ancient king who had ruled over the land many years ago. The king had been betrayed by his own son, who had stolen the items and fled.
The dragon gave them a map that would lead them to the son's hideout, and the adventurers set out once more. They followed the map through a dark, treacherous cave, and finally, they reached the son's lair. There, they found the son, who had become a powerful sorcerer, and they engaged in a fierce battle.
In the end, the adventurers emerged victorious and reclaimed the items for the king. They returned to the dragon, who thanked them and gave them a reward for their bravery. And so, the group of adventurers returned home, their quest complete, and their hearts filled with the satisfaction of having achieved something great.
Generated by ChatGPT
Prose from a Realmsman IIIThomas Radio*People adapt to survive over time, making houses into homes. An Adventurer must adapt every day, as travels take them through jungles and caves, over waves of sand and salted water. I’m learning to be swift in pen and foot, so that I may cover all there is to see. No longer can I pretend I am an Adventurer with a destiny of glory, but onward still I travel. I am but an author offering my voice to the Realms. I will not shout the loudest, for all the secrets I’ve discovered exist to be tended. If you are reading these passages you must accept the task to keep our world beautiful.*
<br><br>
#### Out the Woods, Once More
Embers snap with smouldering burrs\
as thornbristles twist\
and dried wood burns.\
The denser the forest\
the less there is sound.\
The further you go\
the less to be found.\
Unless you go further,\
further than most,\
to find what wonders live\
in Mother Grove.
<br><br>
#### Magics Returned
Spirits renewed\
and a day's journey ahead\
I am on the edge of the natural world\
From here on I walk hard-packed dirt by carts and mules\
passing empty fields reaped by sharp sickles\
not even a cloud in the sky\
From a barren waste, I must pluck up the courage\
to return to places where\
the Realm feels lived in\
and corrupted.
<br><br>
#### City Justice // A Proper Verbal Lashing
STOP!\
YOU THIEF!\
THERE!\
YOU!\
IN WHAT BLACK WATER POOL\
DID YOUR WITCH MOTHER\
BREW YOU?!\
AND I HAVE TO YELL!\
TURN AROUND!\
GIVE BACK THE BREAD!\
ALL YOUR BAD DECISIONS\
HAVE GONE TO YOUR HEAD!\
YOUR EARS ARE GETTING FAT\
THAT’S WHY YOU CAN’T HEAR!
\
The boy did not stop.\
Ran ‘round the corner,\
right to his pops.
\
I’ll tell ya,\
how disappointed I am.\
I raised you to be better,\
and not get caught.\
But now you must run.\
I’ll miss you, my boy\
Go now, be quick\
you must leave,\
I hear the knights riding\
but please leave the bread, son\
your father is starving.
<br><br>
#### Injustice Delivered
Your unscrupulous tongue,\
dOn’T pUNish ThE mAn\
fOr ThE SInS oF ThE SoN.\
I’ve had it with humanity\
the people are sick\
and what’s worse is the land of decay\
we’ve left for our kids.
<br><br>
#### Do I Dare Follow Legends?
Father,\
I’m alive. Blood does not flow through me but rushes! Oh what a quickened heart can do, I’m in the winds. I wasted no time absconding from the Realms, I heard talks of a citadel protected like a fortress, for it holds secrets unseen. There are spirits whispering answers to questions we haven’t thought to ask. I can taste the musty library from my time studying, the knowledge which rests is ancient and natural! They say no one has found it, or if they have they’ve never left as many have never returned. The map is long and will bring me home before I set out. I pray you to convince me not to follow through because if I remain in my ways I will set out for the citadel tonight!\
Make haste,\
Father!\
I’m off.
<br><br>
#### Mountain Mouths
A system of tunnels\
hidden in the high hills.\
So a mountain mouth cave\
will swallow you clean.\
First I must hike\
in order to descend\
where daylight is valued less than soft stone\
and legend is hidden among forgotten bones.
<br><br>
#### Rator
Down here\
There are creatures that crawl\
Slither\
Snack upon flesh\
With sharps claws that click\
Clack\
Tear apart and thresh\
before consuming.\
<br><br>
#### Coffin Caves
I’m buried alive,\
a mountain of weight above my head\
as I venture deeper into the Crypts.\
My guide is a native\
who lives subterranean\
and knows his way through the inky black.\
I hold a lantern\
to illuminate low ceilings\
and stay back my fears\
of true dark.
<br><br>
#### Crack Stone Spills
The waters here are pure,\
the liquid vitality of the world.\
Deep beneath the calloused crust\
I extinguish my flame before I immerse,\
the coolness done in total,\
and the darkness complete.\
But in these pools life glows,\
Algae has found its way of light\
an Attunement I feel so distant from after my time in the city.\
Perhaps I’ll stick around\
And find my inner luminescence.\
<br><br>
#### Contained
In hollow halls, my pilot of subterranea\
tells me stories of those who have left the caves\
and never returned.\
A society safe from whatever it is we do above\
has their own turmoil to deal with.\
Staying away from trouble and turn in\
can only protect you for so long.
<br><br>
#### Efforts Released
There is no light at the end of the tunnel,\
exiting one created comfort,\
when the day is still young. \
I emerge from the catacombs,\
a burial site hidden from the surface,\
a place of worship within\
a microcosm apart from what I knew.
<br><br>
***End of Chapter 3***
The Book of Enlightenmentraulonastool.ethArtemus was a solitary figure, a hunter who had made a home deep in the heart of the woods. He was a skilled tracker and hunter, his senses honed by years of living in the wild. But the villagers, who feared and mistrusted him, knew him as the "Lone Wolf of Lunnon," a mysterious figure who kept to himself and rarely interacted with others.
One morning, as the sun was just beginning to rise, a knock came at his door. Artemus opened it to find his childhood friend, Xedho, standing on his porch. "Arty," Xedho said, using the nickname he had called him since they were kids. "You know I hate to ask you for this, but we need your help."
Artemus raised an eyebrow, surprised by the unexpected visit. "What's the matter?" he asked.
Xedho explained that the farmers in the village were complaining about a pack of wolves that had been ravaging their cattle. The villagers were afraid and didn't know what to do. Artemus was their last hope.
Artemus sighed, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He didn't like being asked for help, but he couldn't ignore the plight of his fellow villagers. "Alright," he said begrudgingly. "I'll track them down."
Xedho thanked him profusely and offered to accompany him, but Artemus declined. He set off into the woods, scanning the ground for any signs of wolves. He could smell the pack's scent on the wind and followed it deeper into the woods. The forest's darkness closed in around him, the trees towering above like sentinels.
It took him only a short time to locate the pack. They were a large and vicious group, their fur matted and their eyes wild. Artemus knew that taking on a pack of wolves alone was dangerous. He crept closer, heart pounding in his chest, and his hand gripping the hunting knife tightly.
He had almost reached the pack when he accidentally stepped on a twig, the loud snap echoing through the woods. The wolves turned, sensing the presence of their prey. They snarled and bared their teeth, ready to attack. Artemus was outnumbered and outmatched. The pack closed in, their eyes glowing like embers in the darkness, and their teeth bared in a terrifying grin.
The adrenaline pumping through Artemus's veins as he prepared for the fight of his life, knowing that one wrong move could mean his demise. The wolves lunged toward him, he braced himself, and the battle began.
***
“Wake up, Artemus”
Artemus, roused from slumber by a voice as soft as a caress, opened his eyes groggily. He didn't recognize the speaker, but the tone was soothing.
"Wake up," the voice urged, growing firmer.
With a start, Artemus rose to his feet, his hand instinctively coming up to guard his face and his right hand gripping the hunting knife at his belt. He shifted into a defensive stance, ready to fend off any would-be thieves.
But as his eyes adjusted to the deep white mist surrounding him, he lowered his guard and relaxed his shoulders. He couldn't see more than an arm's length in front of him. "What is this?" he muttered to himself.
"Wake up, Artemus," the voice repeated - this time, he could tell it belonged to a woman.
As the mist receded, a figure emerged. A woman dressed in pearl-white robes trimmed with gold, her hood low over her face, revealing only her pale cheeks and tight lips. She held a large silver key that emitted a glimmering blue light. "Who are you?" he demanded.
But before she could answer, the mist engulfed him again, blinding him and leaving him disoriented, unable to determine which way was up or down.
"WAKE UP!" a voice bellowed, a man's this time. He felt hands grip his shoulders, shaking him violently. His body was unresponsive, paralyzed. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut.
The shaking stopped.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself lying on a cabin floor. His best friend, Xedho, loomed over him, concern etched on his face.
"Are you alright, Arty?" Xedho asked.
"The woman in the mist," he groaned, sitting up quickly. "Where-"
"Woah!" Xedho cut him off. "Those medicinal herbs must be taking effect." He gestured for Artemus to lie back down.
"Take it easy, Artemus. You've been sleeping for three days. You shouldn't make any sudden movements. You're still healing."
He noticed bandages wrapped around his arms and midsection.
"Those are fresh," Xedho explained. "I did it myself this morning. You're lucky to be alive. How did you manage to kill an entire pack of wolves anyways? There must have been at least a dozen of them."
Artemus furrowed his brow. He couldn't remember ever finding the pack, let alone killing them and returning to the village.
"You don't have to answer that right now. You can tell me later over a drink. I could use your help rebuilding my old oven."
The thought of manual labor caused Artemus to shoot his childhood friend a strange look.
"You owe me for staining my floors," Xedho said with a wink.
***
"Uncle Arty! Uncle Arty! Tell me again about how you defeated all those wolves!" Young Pirrus bound onto Artemus, playfully pretending to sink his teeth into his uncle's neck. "Because I'm a wolf! Arrrrr!"
Artemus indulged the boy's antics, chasing him around for a moment before scooping him up and holding him aloft. "Alright, that's enough, little guy. It's time for bed."
"Wolves don't sleep!" Pirrus wriggled and squirmed until Artemus set him down, and he scampered off to his room, howling like a wolf. "Awooooooo!"
"No running in the house!" Xedho called out from the kitchen. "Sorry about my child, Arty. I'm not sure who raised him."
"It's alright," Artemus replied as he rose from the table and stepped out into the night.
Xedho turned to offer him a cup of tea but found his friend had already disappeared into the darkness.
Artemus sat beneath his favorite tree, gazing up at the moon and basking in the sense of peace it gave him. He envied the moon, not for the light it provided, but for the way it worked alone, quietly doing its job without concern for the opinions of others. He spent most of his time in the mountains and woods around Lunnon, hunting, and fishing, and that's how he liked it. A village couldn't judge a man they didn't see.
The air was remarkably still that night; the only sound was the distant crashing of waves on the coastal cliffs. The emptiness of the night made space for the thoughts that haunted him to gnaw away at his mind. It had been weeks since he dreamt of the woman in the mist. Although he knew it was only a dream, it was unlike any he had ever had. It was as vivid as a memory, as striking as the last time he saw his father. But the most puzzling thing about the dream wasn't the woman, the mist, or the voice. It was the feeling that hadn't escaped him since that night - a sense of imminent danger.
Xedho joined him under the spruce tree, but Artemus kept staring aimlessly at the night sky. Xedho handed his friend a cup of freshly-brewed tea and sat beside him.
"How are you feeling?" Xedho asked.
"I'm fine," Artemus replied, still staring at the moon.
Xedho cast a concerned glance at his friend, noting the distraction etched upon his features. He knew the recent amnesic episode must be taking a heavy toll on Artemus.
"Hey, I appreciate all of your help with the bakery. My family enjoys having you around, and with the new oven, we can make twice as many batches as before." Xedho offered a reluctant smile and gestured toward the untouched cup of tea. "You haven't tried your tea."
"Do you ever get bored?" Artemus replied, his tone numb and unresponsive to Xedho's gratitude.
"Bored?" Xedho asked, his usual jovial curiosity piqued.
"With the bakery. Don't you think there's more to life than just making bread?" Artemus turned towards Xedho, his gaze intense and searching. "Why do you do it? For what purpose?"
Xedho chuckled, perplexed by Artemus' odd behavior. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "I like the way it smells. I love the way it tastes. But most importantly, I love the face Pirrus makes when he bites into a fresh loaf." Xedho placed a hand on Artemus' shoulder. "What has gotten into you, Arty? You haven't been yourself since that night."
"I said I'm fine," Artemus retorted as he roughly shrugged off Xedho's hand, causing the tea to spill onto the ground. He turned and began walking back to the cabin, leaving Xedho momentarily speechless.
Just as Artemus reached the cabin, a glowing orb flashed in the sky, bathing the village in a golden light. Both men raised their arms to shield their eyes from the brilliant glow, which seemed to writhe like a worm above the forest to the north.
"Divine's sake, what is that?" Xedho exclaimed, a sense of unease creeping into his gut.
Almost as quickly as it appeared, the orb vanished. Artemus pulled his hunting knife from its sheath and began walking towards the woods where the strange phenomenon had occurred.
"Wait, you're not going out there, are you?" Xedho called out, despite already knowing the answer. "What if there's some sort of monster out there?"
"I bet it bleeds," Artemus replied, his determination to uncover the truth driving him forward. He felt pulled towards the source of the light as if it held the answers he had been seeking.
***
The night was dark, and the only light came from the silvery moon that shone through the canopy of trees. Artemus knew the woods like the back of his hand, and he moved with quiet, steady grace. He had been hunting in these woods since childhood, which was like a second home.
His father was a master hunter, and he had taught Artemus everything he knew. Most of the hunters in Lunnon traveled in groups, but his father believed that a true hunter must surrender to the environment and become one with nature. The two would spend many early mornings swimming in rivers, capturing fish with their bare hands. They would often put on wolf’s fur and crawl around in the forest brush, stalking a herd of elk grazing in the fields. The villagers called them "The Lunnon Lunatics," but they respected his father for his skill. In Artemus’ eyes, his father was the most prolific hunter in all the realms.
But then, when he was sixteen, a strange group of men wearing colorful garments under their armor came to the village searching for his father. They had requested his help with a rather unusual hunting expedition. His father told him that the mission was too dangerous for him to come along. The hunting knife he carried with him was a gift from his father on that day. He instructed Artemus to watch over it until he returned.
Twelve winters had passed since that day.
As he moved deeper into the forest, he came upon the small clearing where he had laid several snare traps. His father had always dreaded trapping, calling it the tool of lesser hunters. He believed that actual hunting required knowing your target and developing a quick, humane kill strategy. But these snares were useful for capturing fur-bearing animals, ensuring that the thickest part of their fur remained pristine. Winter was fast approaching, and furriers paid handsomely for high-quality materials to make their cloaks, scarves, boots, and gloves.
As Artemus ventured deeper into the woods, a sense of unease began to wash over him. The trails seemed just as they had in the morning, but something felt off. The trees stood tall and proud, their branches reaching the sky, but their leaves rustled with an eerie stillness. The forest floor was a blanket of crisp leaves, but they crunched underfoot with a distinct finality as if each step could be his last.
He reached the western edge of the copper mines, where the mysterious orb of light had appeared in the sky. He hoped to find answers at the Village Guard's outpost nearby. But as he approached, a chill ran down his spine. Felled beech trees blocked the entrance, their trunks sliced cleanly as if by a razor-sharp blade. And beyond the pile of felled trees, he saw a possum dragging something in its mouth. The creature scurried away at his approach, dropping its prize - a severed arm, still seeping with blood.
Artemus sprinted towards the outpost, his heart pounding with a sense of urgency. The Village Guard of Lunnon was a formidable force sworn to protect the village from threats. He and his childhood friend Xedho had joined their ranks at 18, as was required for all able-bodied village men. The guardsmen were a tough and capable group, second only to his father in his eyes. But whatever had caused the gruesome scene before him, it was not the work of any animal or a simple accident.
As he reached the gates, the sight that greeted him was unspeakable horror. Bodies of the Village Guard were scattered in front of the entrance, mutilated and dismembered. Some were missing limbs, others decapitated, and all had blackened, smoldering eye sockets as if their eyes had been burned to ash in their skulls.
The familiar faces of friends and comrades stared up at him; their expressions were frozen in a grotesque parody of death. He recognized Dunstan, Virgil, and Ivar among the fallen. They had been like brothers to him, and the sight of their brutalized bodies filled him with a sense of overwhelming despair.
Despite his familiarity with death, the sight before him was unlike anything Artemus had ever encountered. The once-proud guardsmen lay strewn about the clearing, their bodies mutilated beyond recognition. His childhood friend Dunstan is missing his right arm. Virgil, headless and missing his pinky finger. And the leader of the Village Guard, Ivar, was impaled on a flagpole, his eyes nothing more than blackened pits.
Artemus felt his stomach churn as he collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. It was as if a nightmare had come to life. He thought back to his father, and how he had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Was this his fate as well?
But then, a scream. It cut through the stillness of the night, piercing the silence like an arrow. Artemus' heart raced as he recognized the voice. It was the woman from his dreams who had haunted him for weeks. Despite his fear and uncertainty, he felt compelled to investigate. He rose to his feet and began moving towards the sound, his hunting knife ready.
As he moved deeper into the woods, the screams grew louder and more frantic. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he quickened his pace. What was waiting for him at the end of this path? Was it a trap? Or was it the same force that had decimated the Village Guard? He couldn't shake the feeling of impending danger, but he pushed on, driven by a sense of duty and the need for answers.
***
The young girl, Felicity, lay sprawled on the ground with her arms crossed. She pouted her lips as she implored the old man sitting before her, "I'm bored, Mordecai. Read me something from your book!" She fixed him with her most pleading gaze, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn puppy's.
Mordecai erupted in laughter, "Oh, Felicity, this isn't a book of stories. It's my Grimoire."
Felicity looked at him quizzically, and her forehead crinkled in confusion. "What's a Grilwarg?"
Mordecai chuckled, "A Grimoire is a book of magic. It's filled with hundreds of spells and invocations."
Felicity's eyes widened in wonder, "Wow." She lay belly down in the dirt, her chin resting on her hands as she pondered this new information. "Do you know them all?"
"But of course!" Mordecai exclaimed, a twinkle in his eye. "I've had a long time to practice."
Felicity's curiosity was piqued, "Is that how you summoned the portal?"
Mordecai's smile softened, "Not exactly, but that's a bit too complicated for one so young. Perhaps in a few years..." He trailed off, leaving the thought hanging in the air.
But Felicity was not to be deterred. She slammed her fist into the ground and started kicking it, "I'm almost ten. Explain it to me now."
Mordecai smiled, noticing a group of ants marching toward a small leaf near Felicity's face. "Pick up that leaf by your head."
Without hesitation, Felicity reached out and plucked the leaf from its resting place. She held it up for Mordecai to see, "This one?"
"Precisely," Mordecai said, beaming with pride. "You see those ants coming towards you? To them, that leaf vanished into thin air. But you and I both know the leaf did not disappear. You lifted it to a plane that they simply could not see."
"Ohhh," Felicity pretended to understand for a moment.
"Does that make sense?" Mordecai asked, surprised by Felicity's astuteness.
"Not really," Felicity murmured, eyes scanning the leaf as if seeing it for the first time. "It's pretty."
Mordecai and Felicity shared a moment of laughter, but their merriment was short-lived as a gust of wind snatched the leaf from Felicity's grasp. "My portal!" she exclaimed, leaping to her feet and giving chase. But her pursuit was abruptly halted as her foot became ensnared in a rope, lifting her high into the air, suspended like a puppet on a string.
"Help!" Felicity screamed, her voice a mixture of fear and pain as she swung back and forth from a large branch.
Mordecai chuckled in amusement, "Just hang in there, Felicity."
"That's not funny." Felicity cried, tears streaming down her face. "It hurts!"
Mordecai's expression turned serious as he heard the sound of leaves rustling and twigs snapping in the distance. Artemus emerged from the trees, wide-eyed and panting with his hunting knife drawn.
"Who are you?" Artemus demanded through labored breaths.
But Mordecai's face shone with delight, "Look at that, Felicity. We've found a new friend to join us on our adventure."
Artemus struggled to keep his composure, his heart pounding so fiercely that he could taste blood on the tip of his tongue. "What are you doing here? Who else is with you?" he demanded, scanning the area for any sign of the mysterious woman from his dream. But all he could see was a pale, skinny child and a rangy old man. The girl was caught in one of the snares he had set that morning.
"Hello there, young master," Mordecai responded jubilantly. "Many names have been given to me in my lifetime, but my friends call me Mordecai. And this young lady caught in your trap is Felicity."
"Get me down from here!" Felicity's face turned bright red as she struggled to free herself from the snare. "Hey, mister! Cut me down with your little sword," she exclaimed to the blade-wielding hunter.
Artemus took a deep breath, attempting to steady himself as he processed the scene before him. "It's a knife," he replied.
Mordecai grinned, "She's right. It looks more like a short sword, but it's an interesting blade nonetheless. Where'd you find it?"
Artemus hesitated for a moment, "It was a gift from my father-"
"GET ME DOWN FROM HERE!" Felicity interrupted, her tone scolding.
Artemus walked over to the tree's base, untied the snare, and slowly lowered Felicity to the ground. She quickly freed her foot and ran back to Mordecai, punching him in the arm.
"Ouch! Just because I can't move my arms doesn't mean I can't feel them," Mordecai said through laughter.
"Good!" Felicity raised her chin and crossed her arms.
Artemus sheathed his blade, "You're paralyzed?"
"It's a curse!" Felicity responded.
Mordecai grinned, "It's called Sorrow Peak. My spirit is wide awake, but my body is just a puddle of melted wax." Artemus gave them a blank look, but he approached them more patiently as he caught his breath.
"I don't get it, but I gotta get you guys back to the village. It's not safe out here." He grabbed Mordecai's cart and pushed it down the trail, with Felicity skipping beside them.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Sorry, I'm Artemus. I live here in Lunnon. What about you and grandpa over here?" Felicity reminded him of Xedho's son, Pirrus.
"He's not my grandpa!" Felicity exclaimed. "We're on an adventure."
"What kind of adventure is that?" Artemus asked, curious.
The sound of blades ringing through the air filled their ears, and before anyone could react, a tree was felled and blocked their path. The cut was clean, just like the others they had seen earlier. A figure in a white robe with gold trim and a hood covering their face approached them, holding a long, thin blade that seemed to emit a wispy, ethereal black smoke.
"Grim Grasp..." Mordecai muttered under his breath.
Artemus unsheathed his knife and stepped in front of Mordecai and Felicity, his blood boiling with memories of the people he had lost.
"You! What did you do to my friends?" Artemus yelled.
The figure, a man, continued to walk forward, lifting his blade into the air. Artemus charged towards him and slid between his legs, delivering a slashing blow to the back of his calf. He dealt another blow to the figure's back with lightning speed, but it didn't have any effect. The man stood firm, unfazed, and turned towards Artemus, lifting his sword.
"Stay away from that blade!" Mordecai yelled to Artemus.
Artemus leaped to the right as the man swung his sword, narrowly avoiding the blow. The force of the impact left a mark in the dirt. Lying on the ground, the hunter's eyes widened as the man raised his blade. Artemus struggled to reach his feet but spun away from the overhead strike. He countered quickly with a swift strike to the figure's wrist, severing the assailant’s hand and causing the sword to fall to the ground in a puff of black smoke.
The black mist spouted from his arm, yet the assailant showed no sign of pain. He knelt, picked up his right hand with his left, and began to reattach it to the flat stump of his arm. Artemus ran back to Mordecai and Felicity.
"Run!" he shouted.
Artemus grabbed Mordecai's cart and darted around the fallen tree. He looked back to check on Felicity, but she was nowhere to be seen.
"Felicity!"
He saw her standing in front of the hooded man, frozen in a haunting stare.
"Where did your soul go?" she innocently asked.
"Get away from him!" Artemus shouted.
Instead of responding, the large man picked up Felicity and disappeared into the forest.
Artemus turned to Mordecai, who was deep in meditation.
"What are you doing, old man? That thing just grabbed Felicity!"
Mordecai opened his eyes and looked at Artemus with concern.
"He's headed to your village. They're in grave danger."
Artemus paced back and forth, his mind in turmoil. He longed to charge toward the monster and rescue Felicity, but he knew he couldn't act recklessly. Not with this creature. His ears were ringing, and his vision had narrowed as he put his head in his hands and screamed into the dirt. He looked at Mordecai with bloodshot eyes and pointed his blade at the old man's throat.
"Explain yourself! Why is the village in danger?" Artemus demanded, his words laced with rage and vitriol. He had witnessed the atrocities that Felicity's captor was capable of and couldn't bear to think of what he would do to the innocent villagers. To Xedho and Pirrus.
Mordecai stared at the blade, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He let out an exaggerated sigh before speaking calmly, "You seem upset."
The old man's calmness worked, and Artemus cooled his temper. He lowered his weapon and took several steps back. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be!" Mordecai interrupted with a laugh. "To be alive is to experience emotions. Isn't it wonderful!?"
Rage and vitriol gave way to irritation and impatience. "Listen, I need to know what is going on. That monster murdered my friends. Now he's kidnapped a little girl and is headed to my village. We need to stop it. Please, Mordecai."
"Yes, I suppose you deserve to know," Mordecai pondered for a moment. "Have you ever talked with a tree?"
"What the--we don't have time for--"
"Well, I suppose it's more like listening." Mordecai continued, "Every blade of grass or grain of sand has a story to tell if you have the patience to listen. Living beings tend to leave an imprint everywhere they go. Our emotions. Our thoughts, our memories. They carry an energetic weight. The clothes we wear, weapons we wield, and even the ground we walk on can store that energy and, in a sense, is imbued with its spirit."
"What does that have to do with our situation?" Artemus leaned in, hanging on every word Mordecai spoke. The old man possessed the same charisma and infectious conviction as his father when he had taught him how to hunt as a young boy.
"It has everything to do with it," Mordecai responded guilelessly. "I can feel that man's energy. I can hear his intentions. And that weapon -" Mordecai shivered.
"What about it?"
"That blade is no ordinary weapon. It feeds on the souls of its victims." The optimistic tone had vanished from Mordecai's voice. "And it's hungry."
"It feeds on souls?" Artemus asked in bewilderment.
"Yes, it's just as it sounds. You can distinguish its victims from their eyes. Or lack thereof."
The village guard...
"The eyes are quite literally a window to one's soul. Grim Grasp rips the victim's soul out of their skull, leaving only scorched skin and hollowed bores."
"How can I fight something like that? I couldn't even damage it."
"That I do not know. I've lived a long time and have never seen anything like it," a sudden thought crossed Mordecai's mind. "But it appears our little Felicity knows him."
"How is that possible? Don't you two know each other?" Artemus asked, confused.
Mordecai let out a chuckle, "Of course not. We only just met a couple of days ago."
Artemus raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Then what were you two doing in the forest at night? How did you even get here?"
Mordecai hesitated for a moment before responding, "Do you believe in magic, master Artemus?"
"Magic? As in fairy tales?"
Mordecai let out a snicker, amused and insulted by Artemus' response. "I was being held captive off the coast, not far from here. I'm not sure how long I was there. I lost track of time after a while. But a few days ago, I started hearing rumblings from the guards about a new captive - an extraordinary girl from a city in the sky."
Artemus crossed his arms in disbelief. "I've never heard of a city in the sky."
"Well, it exists, and if you stop interrupting me, I can tell you the rest of the story," Mordecai scolded, his voice laced with a hint of frustration. "As I was saying, this girl, as you may have deduced, was Felicity. I was impressed by how sharp she was for her age. But beyond that, I felt an immense well of power emanating from within her. While she may look like you or me, her bloodline is rather peculiar. Her father was a druid, and her mother an oracle. Such a child hasn't been born for 1,000 years."
Artemus' eyes glossed over as he struggled to comprehend Mordecai's words. "Mordecai, I don't know what any of that means. Did she tell you all of this?"
"Yes, it's quite fascinating. Felicity and I first spoke in a dream. My first conversations weren't with the young girl you met. She was much older. A beautiful young woman in white robes and..." Mordecai's words trailed off as his mind wandered back to the lady in his dream. Could the woman have been Felicity?
"How could she possibly speak to you in a dream?" Artemus interjected.
"She can't control her power. She must've wandered into my mind as a thought projection. She got lost in a deep mist, and I helped her find her way out," Mordecai continued to explain to his shaken caretaker. "But it took me decades to learn and hone my abilities in my astral body. Meanwhile, this child did it by accident! This new generation truly excites me."
"We need to find her, Mordecai. I don't care what it takes, but we must save her from that thing." Artemus flipped his father's knife back and forth in his hands and whispered, "What would you do here, father?"
A wide grin crossed Mordecai's face. "I think you've been holding the key to defeating this monster the entire time, master Artemus."
Mordecai's grimoire emitted a blue glow, rose from his lap and floated between him and Artemus. The grimoire opened to a blank page, and the old man's eyes began to glow the same blue as the book.
"LIGHTNING BANE," Mordecai shouted. A burst of electrical energy burst from the pages straight towards him. Artemus remained unharmed.
"Hold on to that blade of yours, Master Artemus," Mordecai shouted with a hint of excitement. "It's more than just an ordinary hunting knife, my boy. It is a short sword imbued with a spirit of protection – and it intends that no harm ever befall you. Whoever gave it to you must have had a hell of a lot of love for you, that's for sure!"
***
Xedho tightly gripped his torch as he ventured deeper into the forest, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. He halted for a moment to steady his breath, his fingers clutching the amulet around his neck. "You better be alive," he muttered as he continued down the path.
He carried with him an old quarterstaff, his weapon of choice for its superior reach, and the fact that the mess of swords made him uneasy. It had been collecting dust in his bedroom since he left the Village Guard all those years ago.
As he crept forward, he felt for the level ground before picking up his pace. Suddenly, the acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils, causing him to stop in his tracks. A bird flew past his face, followed by another, then a third and a fourth in quick succession. The cacophony of creatures escaping a nearby fire disoriented him, and in the chaos, he lost his torch and sense of direction. He stumbled backward several steps before colliding with something solid and warm.
"What in the..." he exclaimed as he turned slowly, his heart skipping a beat as he laid eyes on a hooded man carrying a young girl on his shoulder. "Woah! Sorry about that, friend. I didn't see you there with all the -"
The man lifted Xedho into the air by his collar and threw him down like a rag doll, leaving him coughing and rolling onto his side, wincing from the likely cracked ribs. Withdrawing his quarterstaff, he used it to stand up, but the hooded man continued through the smoke.
"Hey!" Xedho managed to yell out through a cough. "What was that for?"
The man disappeared into the smoke, and Xedho chased after him, covering his mouth and nose to prevent smoke inhalation. As he entered the forest trailhead, the mysterious man grabbed him from behind and tossed him to the ground again.
"You have to stop doing that," Xedho muttered as he rose to his feet, his eyes narrowed in confusion and frustration. "What is your problem?"
The hooded man carefully placed the sleeping girl on the grass and unsheathed his "Grim Grasp" katana, releasing heavy black smoke that swirled with the grey from the fire.
Xedho readied his quarterstaff, sinking into a fighting stance as his heart rate instantly tripled, hoping that years of peace hadn't softened his training from the Village Guard.
"Hey, I think your scary sword there must have caught on fire," Xedho said, trying to buy time.
The hooded man charged towards Xedho with his sword raised, but Xedho pivoted to his right, creating an advantageous angle, and swung the quarterstaff at his chin. The man didn't react, causing Xedho to be startled.
"Really? Not even a flinch?" Xedho leaped backward, creating distance between himself and his formidable opponent.
The man swung his katana at Xedho, but he ducked underneath, pivoted to the left, and slammed the quarterstaff at his face with all the force he could muster. This time, the blow spun the man off his base, causing him to stumble and remove his hood.
Xedho froze in terror at the sight of the man's face. The blackened skin on his forehead and scalp contrasted with the pale complexion of his cheeks. Fresh blood streamed down his face from the dark pits in place of his eyes.
As the man slowly approached him, Xedho backed away and tripped, falling onto his back.
"Die..." the man croaked, raising his katana.
Just as he was about to bring the blade down on him, the point of a sword exploded through his chest, raining blood down on Xedho. Even without eyes, the man's face betrayed his disbelief as his body slumped to the ground, revealing Artemus standing triumphantly behind him.
"Are you okay?" Artemus asked Xedho; concern etched on his face.
"Yeah, I think I got some of its blood in my mouth," Xedho responded, spitting to the side. "Pwahhh."
Artemus helped him up and pulled him into an embrace.
"You had me worried, running off like that. I thought I was going to have to rescue you again," Xedho said, a hint of reproach in his voice.
"This time, I rescued you," Artemus said with a smile.
"Don't celebrate so soon," Mordecai interrupted, stern and serious. "This fight is far from over."
Xedho and Artemus turned to see their undead enemy again rising to his feet, a look of determination etched on his face.
"Who's the old guy with the book?" Xedho said, readying himself for another round of battle.
"That's Mordecai. He's some kind of magician,"
"Wait, Mordecai? As in the Genesis Adventurer?" Xedho turned to the old man in amazement. "Oh wow, Master Mordecai, it is an honor to meet you. My wife and I live by the teachings in your letters!"
Mordecai smiled, "Thank you for the kind words, young man."
Artemus looked perplexed, "Genesis Adventurer?"
"Divine's sake, Arty, read a book. This man is one of the most famous people in all the realms. What is he doing with you -"
"Watch out!" Mordecai warned, interrupting Xedho.
Xedho and Artemus narrowly dodged the sharp edge of the katana, which cracked the earth beneath them.
"Xedho! Let's over-under," Artemus commanded, his voice steady and determined.
Xedho nodded in agreement, and with a fluid motion, he swept the back of the man's legs with his quarterstaff. At the same time, Artemus, with precision and deadly accuracy, plunged his short sword into the center of the man's rib cage, causing their undead enemy to crash to the ground with a thud. Xedho swiftly kicked away the katana and held the defeated foe down with a firm foot on his chest.
“Chop off his head!”
As Artemus gazed down upon the monstrous creature standing before him, his mind raced with thoughts of his friends and the realization that this may be the last thing they would ever lay eyes upon. With a fierce yell, he raised his blade, prepared to deliver the final blow with all his strength.
But just as he was about to strike, a blood-curdling scream from Felicity halted him in his tracks. Time seemed to stand still as the sound of crows cawing, and the crackling of the burning forest fell silent. Though he couldn't turn his head, he could see Felicity through the corners of his eyes, standing beside him and weeping.
"Please don't kill my father," she whispered, trembling. "He's all I have left." And with those words, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed to the ground.
As time resumed its flow, Artemus was left to ponder the revelation that the monster he was about to slay was Felicity's father. But before he could react, the enemy seized Xedho's leg and flung him towards Artemus, sending the two tumbling to the ground. The hooded figure lunged for his katana but was met with a powerful gust of wind from Mordecai's grimoire, sending the weapon out of reach. Mordecai, now weakened, coughed violently, "This cursed body of mine can't wield magic like it used to."
With a surge of fury, the monstrous enemy rushed towards Mordecai, violently yanking his limp body from the cart and tossing him to the ground. His fists pounded relentlessly into the old man's face, one blow after another. Artemus and Xedho threw themselves at the attacker, desperately trying to subdue him, but he shrugged them off quickly. The brute kicked Artemus in the stomach, sending him flying several feet away. He grabbed Xedho by the back of the head and slammed his face into the ground repeatedly, rendering him unconscious. Artemus struggled to get back to his feet, his broken ribs making it difficult to catch his breath. Helpless, he watched as the towering figure approached him with murder in his eyes.
"Artemus," Mordecai called out weakly, "Take good care of Felicity and see that she makes it home safely. She needs you -"
His grimoire lifted into the air, bathing Mordecai in a golden light. The brilliance was blinding, and Artemus had to look away. The char-faced man changed course, heading towards the old man.
"So this is where my adventure ends," Mordecai said as the light around him grew brighter and brighter.
"Mordecai, no!" Felicity screamed.
"There's no need to worry, child. Your father and I are going to get some much-needed rest," Mordecai said, giving Felicity a hopeful smile. "I leave the future of the realms in your hands, young adventurers. May the light illuminate your souls."
The light around Mordecai pulsed faster and faster, his grimoire flipping to its final page.
"Divine Twilight," Mordecai spoke in a serene tone.
A blinding explosion of light burst from the book, transforming the dead of night into the brightness of midday in an instant. When the light dissipated and Artemus finally opened his eyes, Mordecai and the enemy were nowhere to be found. All that remained was the glowing grimoire.
Xedho groaned as he slowly regained consciousness, "What happened?"
"They're... gone," Felicity said, her voice quivering as tears streamed down her face.
Artemus, struggling to stay upright, stumbled towards the grimoire. As he approached, its light flickered and dimmed, revealing a glowing rune on the front cover - a symbol resembling the rising sun.
With a sense of urgency, Artemus frantically flipped through the book's pages, searching for answers, but it was blank. Every page was a clean sheet of parchment, except for the first. Inscribed at the top of that page were only a few simple words:
"Where one story ends, another begins."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PqcVAUNHnp0https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PqcVAUNHnp0<span style="color:blue"><u>[Click here to watch a cool video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PqcVAUNHnp0)</u></span>
The Story of Hrothfeond Evermorn and the Maelstromniftypins.eth## Growing Up Poor
Tradesfolk like the blacksmith Hrothfeond Evermorn weren’t supposed to have a pendant like this. But then,not every poor person came from a line like the Evermorns.
Hrothfeond, whom everyone called Fe, was the youngest of a long line. His father, Hrothleong, had been a blacksmith, like his father and his father’s father before him. But not all. Somewhere far back in his family’s line, one Evermorn had not been a soot-stained laborer of fire and ore, but someone of importance. A great man.
Maybe they’d been noble. Royal, even. That forebear must have had people yield to his command just as Fe’s hammer, his father’s hammer, did each day. Who else would have possessed a pendant of power—the very same that Fe now wore around his neck?
No one knows exactly what, but something had happened to sunder the line of Evermorns; it was surely dark and disastrous. An event that changed the trajectory of a family’s history forever. Something that caused the beautiful pendant of power to be known instead as the “Dread Bite,” and that had imbued it with a mysterious and tragic sort of magic.
After working as a smith for over 20 years and apprenticing for five before that, Fe was sick of living in Schlel. He was ready for adventure, to travel beyond the realm of lel Kúbklor and to see new sights and have the experiences he’d only read of in books. Fe made a vow to himself on that otherwise unremarkable night: he would take the first boat out to sea that would give him passage.
## The Night at the Viper Tavern
That night, Fe went to the Viper Tavern, named after a local crypt not far from the city walls. Fe had his usual, a strong ale with a dram of Hardguzzle, a spirit made from Malfour cactus that lel Kúbklor was renowned for distilling. Fe knew that crews often visited the Viper Tavern prior to a long voyage—it was a departing tradition for the men to get good and drunk before they hit the open water and later the passages through the Tides of Tears, through the Sea of Hermits and on to the rollicking Dommian Ocean.
It seemed that the luck of that great, long-lost ancestor was with Fe that night. Not only did he find a crew ready to set sail the next day, but he also overheard the captain and his first mate deep in conversation, concerned that their blacksmith had fallen ill. They were worried that the voyage would have to be delayed.
“You know that now is our only chance,” the captain sighed. “We are three months from the winds of the North blowing in and it’s more than a two-month journey—we don’t even know exactly where The Maelstrom is located. As soon as the air has just a bit of a chill the creature goes dormant, and the island is submerged.”
“Where are we going to find a smith in such order? And one that can forge cold iron? It’s a lost art and we are losing time,” the first mate replied. “Face it cap’n, this voyage is going to have to wait for another day. Thou mayest want to quest, but Odin has other ideas; heed his advice.”
Fe heard everything. He knew he had his chance—but had the gods made the ship’s smith ill so the boat would not set sail? Or was it so that Fe could seize this moment and leave? Fe was never one to give his opinions on metaphysical matters, but he had to make a choice. He decided that it was the latter and sidled up to the table of the captain to make his case.
“I can work cold iron to be the sharpest blade or the strongest greaves,” Fe opened, finding his courage after a swig of Hardguzzle. “If your mission needs a blacksmith, then look no further than the person who sits in front of you here. I’m ready to leave Schlel as soon as I can find passage.”
“Aye, man! And how do we know you can work cold iron like you say? Plenty of people claim to have skills to get out of this pitiful city but are as worthless as a wooden shield when battling a fire breathing dragon,” the first mate said with a sneer, spitting on the ground.
Fe pounced, grabbed the first mate and placed him in a headlock, putting a knife to his throat. “You tell me if this knife is sharp enough, for it was forged from my own hands,” Fe snarled, nicked the man’s skin and threw him to the ground.
“All right, you’re in,” the captain spoke, putting an end to the theatrics. “But you need to know what you’re getting into. This is no ordinary seafaring journey, transferring commodities from one port to another. This is an expedition into the heart of the Dommian Ocean, to a place feared by even the most tenured sailor.
“We are going to The Maelstrom, a place that many don’t believe exists, but that I’m confident I will find. The legend of this forgotten place has been passed down through my family for ages.” The captain then explained to Fe the legend behind his quest, that years ago a dark mage of power had ventured into the open sea in search of a monstrous creature that he believed he could tame with his sorcery. The mage felt that once this monster was in his control, he would be able to rule all realms, an unstoppable force that no one would dare challenge.
It’s said the mage set off with only one deck hand to help with the sails. The pair traveled day and night in search for the mythical beast and would only return to port after several weeks where they’d resupply and set sail again the next morning.
The story goes that the mage found the creature, but it was far more powerful than he could have imagined. The beast spun an incredible whirlpool—at its center was the tip of an island that became more and more visible as the rushing waters spun faster and faster. Suddenly and at speed the beast rose out of the water, smashing the small ship with enormous tentacles. The mage was sucked into the center of The Maelstrom, towards the island, while the deck hand was cast outside of the wake, exhausted and clutching to a few boards. Massive waves then clapped together from the perimeter of the whirlpool, submerging the island in a wall of water and drowning the dark wizard.
The deck hand miraculously survived the horror, floating through the ocean on some of the wreckage before eventually washing ashore in Guz-Metmas in the Kezgep-Mas realm. He told everyone who would listen, mostly tavern keepers, the epic tale. None believed him at first, but over time ships began disappearing in the middle of the Dommian Ocean, especially at this time of year. It’s believed that the beast is most active now, before the cold winds of the North blow in.
“We aim to prove the legend true, and to recover all the treasures from the sunken ships, along with any items once possessed by the dark mage. We believe that the beast hates the cold, which is why we need a smith who can work cold iron. If you’re up to the task, I’m ready to take you aboard.”
Fe thought the captain’s story was nothing more than fantasy, just more sun-bleached lore of the sea that sailors tell to keep their minds off the drudgery. But what did Fe care? This yarn was his ticket away from Schlel—let them believe whatever they want if it got him on a boat.
Feigning deep thought upon the decision, Fe ultimately nodded his head in agreement. The first mate’s pride was badly bruised; Fe was flush with excitement, drunk on beer and his good luck, concerned not for the danger that was ahead of him.
## The Journey Begins
The crew embarked for The Maelstrom, leaving Schlel early the next morning. Even though Fe was green when it came to sailing, his position as the ship’s smith earned him a place in the officer’s quarters and the luxury of having only one roommate, instead of 15. He had his own shop to work in and got to eat in the mess hall before the rest of the men.
But the fact remained: he was a terrible sailor. He didn’t have any practical seafaring experience, which made him loathed by many in the crew. While he found nothing in common with the elites, Fe could feel the daggers of the crew’s eyes as he ate. “Let them stare,” he thought, “for if The Maelstrom actually exists, which it certainly does not, my weapons will be their salvation.”
To combat the inevitable loneliness of the sea, Fe immersed himself in his work. Truly, no one had seen anything like him before—the sound of hammers banging metal rang out from his shop at all hours of day and night. Slowly the crew’s disdain gave way to admiration for the quality of arms he was producing. But as he continued to make spear after spear, the men’s feeling of awe became one of fear as they began to wonder, “What kind of monster are we to battle at The Maelstrom that would need this kind of armory? What fate awaits us in the open sea?”
## Everything Goes Wrong
The crew had been at sea for just over three months and the air was beginning to crisp. The captain thought that the journey was sure to be a bust; he had already begun working on what he’d say to the lords who had invested in this venture. They would be disappointed that he would return home empty handed, but they’d known the chances of success were minuscule. Surely these men of means would understand. The captain didn’t know very many wealthy men.
All the sudden, a call came down from the crow’s nest, “I see somethin’! I see somethin’! O’er there! The ocean is swirling like I have ne’er seen before. Aye, cap’n, the water is churnin’ like nothin’ else! O’er there! Starboard! Look!”
The captain scrambled to the deck, climbed up into a bird’s nest atop the main mast and looked out in the distance. And the sight before him, what else but the Maelstrom could it be? The beast, then, was near.
He went into his quarters and prepared for the monster, donning his armor, breastplate, gloves and belt of demonhide, the strongest material for battle known to the realms. The items had been in his family for ages, and putting them on gave him courage in facing whatever horror lurked beneath the churning surface before him. At a minimum, he thought that he looked the part of an adventurer, though he felt a chill to his very marrow.
At the last moment, he took off a glove and slipped on a titanium ring, a gift from the father of his bride. “For good luck,” he thought as he walked out of his quarters, “we certainly will need it.” He then addressed the crew.
“Men, what lies beneath these waters is the most dangerous beast any of us have ever seen or imagined. But this is why you are all here! You claimed you wanted adventure? You claimed to want verses sung of you throughout the ages? You claimed you wanted treasure?!” the captain hollered to a roar of approval. “Aye men, then your day has come! Grab the spears, load the cannons, it is time we kill this Kraken of the sea! It is time to show the beast that no crew from the Order of Power fears it! Take your stations!”
While the men scrambled, fighting with the unpredictable winds of the Maelstrom’s churn, Fe could only stand there in shock. While he certainly had wanted adventure far away from the monotony Schlel, he also wanted to live a full life. Seeing this great whirlpool form in the distance, he sensed disaster before him and felt a pang of regret in leaving his friendly confines. But was that life of boredom one worth living? No, he reminded himself, tucking the ancient pendant under his shirt and grabbing a spear. He would go down fighting with the weapons he had forged.
As the ship approached The Maelstrom, Fe saw at the center of the whirlpool the fabled island. Rocky and sharp, as if it had to fight to emerge from the sea floor. The shores were littered with wreckage of ships that had fallen to the strength of the kraken, smashed on the side of the face of stone. The waters continued to churn, creating a vortex at the center where the island became more and more exposed, showing even more destruction than Fe first glimpsed. But where was the beast? Fe tried imagining it—the size of a monster that could churn the Dommian’s open water like a bathtub. Just then, a tentacle far larger than even he’d feared emerged from the edge of the whirl.
For a moment, all the men froze, gazing up to the sky at the writhing limb that seemed as though it originated in the deepest depths of the underworld. Regaining his composure, the captain steadied his crew and told them to take aim; on his command the cannons thundered, and the men flung spears at the beast.
The kraken’s howl was shrill and guttural, shaking moon and sky and sea across the cloudless night. The captain had been correct in hoping the cold iron would cause great harm to the beast. Feeling more emboldened than afraid, he was screaming to his men to ready the next assault when he eyed a small wrecked ship, constructed in an ancient style, on the one side of the Maelstrom’s island. At once, he knew it must be the boat of the dark mage from long ago.
“Fe! Grab some spears and the stoutest longsword you’ve made. You wanted adventure? Come with me,” the captain howled at the blacksmith. “We’re boarding that raft and retrieving the ghost wand from the isle over there.”
“You’re mad!” shouted Fe. “What spell are you under?! There’s no way we can get past the Kraken and even if we do, how will we return?”
“We don’t stand a chance fighting it this way. But the crew may buy us enough time to retrieve the ghost wand. My father taught me a spell should I ever recover the weapon. This is our only hope,” the captain said with desperation in his voice. “I need another man to help me row this raft and you’re the strongest one I’ve come across. Come with me.”
Fe did as he was told, and he and the captain boarded the raft as the captain relayed his plans to his first mate. Another tentacle rose into the air, this time the captain’s right-hand man gave the order for the canons to attack.
The pair pushed the oars and paddled against the raging currents of the whirlpool, their strength and determination driving them onward. As they failed to gain any ground, the captain shouted above the roar of the whirlpool, "Use your oars to follow the current and hug the lip of the vortex!"
Fe nodded, and the two began to row in the same direction as the current. With each stroke, they were able to make progress, slowly inching towards the island. The captain shouted directions as they went, and soon they were able to make their way to the edge of the maelstrom.
As they moved closer to the island, the waves grew more fierce, threatening to capsize the raft. But the two held fast, their oars biting into the water, propelling them towards the island. With the vessel hugging the edge, the current began to carry them down, down, downward, rapidly taking them towards their destination. Seemingly at random, an arm of the kraken emerged from the water and crashed down beside them, but again and again would miraculously miss its target. The two held fast to their oars amid the chaos, pressing on and pushing through the chaos.
Finally, the pair made it safely to the island, crashing the raft onto the Eastern shore, with only a few weapons lost in the struggle. Time was not on their side; the captain estimated he heard six rounds of cannon fire and knew there were only enough munitions for three, maybe four rounds more. But there, beside their raft, was the wreck with ancient runes in faded fabric on a sail that was tattered and worn. This was the ship of the dark mage; the captain was certain of it.
“Seek out a wand and give it to me as soon as you do!” the captain shouted. “We are running out of time, Fe!”
“Wait! Before we begin our search, tell me the incantation in case you fall. You’ve come too far to let that secret go with you in death,” Fe hollered. “I’ve proven a faithful hand; I deserve to know it should I find the wand and cannot find you!”
The captain realized that Fe was right and trusted the man; he had proved himself loyal and there was no reason not to withhold the spell from him. He shouted the strange words to Fe, *naḷ duin sïlan sin elenya, elenya doloros ada ú*.
BOOM! The air shook with another round of cannon fire. The captain knew there was just one round left before his men would be out of ammunition and the creature from the depths would smash the ship to pieces. He had to find the wand if there was ever a chance to save his crew. The captain was panicked as he searched the wreckage, but nothing was to be found.
Fe, though, felt a surreal sense of calm. The pendant around his neck seemed to soothe him, while at the same time urging him to go down into the depths of the wreck. He went, not questioning the odd feeling—when suddenly he spotted a chest with a broken lock. Fe pried open the box and, mixed in among the sunken shekels, were a hood and slippers and a gnarled wand unlike any he had ever seen. The ghost wand of the dark mage.
“Captain, come quick, I found it!”
Fe heard the quick steps of the captain above—but as he descended the stairs, his foot went through a rotten plank. He twisted his ankle and fell, hitting his head on the wreckage below. Fe ran to him.
BOOM! This sound was not quite as powerful as the last; Fe knew then that the ship was out of cannon fodder. But he couldn’t leave the captain knocked out at the bottom of this long-lost ship’s hull. Gathering the mage’s items from the chest, but leaving all the coins, Fe began to pull the captain up the stairs, struggling with every step. He knew he must cast the spell if the crew were to live, but doing so now would be certain doom for the two of them. Fe had to get to high water so that they wouldn’t be submerged when The Maelstrom subsided.
Time was running out. There was no longer the rumble of the cannons; in fact, there was an eerie sense of quiet over the ocean, the churning ocean beginning to slow down with the sea level rising on the island. Then out nowhere the beast rose from the sea, not just a tentacle, but the entire monster.
The kraken was a thing of nightmares, a behemoth of the deep; its body an unearthly black with tentacles writhing like serpents. Its eyes glowed a sickly yellow, and its mouth was lined with razor sharp teeth. The kraken’s massive dwarfed the island at the center of the Maelstom, and its presence caused the sea to churn with a maddening intensity; waves crashing against the rocky shoreline with a violence that seemed almost alive.
The beast's tentacles were longer than any ship, stretching out from its body like long, grasping fingers. Its skin was thick and leathery, and had a strange, almost iridescent sheen to it, as if it had been formed from the depths of the dark, demonic underworld. Its body seemed to ripple with an unnatural power, and the air around it was filled with a strange, otherworldly energy.
The creature opened its mouth and erupted with an unearthly roar. The sound was so powerful it caused Fe to freeze, his courage wavering in the face of such an ancient and powerful beast. The kraken's tentacles lashed out at the ship, tearing into its hull and shaking its masts in its fury.
Even though he was not high enough, Fe knew that this was the moment he must act, or the crew would be doomed. With his left hand, he clutched the Dread Bite pendant and with his right hand pointed the ghost wand at the kraken, shouting the spell with every fiber of his soul. A blinding flash consumed the sky along with a thunder of 10,000 war drums.
The captain’s spell was powerful, a magical force that shook the land and sea and paralyzed the beast. The ghost wand glowed brightly as Fe moved it in a circular motion, conjuring a powerful force that now caused the kraken to writhe in pain as its body was wracked with magical energy. The kraken's curse, that had kept the island submerged, began to unravel as the spell tore through its dark power. Its tentacles went slack and the maelstrom receded further, allowing the island to rise to the surface.
With its last breath, the kraken released a powerful shockwave that surged through the ocean and permanently reversed the dark curse, ensuring the island was no longer prisoner to the depths of the sea. The kraken had been vanquished; its dark magic shattered and its body reduced to nothing but floating remains.
And for Fe, everything went black.
**The Adventurer Rises**
Fe didn’t know how long he was knocked out, but from the stubble on his face he knew it had to be several days. When he came to, everything ached, but he was relatively unharmed. Around his neck was the Dread Bite and next to him was the captain, still and without breath, alongside the ghost wand and the hood and slippers Fe had taken from the chest.
Looking around, he could see no traces of the beast nor that of the ship. Grief washed over Fe as he realized at once that he was alone, marooned on the island. Tears of anguish swelled inside him, but Fe blinked them away. There was sad work yet to do and the grief would still be there at its end.
The captain had been a good man. As was the custom of his people, Fe prepared the body to be burned on a funeral pyre. “Odin, allow me the strength to mourn once more,” he prayed. Fe removed the demonhide gear from the captain and dressed himself in them. “If I shall find his family, I will return these,” Fe swore. “Until then, may they help me survive."
Fe looked at the hood and slippers he’d salvaged and knew they were powerful totems. Rather than carry them, he thought he might gain more strength by putting them on. He took the ghost wand and could feel its power coursing through his body, it was as if he were destined to be holding it. Fe felt an ease with the magical weapon. The Dread Bite whispered in its way to him, and then he knew the spell to cast to ignite the pyre.
Haunching down to pick up the captain, Fe caught glimpse of the ring and removed it. "This too will go to his family,” Fe said aloud, placing it on his finger. Did he believe that?
As the smoke rose into the night sky, Fe realized just how far he was from Schlel and how slim the chances would be he would survive. But a sense of confidence began to swell inside of him, feeling the power of the magical items now in his possession.
“I will survive,” Fe spoke, not to give himself words of support, but rather to affirm his fate for the earth and the moon and Odin and all the rest. For the captain. “It is my destiny to survive,” he roared at the heavens, no one else around to hear his cry. “And this wand shall evermore be known as the Maelstrom Whisper, for silencing the beast of the sea!”
# Items from the Lootverse referenced in this story:
Genesis Adventurer #530: Hrothfeond Evermorn an Adventurer of Power
Realms (for Adventurers) #26: lel Kúbklor of the Order of Power, Schlel is a port city of this realm
Realms (for Adventurers) #6382: Kezgep-Mas of the Order of the Twins, Guz-Metmas is a port city of this realm
Crypts and Caverns #5409: ‘The Maelstrom,’ a legendary dungeon where the battle takes place
Crypts and Caverns #7216: Grotto of the Viper, the dungeon for which the tavern is named after
Realms Atlas: For names of the different bodies of water
Spells* #2550: Araw’s Demonic Banishing Shard, the spell that the captain taught Fe.
This is my first work of fiction that I’ve ever “published,” I appreciate the Open Quill foundation for giving me the nudge to be brave and write it. Special thanks to my good friend NPT in real life who named this adventurer and gave me the seed of the idea of who Hrothfeond Evermorn could be from which this story germinated from! And thanks to all the Loot builders that are helping this universe come to life!
I also want to give a special shoutout to taxil who provided a number of eagle eye edits that made this piece sing! Seriously, taxil is one of the best editors I've had the privilege to work with! And for some of the parts that I struggled in describing, a shoutout to OpenAI's GPT-3 language engine. Header image by Midjourney.
Loot (For Adventurers) - Character Biosraulonastool.ethAll images were generated with Midjourney. All bios were generated by OpenAI ChatGPT
Curated by raulonastool
Bag#: 2560
Name: Arcturus the Mighty
Race: Human
Class: Mage
Equipment:
Weapon: Ghost Wand - A powerful magic wand imbued with the essence of a ghost, allowing the wielder to cast powerful spells and curse enemies.
Chest: Leather Armor - A sturdy suit of leather armor that provides excellent protection against physical attacks.
Head: Demon Crown - An ancient crown imbued with the power of a demon, providing the wearer with enhanced strength and magical abilities.
Waist: War Belt - A sturdy belt that allows the wearer to carry large weapons and equipment with ease.
Foot: Greaves of Anger - A pair of enchanted greaves that increase the wearer's speed and agility in combat.
Hand: Linen Gloves of Fury - A pair of soft, lightweight gloves that provide excellent grip and allow the wearer to wield weapons with precision and speed.
Neck: Necklace of Power - An ancient necklace that increases the wearer's magical abilities and allows them to cast more powerful spells.
Ring: Platinum Ring - A beautiful ring crafted from pure platinum, imbued with powerful magic that increases the wearer's strength and resilience in combat.
Description:
Arcturus the Mighty is a powerful and fearsome human mage, feared by his enemies and revered by his allies. He is a master of both sword and magic, using his Ghost Wand to cast powerful spells and curse his foes, while his Leather Armor and Demon Crown protect him from physical and magical attacks. His War Belt and Greaves of Anger allow him to move with incredible speed and agility in combat, while his Linen Gloves of Fury give him a deadly grip on his weapons. His Necklace of Power increases his magical abilities, and his Platinum Ring enhances his physical strength and resilience. With his formidable array of equipment, Arcturus the Mighty is a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield.
Bag#: 3804
Name: Luna the Swift
Race: Elf
Class: Rogue
Equipment:
Weapon: Quarterstaff - A sturdy quarterstaff that can be used for offense and defense in combat.
Chest: Hard Leather Armor - A suit of leather armor that has been treated to provide enhanced protection against physical attacks.
Head: Hood - A hood that can be worn over the head to provide concealment and protection from the elements.
Waist: Hard Leather Belt - A sturdy belt made of treated leather that allows the wearer to carry a variety of weapons and equipment.
Foot: "Blight Grasp" Silk Slippers of Detection +1 - A pair of enchanted slippers that increase the wearer's ability to detect hidden enemies and traps.
Hand: Gloves - A pair of gloves that provide enhanced grip and allow the wearer to wield weapons with precision and speed.
Neck: Pendant - A small, ornate pendant that protects the wearer from magical attacks.
Ring: Gold Ring of Anger - A beautiful golden ring that increases the wearer's strength and resilience in combat and heightens anger and aggression.
Description:
Luna the Swift is a cunning and agile elven rogue known for her quick reflexes and deadly accuracy with a quarterstaff. She is a master of stealth and deception, using her Hood and "Blight Grasp" Silk Slippers of Detection +1 to move silently and detect hidden enemies and traps. Her Hard Leather Armor and Hard Leather Belt provide excellent protection against physical attacks, and her Gloves give her enhanced grip and precision in combat. Her Pendant protects her from magical attacks, and her Gold Ring of Anger increases her strength and resilience and heightens her anger and aggression. Luna the Swift is a formidable opponent on the battlefield, striking fear into her enemies' hearts and earning her allies' respect.
Bag#: 693
Name: Marcus the Wise
Race: Human
Class: Warrior Mage
Equipment:
Weapon: Short Sword - A short, lightweight sword that can be wielded with speed and precision in combat.
Chest: Silk Robe of Rage - A beautiful silk robe that increases the wearer's magical abilities but also amplifies their anger and aggression.
Head: "Plague Root" Crown of Skill - A powerful enchanted crown that increases the wearer's skill in magic and combat.
Waist: Dragonskin Belt - A sturdy belt made of treated dragonhide that allows the wearer to carry a variety of weapons and equipment.
Foot: Wool Shoes - A comfortable pair of shoes made of wool that provide protection from the elements and enhance the wearer's stealth and agility.
Hand: Dragonskin Gloves - A pair of gloves made of treated dragonhide that provide enhanced grip and protection in combat.
Neck: Pendant - A small, ornate pendant that provides the wearer with a measure of protection from magical attacks.
Ring: Gold Ring - A simple but beautiful gold ring that enhances the wearer's physical and magical abilities.
Description:
Marcus the Wise is a powerful human warrior mage known for his skill in both magic and combat. He is a master of the short sword, using his weapon with deadly accuracy and speed on the battlefield. His Silk Robe of Rage increases his magical abilities but also amplifies his anger and aggression, making him a formidable opponent in combat. His "Plague Root" Crown of Skill enhances his skill in magic and combat, and his Dragonskin Belt and Wool Shoes allow him to move with stealth and agility. His Dragonskin Gloves enhance his grip and protection in combat, and his Pendant provides protection from magical attacks. His Gold Ring enhances his physical and magical abilities, making him a powerful and feared warrior mage. Marcus the Wise is a respected and feared mage, respected by his allies and feared by his enemies.
Bag#: 748
Name: Kael the Hunter
Race: Human
Class: Hunter
Equipment:
Weapon: Short Sword - A short, lightweight sword that can be wielded with speed and precision in combat.
Chest: Divine Robe of the Fox - A beautiful and enchanted robe that increases the wearer's
agility and speed, as well as their cunning and intelligence.
Head: Hood - A simple hood that provides the wearer with a measure of stealth and anonymity.
Waist: Plated Belt - A sturdy belt made of plated metal that allows the wearer to carry a variety of weapons and equipment.
Foot: Divine Slippers - A pair of enchanted slippers that increase the wearer's speed and agility, as well as their ability to move silently.
Hand: Chain Gloves - A pair of gloves made of chain mail that provides enhanced grip and protection in combat.
Neck: Necklace - A beautiful necklace that enhances the wearer's magical abilities.
Ring: Titanium Ring - A strong and durable ring made of titanium that enhances the wearer's physical abilities.
Description:
Kael the Hunter is a young human boy known for his cunning and skill in combat. Despite his youth, he is already a formidable hunter with a sharp mind and quick reflexes. He is tall and slender, with short, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He wears a Divine Robe of the Fox that is tailored to his slender frame, and a Hood provides him with a measure of stealth and anonymity. A Plated Belt is wrapped around his waist, holding a variety of weapons and equipment, and his Divine Slippers allow him to move with speed and silence. His Chain Gloves enhance his grip and protection in combat, and his Necklace enhances his magical abilities. His Titanium Ring enhances his physical abilities, making him a formidable opponent in battle. Kael the Hunter is a rising star among the hunters of the land, and his name is known and respected by those who have faced him in combat.
I hereby waive all copyright and related or neighboring rights together with all associated claims and causes of action concerning this work to the extent possible under the law.
PDF Location:
[](https://drive.google.com/file/d/10AwR4sj3TXfa1voy_jEVD-5wF226J-01/view?usp=sharing)
The First MoonDAO Astronaut Coby CottonpipiluBlue Origin successfully completed its sixth human spaceflight and the 22nd flight for the New Shepard program. The astronaut crew included: Coby Cotton, Mário Ferreira, Vanessa O’Brien, Clint Kelly III, Sara Sabry, and Steve Young.
The crew achieved three historic firsts:
Sara Sabry became the first person from Egypt to fly to space.
Vanessa O’Brien became the first woman to reach extremes on land (Mt. Everest), sea (Challenger Deep), and air (pass the Kármán line), completing the Explorers’ Extreme Trifecta, a Guinness World Record.
Mário Ferreira became the first person from Portugal to fly to space.
“It’s an honor for our team to provide our customers with a life-changing shift in perspective of our fragile planet,” said Phil Joyce, Senior Vice President, New Shepard. “It's been just over a year since New Shepard’s first human flight, and we have now flown 31 humans above the Kármán line. Thank you to these early pioneers in helping us realize our vision of millions of people living and working in space for the benefit of Earth.”
Good MorningSir ThomasAhh to be out in the Glenns early in Autumn… The mist filled valleys and over-ripe orchards are a song to God in all his magnificent wonder. Croaking frogs and, far off, the sound of distant crows perched among the falling Rowan leaves at Riveleux abbey.
There’s something about the way a mountain Ash clings and roots between the rocks. It’s as though stone and bark have agreed and their pact stands all the faster as the wild winter winds sweep over the ruins’ broken walls. I love this place. And it I! Such a long time spent walking here and there. Visiting in prayer, in thanksgiving, in reflection.
To the stream I think, and a meeting with the miller. I’m eager to hear more about his concerns - he’s not a man given lightly to worry or fear… His welcome’s always very welcome, amidst the pots and pans and his wife’s fine breads. It’ll be jams and tea, and what’s what by the fire. A fine friend’s always a comfort...
The Prophecy of VioletteFSwami# The Prophecy of Violette
As the oracle throws broken bones into the air, the witches' eyes turn white as they roll back in their skulls.
The coven of the Trinoctua sit together in their damp dungeon, fearful of their increasingly faltering word and their diminishing integrity - they seek clarity of their future through ritual. The oracle sits in the middle, entranced, arms locked into dance, engraving ripples and swirls through the air, syphoning smoke and ember towards the witches’ parted lips, and into their being.
The broken bones hit the ground. The witches gasp sharply in unison. Their heads rip back as their awareness gets torn from time itself. Memories of their future flood their minds…
<br>
*Morgana feels her fingers firmly entangled in the matters of rulers.* A level of influence stretching far and wide over the realms. A level of influence dwarfing the meagre influence they had over the sorry King and Queen of Lunnon and their pathetic Kingdom. No longer do they need to contort the words of the King’s ancestors to get their way, no longer do they need to feed the Queen half-truths about her destiny. No, she feels a level of power that comes with riches and renown… And she revels in it.
*Tsillah remembers their dominion over a truly monstrous army.* Necrotic creatures of many limbs, and many heads, twisted and contorted. An army that grew bigger after every battle, for those that opposed it, joined it. An army both feared and sought after by Kings and Queens, and Lords and Ladies, for it was said to guarantee glory… if one had the coin for it.
*Grelda remembers standing atop a dark tower.* Bitter wind clawing through her hair as she gazes over the violet mist sauntering the cobbled streets of Lunnon, a town destined to be theirs in good time. She remembers the feeling of security, the feeling that their plan is coming to fruition. For mere moments ago, the Queen gave birth to a Princess, who in the same moment, was replaced with one of their own.
*Ravenna remembers her daughter.* A young witch wearing a crown adorned with dragon horns, boots fit for a Queen, and a wand of great power. A young witch with incredible demonic talent. She remembers holding back the feeling of both excitement and fear as she watches her daughter twist her wand and contort her false parents’ corpses together in an explosion of vitriol.
*Agatha remembers being approached by a merchant.* A merchant peddling a mysterious bag. One of the bags rumoured to hold magic and spirit. A bag of seven. A bag including a crown adorned with dragon horns, boots fit for a Queen, and a wand of great power—
<br>
The oracle’s arms snap back beside her body and her eyes flash from white to black. The smoke is dragged out of the witches’ beings and straight into the oracles with a force so violent that, for a moment, the structure of their bones become visible beneath their skin. The witches all gasp for air in unison as their eyes roll back forwards and they come to.
They sit and weep bloodened tears as they take in what they saw… and what they want. They look to the oracle—
‘The bag,’ the oracle wheezes as she exhales their memories, ‘…The bag is imperative to our power and influence.’
___
The Prophecy of VioletteFSwami# The Prophecy of Violette
As the oracle throws broken bones into the air, the witches' eyes turn white as they roll back in their skulls.
The coven of the Trinoctua sit together in their damp dungeon, fearful of their increasingly faltering word and their diminishing integrity. They seek clarity of their future.
The oracle sits in the middle, entranced, arms locked into dance, engraving ripples and swirls through the air, syphoning smoke and ember towards the witches’ parted lips, and into their being.
The broken bones hit the ground. The witches gasp sharply in unison. Their heads rip back as their awareness gets torn from time itself. Memories of their future flood their minds…
<br>
*Morgana feels her fingers firmly entangled in the matters of rulers.* A level of influence stretching far and wide over the realms. A level of influence dwarfing the meagre influence they had over the sorry King and Queen of Lunnon and their pathetic Kingdom. No longer do they need to contort the words of the King’s ancestors to get their way, no longer do they need to feed the Queen half-truths about her destiny. No, she feels a level of power that comes with riches and renown… And she revels in it.
*Tsillah remembers their dominion over a truly monstrous army.* Necrotic creatures of many limbs, and many heads, twisted and contorted. An army that grew bigger after every battle, for those that opposed it, joined it. An army both feared and sought after by Kings and Queens, and Lords and Ladies, for it was said to guarantee glory… if one had the coin for it.
*Grelda remembers standing atop a dark tower.* Bitter wind clawing through her hair as she gazes over the violet mist sauntering the cobbled streets of Lunnon, a town destined to be theirs in good time. She remembers the feeling of security, the feeling that their plan is coming to fruition. For mere moments ago, the Queen gave birth to a Princess, who in the same moment, was replaced with one of their own.
*Ravenna remembers her daughter.* A young witch wearing a crown adorned with dragon horns, boots fit for a Queen, and a wand of great power. A young witch with incredible demonic talent. She remembers holding back the feeling of both excitement and fear as she watches her daughter twist her wand and contort her false parents’ corpses together in an explosion of vitriol.
*Agatha remembers being approached by a merchant.* A merchant peddling a mysterious bag. One of the bags rumoured to hold magic and spirit. A bag of seven. A bag including a crown adorned with dragon horns, boots fit for a Queen, and a wand of great power—
<br>
The oracle’s arms snap back beside her body and her eyes flash from white to black. The smoke is dragged out of the witches’ beings and straight into the oracles with a force so violent that, for a moment, the structure of their bones become visible beneath their skin. The witches all gasp for air in unison as their eyes roll back forwards and they come to.
They sit and weep bloodened tears as they take in what they saw… and what they want. They look to the oracle—
‘The bag,’ the oracle wheezes as she exhales their memories, ‘…The bag is imperative to our power and influence.’
___
The Crystal Mirror: Chapter IIID J McGrath# The Crystal Mirror
## Chapter III
*When the First sent me,*
*I brought my heart to this place*
*Swearing to protect*
*and tend to this sacred garden*
*But now,*
*this damned silence persists*
*and there are no more songs here*
*My children…*
*By the will of some wicked fate*
*they are gone*
*They are all gone*
*- Koam, Wordtree Dreamscroll*
----------
Possessing the vessel was as cold and unsettling as one might expect of a void-dwelling inhabitant.
Tsami guided the vessel’s porcelain figure forward with her thoughts, all the while observing the boundary of separation between this body and her own left behind begin to blur. Lost to the growing numbness from each cumulative moment spent in a frozen realm.
*What is your name?* Tsami thought, provoking the vessel to answer.
The vessel drew in a sharp-chilled, airy breath. “Call me that which you are,” he said. “For it is by your being that I am so.”
*I can’t call you Tsami though. That’s awfully confusing.*
“Then name me from that space from which I was shaped…”
Tsami’s thoughts went to Koam. *Poor Koam.* She recalled what the Keeper had said to her. About the parts of a person that move beneath the surface of the self. Those parts she had needed to confront; to bind the shadow, to pass through the Crystal Mirror, to arrive here now, in this place where they could seemingly be expressed in their infinitude.
*Sapath*, thought Tsami.
“While I am of her domain…” replied the vessel, “I am not the moon.”
*Right, well…*
Tsami discarded her offer and searched for another. Thoughts of her brother, Moth, came to mind, of that day he had seen the vessel in the forest cave, and that evening when they had discussed the matter in private.
*He said the vessel looked just like father…*
“Anim,” said the vessel for her.
*Yes*, thought Tsami. *That was his name.*
“The ancestor…” said the vessel, accepting his name and in doing so changing, becoming more personable, more expressive in his face. Dark hair like Tsami’s sprouted from his head. The reflected, coiled markings around his dead arms faded, and the colour of his flesh warmed across his body, taking on the subtle likeness of Tsami’s primitive memory. “How fitting.”
A vertical corridor of ethereal white light pulsed softly in the distance. Tsami led Anim forward through the black, eyes fixated on its alluring image, until the light revealed the specific shape and details of the structure from which it emanated, and she forgot how long exactly it was that she had wandered.
It was just as Tsami had seen in her vision. *Ageless.*
An octahedron of shifting stone floating in the abyss. In constant motion fortifying the ascending and descending terraces of its twin ziggurat exterior with huge, tomb-worthy blocks, inscribed with hieroglyphs of glowing spelltongue. Its open, central doorway stretched far above and below the imperceptible floor Anim stood upon, where, beneath his feet, newly inscribed stone blocks exited from the temple’s interior, guided by an invisible hand towards their respective destinations.
Anim looked to the pyramidal height of the temple and Tsami saw that now she had brought him closer to its source she could follow the trail of light out from its centre, making out the distant, euhedral border-panes of crystal above converging into a high ceiling. They held up the realm’s own sky, alive with that violet hue she had so intimately come to know.
It occurred to Tsami that she had come into this place from out along one of these borders, and as she noticed the swarms of dark clouds circling around the temple like restless spirits, she was reminded once more of what Koam had told her.
“There are many doorways beneath the Ethereal Isle,” said Anim.
*These… are shadows?*
Anim made a sound indicating Tsami was correct. "They wait to be confronted. Sometimes they are. Sometimes they are not. And sometimes, if they are to be confronted, they may return again with an offering.”
*For who?*
Anim looked out toward the edge of the crystal realm on the horizon and Tsami watched as several of the shadows were summoned out, disappearing beyond doorways just like that which she had passed through, painted all across each of the colossal, triangular panes framing the space. Other shadows flew back from the doorways carrying orbs of faint, icy flame in their barely sculpted hands, passing overhead through the grand doorway of light, into the heart of the temple.
“You wish to follow them?” said Anim.
*I do*, thought Tsami.
She led Anim into the doorway’s central corridor. Looking between the walls on either side, Tsami observed the waterfall pulses of trickling light down the countless, neatly etched rows of cryptic spelltongue.
The corridor ended, expanding out into the main temple chamber; a rising steeple of zig-zagging stone and a cascading labyrinth of ever-darkening steps beneath the invisible floor. Tsami guided Anim forward towards the chamber centrepiece, to stand before the source.
A gigantic, celestial orb of pure energy, suspended in the air like a small sun, yet radiating the cold dullness of a long forgotten moon. In a constant dance rotating on its axis in a predictable rhythm, though bearing no discernible pattern to its movements. Each time its sphere rolled over, locking the eye of its maelstrom upon a new direction, a beaconous, ghostly figure of energy emerged, leaping forth into action, along a preordained path. When each being came to the end of their respective roads, they conjured, seemingly out of the collective imagination of the space, blank blocks of stone with their white hands.
The flame-bearing shadows who had entered the temple chamber floated over to meet their contrasting counterparts, handing their offerings over to the ethereal ones before fading into the empty backdrop. The scions of the sphere, left holding the icy flames, began to draw out from them the necessary substance to inscribe upon the stone blocks, like ink to parchment or ochre to an Initiate’s Scroll, before sending them floating away at their command to join the exit procession below.
Though Tsami couldn’t tell *what* was written, or *why* it was, she sensed each spelltongue symbol was *worthy.*
And then Tsami heard it.
In the backdrop of such a dazzling scene, the nameless song of her childhood.
The one her brother had sung for her when they had first been brought to the monastery.
The one he had learnt from their father, *the real Anim*, that he had learnt from his father before him, whoever their grandfather had been.
Beneath the celestial sphere, three figures, three Aeons cloaked in twilight like the birds Tsami had transformed back within the Garden of Songs, knelt upon a triad of facing altars, arms chained to the floor and an object laid in front of each of them. Their faces were locked, staring up into the sphere-light. Their voices engaged in a cyclic ritual of harmonious song…
*The one with the mace threaded the bass line, a descending, cosmic unravelling.*
*The one with the short sword wove the melody, born of ancient memory.*
*The one with the chronicle finished the tapestry, guiding each refrain toward ascension.*
It was the third, the Aeon with the chronicle like Koam’s Sacred Grimoire that caught Tsami’s attention, and as soon as she honed in upon their presence, she felt compelled to lead Anim forward.
"Here is your moon,” said Anim, with a touch of jest reminiscent of Moth.
Though the Aeon was chained, their captivating voice made Tsami their prisoner because her curiosity made her impressionable.
*Perhaps they can help me?*
She came up the steps of its altar and stood at the Aeon’s side.
The triad stopped singing.
In all the world there had never been such silence.
The Aeon turned their head to face Anim’s and their bright eyes of spiralling starlight saw straight through him, bearing witness to the secret presence of Tsami’s soul.
“Free me,” they said, in a chord emboldened by the voice of the other Aeons.
“I will not,” said Anim, speaking for that small part of Tsami wanting to resist.
The Aeon tilted their head like an owl. “I can help your friend,” they said, “your *Lightweaver.*”
*Can you?* Thought Tsami. *But how?*
The Aeon heard her questions.
“The Ghost Wand…” they said. “Reach for it.”
Tsami was reminded of her own body, of one thawing into two; of duality. That she sat, occupying this deep state of meditation within the bowels of the forest cave, housed in a protective cloak of her own shadow. That there was a wand in her hand. That she could extend her arm and her vessel’s too in unison. The Ghost Wand appeared in Anim’s hand, like a hazy mirage reaching beyond the physical plane for the first time.
She held the meldable quality of this space, of its potential in her mind and pointed the wand at the source of it all; the celestial sphere. Then she linked the strength of the sphere to the chains binding the Aeon and watched as they dissolved, parting into fine mist.
The Aeon brought their hands together and bowed. “Thank you,” they said, on their own this time.
They reached for Anim’s left hand, holding his palm outstretched. Then, with an icy glow illuminating their index fingertip, the Aeon began to etch a symbol, their touch both freezing upon Anim’s palm and faraway burning upon Tsami’s.
*Two triangles, their points meeting, reflecting each other like an hourglass laid on its side. With a vertical line straight down through the middle.*
The celestial sphere stopped turning on its axis.
It began to rumble.
The cold permeating the temple chamber turned to intensifying heat as the sphere shook, spitting out violent, energetic bursts of red flame. The ethereal workers stopped inscribing, fleeing back into their source, causing the sphere’s heat to swelter further.
Then, like breaking free from an egg of molten iron, a majestic bird of feathered fire screeched as it drew its plumed head out from the inferno. Clawing itself out desperately, it rose high into the air above the sphere, flapping its huge, tasseled wings, lined with precious gemstones, glistening with a rainbow sheen.
Tsami turned Anim to face the Aeon.
They were gone.
*Run.*
The bird shrieked as Tsami led Anim sprinting out of the temple chamber, back through the entrance hall, past the spelltongue walls. As she tossed Anim out the temple doorway back into the void the great bird swooped past, twirling up into the air above before letting out a cry so shrill, so deafening, it reverberated off each of the far border-panes of crystal.
Anim collapsed to his knees, overwhelmed by the echo’s power. Tsami forced him to stand again and as he stumbled forward from side to side she realised the sound had distorted her connection to him.
“There is no need to run,” said Anim.
*What are you talking about?*
Anim laughed with a lightness unfitting for the situation at hand. “You cannot kill an Unseen.”
Tsami picked Anim up, forcing him forward with what little focus she had left.
*That’s great, but I bet I’ll still feel it.*
The bird cried out again, and Anim keeled over once more as it dove down from the height of the sky.
Tsami looked ahead towards the doorway, towards home.
*We’re so close…*
“Let go, Tsami.”
Like an arrow of lightning the bird passed through Anim, leaving a blazing trail in its wake. Columns of flame burst up, engulfing his figure, and as Tsami released her attachment to the memory she had conjured, the mask of Anim’s persona melted away. What was left of the empty vessel’s figure collapsed into a burning pile of embers.
But Tsami couldn’t detach completely, and a part of the agony of perishing travelled with her severed connection as it flew back across the Crystal Mirror, smashing her physical body over like a fireball, shattering her protective spell and boiling her blood toward fever.
------
Remnant ashes of broken shadow floated about the forest cave ceiling. The Ghost Wand slipped from Tsami’s fingers. The weight of insurmountable hunger descended upon her like a millstone, and when she rolled over to observe the Aeon’s symbol etched on her left palm, she noticed the boney frailty of her arms, the healed scars of the burns coiled around them, the several silver streaks of excessively long hair laid at her side.
A young man with a familiar, pale face rose from his makeshift, spell-lit desk, brushing back his own shoulder of fine hair.
As he gathered the skirt of his opulent robes and rushed to Tsami, kneeling over her, she observed Koam’s Sacred Grimoire belted at his side. In the background behind him, two plainly made beds and an ornate, open chest were set against the cave wall, with a leviathan’s jaw crown sat atop an assortment of treasures.
“Ensun,” he yelled. “She’s returned. Come quickly, Ensun.”
The young man jumped to his feet, unclasped the grimoire, flung it open, and with prodigal speed skipped around Tsami, scrawling forth a resplendent stream of light to form a circle. At its conclusion he brought his hand and breath high up above her at its centre and exhaled softly, adding dimensionality, drawing the walls of the circle up to meet his hand, forming a cone of rejuvenation.
A sun-weathered, sagely old man with a bald head and morning mist, cobweb beard entered the lightfield, joining the young man at his side. He took the time to lower himself with great care to the dusty cave floor before revealing his elegant hand from the loose sleeve of his worn, earthly robe, placing it over Tsami’s heart.
“Sleep now, child” he said. “Your Moth keeps close.”
The last thing Tsami remembered was the gentle wind in the old man’s words, in his exhale, and the mischievous twinkling of the most remarkable, bronze ring on his finger.
Violette, UncontrolledDeepti Prakash# Violette, Uncontrolled
## UNSTABLE
The Dragon’s Crown was gone. She knocked over a clutch of emeralds, scrabbling behind the shelf for the telltale prick of the Crown. Instead, her fingers came back dusty and glinting. Frustration poured out of her before she could rein it in. A sudden cacophony squeaks and screeches and then– lifeless bodies of an owl, crow and raven thumped to the vault floor. Elsewhere she could sense rat bodies floating among the piles of gold and spiders hanging dead off of half-finished cobwebs.
*Breathe. Just breathe through it.*
She took in lungfuls of dusty, slightly metallic air and contemplated the corpses. Her magic felt volatile, malevolent. It was hot, frenzied and rubbed her insides raw. This had never happened before. Again, the helplessness and rage bubbled up in her and as before it flung out tearing through the corpses. Feathers fluttered through the air as heads rolled one way and bodies dismembered itself. Blood and guts spewed across the floor and splashed onto her face. She grit her teeth, adamant to gain control without the wand or the crown. This was a process she *enjoyed*. This was her *craft* for fuck’s sake.
Her knuckles grew white as she clenched them and sweat pooled at the back of her neck. Her magic extended further than the vault and an unfortunate maid shriveled into husk. She grappled with herself as the kill released something sweet, potent, heady within her. *Maybe it’d be best to let go…lovely skeletons to play with*. As her thoughts wavered her magic became compliant with almost cat-like coyness. It flowed through her gently, almost lifting her off her feet.
The Wand in its leather holster around her arm grew hot and visions of a smoking, bloodied wasteland enveloped her mind. She almost whimpered at its brutal beauty. The flesh stuck to battlements and wood, blood splattered across walls and grass like large landscape paintings. She *wanted* that. *Wanted* to be the catalyst of that. The reason for that.
The edges of her vision turned black, she could feel the imminent explosion of her power. But just as she let go of all control the door to the vault banged open and there was a sudden pressure in her head.
*Fuck. The Elders.*
And she collapsed, covered in blood, reeking of vitriol.
___
## UNREST
Her head throbbed like it had been trampled on by those ill-fated elephant chimaeras. Her throat was dry and there was a faint taste of blood and smoke in her mouth.
‘You need not pretend Violette, I know you are awake,’ said a familiar voice.
*That’s not my name. My name was lost to this façade you made me put up.*
She groaned and opened her eyes. Sunlight filtered through grey and black gauzy currents dappled on the floor of her chambers. She was tucked into a nest of plump pillows and thick wool blankets in the middle of her bed.
Elder Morgana stood facing the direction of the town, her back tensed.
*This is why she liked her dungeon. Nobody dared enter. They thought Death lingered. Idiots.*
‘You failed to mention the Crown was no longer in your possession at the last Coven gathering,’ said Elder Morgana, still not deigning to look at her.
She rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t know it wasn’t in my possession at the last Coven meeting.’
‘Unacceptable. Violette, you know the power you can wield. The credibility and respect it gives us, as Trinoctua, a Coven that lies with Death itself. You cannot be flippant about the relics of your destiny,’ said Elder Morgana, finally turning around.
Violette saw black again. Rage was a live thing within her.
‘You are right. I know the power I wield. You don’t talk to me that way. I am your Queen,’ she said, though her voice shook. She had never stood up to one of them, not once in all the time she’d known them.
Elder Morgana laughed. A high, cold sound and her expression shifted to one of mirth. The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.
‘Child. You may have untold power but you are young. Volatile, with little to no control as evidenced by the events at the vault. I, on the other hand, have the strength of a Coven and the wisdom of time long forgotten.’
The pressure in her head was back, the room became frigid and the light turned a cold, murky blue.
She gasped as Elder Morgana stalked forward and grabbed her hand with icy fingers. The Ring was forced down her finger and her mind was enveloped in sudden calm. Her magic, however, felt like it was being throttled.
She squirmed out of the grasp and tried to remove the ring. It wouldn’t budge. Her magic wailed but her mind willed her to scream quietly.
‘Wha…wha…,’ she started. Swallowed and tried again. ‘What is this?’
Elder Morgana sat beside her and stroked her cheek. Unwillingly, she turned towards the palm as the light went back to muted yellow and Elder Morgana murmured ‘It is a suppressor layered over the Ring’s existing power. It is temporary, only until we find out how to help you learn control or we find the Crown. Whichever comes first. Orwina here is the caster of the suppressor and will be here to monitor its effects on you.’
A figure she had not previously noticed, stepped out from the shadows near her wardrobe and curtsied. ‘Your grace.’
Her power reared and cut through her to no avail. She screamed, long and loud.
*You puny, insignificant creature be the watcher, warden of my power, my person? Never. I shall find a way out of this. I shall not tolerate disrespect like this. I am Vitriol personified. I shall bathe in the blood of the Coven if I have to. But I shall be no caged beast.*
___
## UNHINGED
It had been twelve days since her imprisonment. Oh, they didn’t call it that. They called it ‘care’ and ‘rest’. Her chimaeras were handed off to lesser witches to finish while she ‘recovered’.
But she knew what this truly was. Fear. They were scared of what her power could do. As they should be but they counted on her affections for them to keep her at bay while they found a way to control her. The signs were there.
Orwina came everyday without fail at dawn, dusk and the witching hour to take measure of her. True to her purpose, Orwina constantly maintained the suppressor without it causing any harm but she also performed a multitude of spells that Violette for the life of her couldn’t determine.
Something had to be done. The Ring could calm her but her magic grew restless and tired. It needed to be let out. It needed to cause harm, maim, torture, kill.
On the thirteenth day a thought struck her. She almost laughed out loud. How had she not realized this before?
When Orwina entered her bedchambers at the witching hour it was to find an unusually cheerful Violette.
‘Everything alright, your grace?’ asked Orwina, curtsying.
‘Sensational, Orwina,’ she replied, a smile stretching across her face.
If Orwina felt the back of her neck prick in warning, she didn’t show it. Instead, concentrated on finishing her work.
‘Orwina, did you know that a witch’s spells are tied to herself?’ asked Violette. And continued without waiting for a response, ‘ For example, if I wasn’t so careful myself, my chimaeras could be easily undone by something as silly as a little of my blood spilled. Imagine that! Any do-gooder could achieve that then, if they put their mind to it of course.’
Orwina, surprised at the chatting Queen, shook her head. ‘No your grace. It wouldn’t be that simple. For your creations to fail in that case, they would have to kill you or very nearly ki…’The blood drained out of Orwina’s face.
Violette just smiled prettily up at her. Unmoving.
Orwina tried to get up from her perch next to the Queen. She found she couldn’t move.
‘Just a little paralysis inducing poison I had lying around,’ said Violette conversationally.
‘You wouldn’t. You can’t. I control your magic,’ whispered Orwina as she tried to lift her hands to cast.
‘See? That is what you lack. Imagination,’ said Violette getting up. ‘Who told us the only way to kill is through Vitriol? Knives work just fine, Orwina.’
‘You can’t! It is forbidden! You mustn’t kill another witch from your Coven!’ said Orwina, tears flowing down her cheeks.
‘Now, now Orwina. You must know I don’t like the word forbidden. I cavort with Death itself. What are these rules of mere mortals to me?’ said Violette, a sharp knife caressed lovingly. ‘Did you know that every death adds to my power? True, I used only my magic till now but my Wand calls out to me, assuring me it works fine without using magic as well.’
Violette slowly brought the knife to Orwina’s throat. She could feel it tremble, the pulse fluctuating wildly. Her own pulsed in response. She was almost light-headed with excitement. She closed her eyes, readying.
‘You are a vile creature much like one of your creations, you know that?’ spat Orwina. ‘ You will never know true contentment in this life. Always searching for things, bigger and better. You will be lost in yourself. And if I must die, I am glad that my last words to you will be: I am the one that stole the Crown.’
Violette blinked open her eyes and examined her victim. So the Crown was indeed missing. She shrugged, it didn’t matter to her one way or the other. It was the Elders that insisted all the relics be together. All she wanted was her Grave Wand back.
Violette laughed. ‘True contentment? Do you hear yourself? Contentment was never in the stars for us. We are Demon-witches of Trinoctua. We sow sorrow and wreak havoc. That is our purpose and joy. That is all. About the Crown, I don’t care but my creations are art, you worthless worm!’
Violette slit Orwina’s throat in one. Warm blood surged down her hands and the giddy, gleeful feeling intensified. Simultaneously, she felt her magic burst out of her, free from its shackles.
Now, to make art.
___
## UNQUENCHABLE
Elder Morgana came as soon as she heard the commotion. Orwina hung fused to a dreadworm, eyes gouged, arms and legs grotesquely positioned.
Violette sat in front of the creation, drenched in blood. She was humming, an animation spell it would seem. Her magic thrummed, smelling vaguely of blood and smoke.
‘What is the meaning of this Violette?!,’ said Elder Morgana, straining to keep the tremor out of her voice. It would not do to give the child more power.
‘I thought that was rather obvious, Elder Morgana,’ said Violette. ‘But if you want to be dense about it, I’ll explain. In a few minutes, I will awaken this creation of mine. It is, however, not for sale. It is to be a guardian of mine and a warning to you and the coven. I am happy to do your bidding and work for the good of the coven but you have no power over me. And if someone, anyone dares question that, well…bloodlust, once awakened, is rather hard to quench.’
Elder Morgana looked at what she had helped in creating. It stood blinking serenely at her, covered in guts, blood and brain matter. She would scream monster…but who would she point to? Herself or Violette?
___
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Fool's Errand: Part 3Quetzelcoatlia# Fool’s Errand
## Part 3
Six fingers interlaced with five. Leif opened his mouth to speak, not quite knowing what he would say, when he was interrupted by a booming voice from outside the grotto.
“Human! Come, face me and meet your death”
The voice was so loud that it made the mirrored walls shiver. An eyeglass was shaken loose from its moorings and fell to the ground, smashing into pieces. Rojin gave a squawk of indignation as they rushed over to it, and became almost immediately absorbed by the task of picking up the shards. They crouched, their cloak of feathers spread out around them, and gingerly began sorting the shards into five little piles, according to a series of criteria that were apparent only to them.
Leif, still stunned at Rojin’s proposal, dithered for a long moment before he picked up his sword and peered cautiously outside the entrance.
Outside stood a monstrous toad demon, as tall as a hawthorn bush. He was dressed in the traditional winter garb of his kind: a thick, ornately embroidered robe of living moss fastened up to his yellow throat with carved acorn buttons, and a cap of mouse fur. His enormous eyes, as pearlescent as two liquid opals, held sideways pupils within their depths which widened when they landed on Leif.
“Aha!” the toad boomed. “So the rumours are true! How the willows touch the waters, eh? Ha! I have come to slay you, little Prince!”
Leith readied his sword, and immediately dropped it.
“Whoops!” he said. Then, “What rumours?”
“An unprotected little tadpole, sent into our depths! How the bubbles rise!” The toad flicked his moss robe aside, revealing his weapon of choice hanging at his hip – a large and ornate flyswat. He brandished it menacingly. “You’re a right little royal gift, eh? A little offering from the Order of Perspiration!”
“Protection!” said Leif, rather hotly. He picked the sword back up and waved it about thoroughly. “My family serves the Order of *Protection.”*
“That’s what I said. All those human orders, they’re all the same thing really, ain’t they?”
“NO,” said Leif, indignantly. He gave the sword another good wave about. “And I’m not a gift! I’ve been sent out on a mission, as it happens. An important mission! Not that it’s any business of yours!”
“That’s not what *I’ve* heard. How it all ripples out, eh? *I’ve* heard they want you dead!”
“What?!”
“Dead!” The toad raised the huge flyswat above his head. “Say your prayers, little prince! The pond shall dry around you!”
Leif, seeing that a conflict was inevitable, squared himself. He pointed the sword directly at the belly of the toad demon, and held himself quite still. The blade was heavy and dull, but the clouds had parted, and a thin beam of winterlight seemed to strike its edge just so and set it gleaming. A feeling of great dread and heaviness seemed to settle on his heart, but with it came an intense stillness – and below the stillness, the knowledge of something unseen, tumultuous, seething below the surface somewhere. But rising, rising -
At this moment, Rojin stuck their head outside of the grotto.
“What’s all the racket?”
“Rojin!” said the toad. He lowered the flyswat.
“Oh! It’s Nigel! Hello Nige! How are the kids?”
The toad demon touched a great webbed finger to the brim of his fur cap. “How do! Didn’t think you was home! Look what I’ve caught!” He gestured affably to Leif. “A little snack! Want some?”
“Oho! Watch yourself! That little snack is my fiancé!” Rojin said. They hopped out and came to stand next to Leif, their chest puffed out with pride.
Leif lowered his sword at last, his heart pounding. The strange, still feeling had broken with the moment and disappeared.
“This little snack’s not for eating!” he said, pointing to his chest. He wished that something a little more impressive had come out, but there it was. He continued, hurriedly: “And it’s got no quarrel with you! *I’ve* got no quarrel with you.”
“Goodness!” said Nigel, peering down at him. “Well! How the lily drifts! Fiancé, is it? You and Rojin - undecideds?”
“That’s right,” said Leif.
“It’s true!” crowed Rojin.
“A human fiancé! Well, I never! And a royal to boot! Well, Rojin, it’s about time! Congratulations! Ha! Ha! Ha! And here’s me about to make a little elevenses of him! Ent it lucky I didn’t swallow him up, eh?!”
Both Rojin and Nigel laughed heartily at this thought – even Leif joined in, although a little uneasily.
“Apologies, Prince Leif,” said Nigel. “I had no inkling you was associated with Rojin. As the rushes bow to the wind, I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Leif. He was rather struck that Nigel appeared to know his rank, and even his name. “Have you heard of me, then?”
“Oh yes, yes,” said Nigel, with a careless wave. “Well now, you absolutely must come and meet the missus! And the little hoplings have been asking after you Rojin, won’t you both come for a spot of supper?”
“The thing is,” said Leif, a little timidly, “I’m on a mission. I haven’t found a single Divine Relic yet, and I really should *try* and find just one, just to get started.”
“Leif’s looking for *calamities*,” said Rojin, cheerfully.
“Is that right? Ent you humans funny! Well, why not ask my ma about them? She’s lived round these parts for over a thousand years – if anyone knows about calamities, it’ll be her! Come, she’d love to meet a human! And Rojin’s undecided, to boot! You must come! Say you will!“
And so, they went. It was not a long walk. Nigel lived beside a pond nearby, not more than a couple of miles, so he led the way and was very talkative, entering into a lengthy monologue about his family history, which could be traced back over fifty thousand years. Leif and Rojin walked behind a little ways, listening. They were a little shy with one another and did not speak very much at first.
“It’s good you didn’t kill Nigel,” Rojin offered, at length.
“Yes!” said Leif. “Yes, that would have been awful, wouldn’t it?”
They walked along a little more in silence.
“I’ve never been betrothed,” Leif blurted out, unexpectedly. “My family didn’t think it was proper, what with my constitution. I have the falling sickness, you know – I’m much better with it now, but – well. I thought you should know. I was unwell for ever such a long time, as a child. They sent me away to the seaside for many years, for the good air – so I really haven’t seen much of the world. I’m a little stronger now, and better, and I haven’t had a fit for many months. But I did think you should know. In human circles, at least, I have not been judged to be suitable husband material. And I would hate to mislead you. And I would understand completely if you withdrew your proposal.”
Rojin stopped dead. “What!” they said, aghast.
“I know,” said Leif, miserably. “I can’t apologise enough, I would have said so at once, but we were interrupted.”
“This is quite wrong,” said Rojin, seriously. They put a hand on Leif’s shoulder, and looked hard into his eyes. “You are very fine husband material. Understand? Very fine. Who has told you this thing?”
“I have the falling sickness,” Leif repeated. “I have fits, sometimes, Rojin. I’m afraid I’m not well.”
Rojin stared at him in disbelief. “Not well? Many of our finest shamans and witches have this gift! What’s it to do with being a husband?”
Leif stood mutely for a moment, twisting his hands together. “I’m not very strong,” he offered, at last.
“That’s alright!” said Rojin, brightly. “I’m very strong! Strong enough for both. Anything else?”
“I might be unwell, sometimes,” said Leif, very quietly.
“So might I be!” said Rojin. He patted Leif’s shoulder. “Everyone gets unwell sometimes! I’ll look after you, and bring you little mirrors if you like. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” said Leif, thickly.
“What! Are you sad? Oh dear! Are you crying?” In their alarm, Rojin flew into their small magpie form, up to Leif’s shoulder, to his crown, to his other shoulder, fluttering their wings in agitation.
Nigel came back along the path to see what was happening.
“Deary dear, what’s all this then?”, he said, when he saw Leif’s face. He patted his pockets and pulled out a large green handkerchief. “There, there, little human,” he said. “Are you sad about…” he paused, consulted his knowledge of humans, and hazarded a guess. “Weapons?”
Leif could not immediately answer.
“You’ll have lots of weapons soon, I expect,” said Nigel, soothingly. “Lovely big swords and things. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
“I don’t know why he’s sad! He was only telling me he has seizures,” said Rojin, greatly perplexed.
“Well! A real all-rounder, isn’t he?“ said Nigel. He looked at Leif with renewed respect. “You’ve done well for yourself there, Rojin. Now, what are you crying for, eh? What’s the matter?”
“I’m happy. I’m just happy.” Leif rubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
Rojin flew into their human form in order to peer closely and anxiously into his face.
“Yes! He’s just happy!” Rojin announced, with great relief.
“Goodness me, you young things! All sunshine and storms, eh! Come on, it’s not far now – Ma’ll have tea on.”
Leif and Rojin walked hand in hand the rest of the way.
Soon they reached the toad demon’s dwelling, which was set below ground in a hollowed out burrow beneath an enormous boulder. The boulder was set at the edge of a fishpond, and stood many spans high. It was covered from the bottom almost to the top with the painted outlines of many hundreds of webbed hands in varying shades of green and yellow paint.
“My ancestors,” said Nigel proudly, seeing Leif’s interest. He stooped and pointed at some of the faded handprints at the bottom of the boulder. They were much larger, and the webbed fingers had the suggestions of talons at the ends.
“Periphemus the net-weaver,” he said, modestly. “Yes, THE Periphemus! We were much larger back then. There at the top – that’s my oathmark, and next to it there’s my wife’s.” His own handprint was smaller than the huge prints of his ancient ancestors, but just as distinct. Next to it, in yellow paint, was the more slender print of his wife – an unwebbed marking with rounder toes.
“My girls are too young yet, but come next season their oathmarks will join the rest!”
As if on cue, a little crowd of young toad demons came clamouring and hopping out from under the boulder, having heard their father’s voice. There were four in all, and although they were still children each one was as tall as Leif. Being children still, they all took the form of natural toads, lacking the inclination to adopt the more tiresome, upright demonic form of their father, and lacking the sophistication to adopt a human form, which was a very complex and unnecessary business. They preferred to clamber and jump around as little toadlets, and so they did, each little demon still retaining their tadpole tail as a mark of their young age.
“Papa!”
“Papa’s back! Papa come and look!”
“Oh look, it’s Rojin! Rojin’s come to visit – Mama! Mama, Rojin’s here and they’ve bought a- a-!”
A sudden hush fell across the pile of toadlets as they all stared at Leif.
“A human!” Rojin announced.
One of the toadlings gave a little shriek, turned tail and scrambled back beneath the boulder, wailing at the top of her voice. A second followed quickly, after giving Leif a long and doubtful stare. The third hopped forward excitedly –
“A human! Like in the stories? Is it a real one? Does it have lots of weapons with it? Is it true it can’t transform? It’s much smaller than I thought. Humans only have FOUR fingers papa, plus a toe! Humans can ride on the backs of horses! Papa, did you know that? Horses aren’t scared of humans – that’s right, isn’t it?” She addressed Leif directly.
“Yes, that’s quite right,” said Leif, mildly. “They’re not afraid of us, once we tame them. We can ride camels, too. And donkeys. Even elephants.”
The toadling gaped. The fourth toadling, who had been mute up to this point, came forward and gently but quite determinedly took Leif’s elbow into her mouth with the intention of eating it. She gummed at it a few times before Leif politely extracted it.
*“He’s not for eating!”* exclaimed Rojin. “Now, can you guess why I’ve bought him to visit?”
The toadling considered. “Is Nana to cook him first?”
“Children, children,” Nigel said sternly. “The human is Rojin’s guest – I want you on your best behaviour. His name is Prince Leif, and he’s *not for eating.* I do apologise, Prince,” he said as an aside, “we’re not used to seeing humans around these parts. You’ll forgive us, I’m sure. These are my girls – that’s Mully, the peckish one’s Buss. That was little Nullrush and her sister Shrulia what just ran inside.”
“That’s quite alright,” said Leif, and put his hand out. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle,” he said to Mully, using the high tongue.
Mully stared at the hand, then burst into a peal of laughter. Buss seemed to be debating inwardly whether it would be appropriate to attempt to eat the hand – she opened her mouth tentatively and cast a querying look at her father, who shook his head.
“Now girls, that’s a proper human greeting!” said Rojin, delighted. “Come, shake his hand! That’s what the humans do to say hello! Take his hand in yours – no, not with your foot, your hand, your hand – that’s right!”
Leif gravely shook the large, webbed hand of Mully, and then of Buss, to their extreme interest and gratification.
A slender newt demon put her head out from under the boulder at this point - a tearful-looking Nullrush and a wary Shrulia could be seen peering out from behind her.
“I’ve bought company, dear!” said Nigel, and went to kiss her. She was a very beautiful newt, with feathery gills around her face and an orange-spotted throat the colour of a satsuma. She was dressed from head to tail in dark grey mole-velvet, and wore a long, narrow cloak of woven dried rushes along her dorsal crest. Nigel must have murmured a few words of explanation to her, because she came over to Rojin at once with sparkling eyes and embraced them, and Leif heard her say a few quick, soft words.
She then came and greeted Leif with wonderful composure, although she had never met a human before and must have been exceedingly curious about him.
“Welcome, human!” she said. “I am Lucellia, of the Deep-Waters-of-Golden-Rushes-Below-The-Open-Stone-Hand-Where-The-Duwla-Lily-Flowers.”
“The human placename is *Hemmemskän*,” Rojin supplied. “North from here. Quite far North.”
“I know it well!” said Leif. In truth, it hadn’t occurred to him that any realm on the island would be called anything other than the human-given name that he was familiar with. He glanced rather guiltily at the oathmarks on the boulder, stretching back fifty thousand years through generations of demons. His own recorded family history stretched back just three hundred years.
“Any friend of Rojin’s is very welcome here!,” said Lucellia of the Deep-Waters-of-Golden-Rushes-Below-The-Open-Stone-Hand-Where-The-Duwla-Lily-Flowers. “Come in out of the cold, and join us for supper.”
The space beneath the boulder was not what Leif had expected. He had judged from the outside that the toad family had dug out a bare earthen burrow beneath the rock, but as they neared the entranceway he perceived that this burrow had actually been lined with an enormous drawstring bag, the gaping open mouth of which they stepped into by way of a front door.
Then something ineffable and slight seemed to shift as they crossed the threshold; it was as if they passed through the surface of a bubble, and Leif saw to his amazement that the interior of the bag was impossibly huge, and contained a great, old wooden-style manor house and grounds within it. The path to the front door, and all the gardens either side of it, were submerged comfortably under a foot or so of water, and bog strawberries and pond lettuce were being cultivated in the submerged beds. Leif waded gamely onwards, his boots gradually filling with water. Looking upwards Leif perceived a sky that appeared to stretch up endlessly, and a sun that shone down but seemed somewhat veiled, as if it were being viewed through a piece of silk.
The manor itself wallowed indulgently among the lilypads; a low, massive, ornate building made of carved teak. As Leif waded inside, he saw that the entirety of the manor had been carefully flooded inside also – this was precisely how the demons liked it. The family splashed inside in a jolly mood, chattering away. There was no natural light, but the manor was illuminated throughout by a strange and beautiful green light, emitted from hundreds of domesticated glow-beetles.
In the sitting room there sat an ancient old grandmother toad demon with a tadpole on a sling at her back, sitting on her haunches in the water and stirring a bubbling pot that sat upon an elevated hearth in the centre of the room.
She raised her eyes when the party entered, and nodded contemplatively.
“Rojin has bought a human with them today!" She croaked to herself, or perhaps to the sleeping tadpole on her back. "My, my, my. How the lilies drift!"
"Good afternoon, toad-grandmother!" said Rojin, and bowed very low, not straightening again until she croaked "that's all very good. Come and sit." She patted the surface of the water beside her, sending out ripples.
Rojin did not come and sit, but instead touched a hand very lightly to Leif's back, indicating discreetly that he too should bow. Leif, perceiving that he was in the presence of a very ancient and very respectable demon, knelt in the water at once and kissed her webbed hand, an action which was met with much interest from the toad family, and which was received with grave dignity by the grandmother.
"What's he doing that for?" Buss asked, staring.
"The humans have many greetings," croaked the old toad. "As many as a day of mayflies. They have greetings for children, and for friends, and for elders. And for mates. Is not that right, Rojin? Heh, heh, heh. I speak the truth, do I not, Prince Leif Berranek?"
"You do, madam," said Leif. He rose, dripping - a little startled at being so directly addressed. "May I ask - how is it that your family knows my name?"
"Hm, hm!" said the old toad. "Your coming to this realm has been foretold."
The fire crackled and spat. The smoke rose to the high ceiling in a thin, grey column, and hung there, stirring softly about upon itself.
"Foretold in a legend?" Rojin asked, in hushed tones. "Foretold in a dream?"
"In a pamphlet," said Nigel, coming to sit down with a splash. "They’re in all the pubs."
"What?” said Leif, amazed. “What pamphlet?"
Lucellia remembered suddenly. "We got one in the post the other day, didn't we love? Nullrush, be a minnow and see if it's still in the recycling bin, won’t you?"
Leif and Rojin and the children sat themselves down around the cooking-pot while they waited – Leif lowering himself rather gingerly and wincingly, for the cold water immediately soaked through his trousers and submerged him up to his waist, while Rojin threw himself cheerfully down with a splash.
Nullrush soon returned, triumphantly holding a slightly damp pamphlet aloft.
Leif took it and read it.
"FREE MEAL!" The pamphlet read on the front. Inside, there was an engraving of Leif, captioned *"the delicious Prince Leif Berranek"*
It outlined, briefly, that a young prince would be entering the region around the first day of Icewhile, dressed in low quality armour and armed with a blunt sword. Readers were assured that this was a limited time offer and were encouraged to *"snap him up while he's good and fresh!"*
Leif read this with the greatest confusion and perplexity. Rojin, looking over his shoulder, became immediately very excited and snatched it up.
"What’s THIS!" they exclaimed. “There’s a picture of you, Leif! There’s a picture of him! Have you seen the picture of him, Nigel?"
Nigel assured him that he had.
"What a likeness! Did you see, Lucellia? Here, just take a look!"
The pamphlet was passed around and the likeness was greatly admired.
"I shall cut that picture out!" Rojin announced, smilingly. “I will carry it with me! Can I borrow some scissors, Nigel?”
Nigel went off to get some scissors.
"But the content," protested Leif. "Where did this come from?"
“There’s no author marked down.” Lucellia turned it over, thoughtfully. “But it came in the post by seabird, and ours is all delivered by bats, usually.”
Leif turned pale. Several different sorts of birds were used across the island to send letters between human-kind, depending on the length of the journey required, but seabirds were the exclusive couriers of the Order of Protection.
“You’re quite sure?” he said, faintly. “You’re sure it was a *sea*bird?”
“I’m certain.”
“I… I see.”
Lucellia saw that he was dismayed and shocked, and wished to comfort him. She went directly to a dresser in the corner, rummaged around and returned at length with a large blade. “I know you humans like weapons,” she said, tenderly. “Would you like to hold this for a bit?”
“Um. Thank you,” said Leif, had been raised with very good manners.
The knife was demon-made, and to Leif was as large as a broadsword. As Leif hefted it over towards him he became suddenly aware of a tremendous power surging through the handle, and was so surprised that he almost dropped it.
“This blade –“ he stammered.
“It’s only an old butter knife,” Lucellia said, apologetically. “We don’t really have any weapons around here. But it’s got a blade, and I know you humans like those!”
Leif stared at the butter knife, the blade of which, although quite blunt, was glowing fey-hot. It crackled softly with the fire of a thousand suns.
“It warms the butter up lovely!” said Nigel, who had returned with some scissors.
To Leif’s great consternation, Rojin at this point reached over and actually picked the knife up *by the blade* to admire it for himself. Rather than spontaneously combusting, he said “oh, it IS warm! Good for crumpets!”
“It’s hot!” cried Leif, excitedly. “It’s blazing hot! This sword is a divine relic, I’m sure it is!”
The children giggled – the old toad grandmother laughed softly to herself, and shook her head. *“Sword!”* she chided. “You humans see everything as a weapon. It’s a butter knife, is what it is, child. Demon-made. Now, if you humans had forged it, I’m certain you *would* have made it into a sword, or a helm, or something else to carry into a battle, as sure as the pond is deep. There is a reason we call them *calamities* when they are human made.”
“This *is* a calamity!” Leif took the relic up cautiously by the handle to admire it more closely– he could not touch the metal as Rojin did.
“In your hands, perhaps,” said the old grandmother, severely. “In ours, I assure you, it is a butter knife.”
But Lucellia was charmed by Leif’s obvious delight, and by the quickness she observed in the changing of his mood, which was believed to be a very *human* trait. “Oh, just look how happy he is,” she said coaxingly to the grandmother, and she came over to help serve the bubbling stew into bowls. “I tell you, that old butter knife never made *me* so happy!”
“Hmph!” said the old grandmother, but she did glance at Leif from under her furrowed eyebrows, and indeed saw how radiantly happy he was at that moment. She saw, too, how Rojin shared in his delight. She huffed.
“There is a tradition among our kind,” she said, as she passed around the bowls of hot stew. “We shall make you a gift of that little butterknife, if it pleases you so. In exchange, we ask for the gift of a story.”
There was a general outbreak of delight and pleasure at this pronouncement, particularly among the children, who ribbeted and splashed and chattered all at once –
“A story!”
“A human story!”
“Will we give him the butterknife -?”
“It’s only an old one –“
“What sort of story?”
“What’s he want old cutlery for?”
“Quiet now, dearies, settle down!” said Nigel. He was feeling very proud that his wife had so deftly chosen such a perfect thing to comfort the human. He kissed her as she sat down. “What do you say, Prince Leif?”
Leif smiled around the party with shining eyes. The mystery and unpleasantness of the pamphlet was quite forgotten: a problem for another time. For now, he held victory itself in his hands! No matter that it was demon-forged – it had *certainly* been forged from a true Divine Relic – altered, a little, but there was no mistaking its power. The relief that he felt was indescribable – he would be able to send this home to his royal house as proof that his mission was underway – he had not failed, not yet!
“Thank you,” he said. “It would be an honour, a real honour! Yes, I agree with my whole heart! As for a story….” He paused to think for a moment.
“A *human* story,” said the children, eagerly.
“He only knows human stories,” Rojin remarked, with a touch of pride.
“Let me tell you the story – the human story – of how the Divine Relics came to be.”
And so, he began.
The Song of Boy UrukAndrew Gould# The song of boy uruk
Every morning Boy Uruk drank a cup of tea and looked at the sword above the fireplace.
It was long and slightly curved. And it was old, the steel scratched and rusted, the leather hilt faded to a dull gray. To some, it would seem like any other long sword. To others, it was legendary — passed down and down, and lost and found again and again over the ages.
In songs, they called the long sword Meadowlark.
The sword, the hovel, and the forest surrounding it was awarded to Boy for his bravery at the Battle of Blur Creek. After thirteen days of brutal fighting against a clan from the Farlands, Boy walked out of the woods alone, the only survivor on either side.
Every morning Boy drank a cup of tea and looked at Meadowlark. Until one morning in late autumn, when he decided he couldn’t look any longer, ripped the sword off the wall, and hid it under his bed.
To Boy Uruk, Meadowlark was a curse.
***
A few days later, his mother came to visit. If Boy would have known she was on her way, he might have kept the sword in place. She noticed it right away, the empty space, and it was the only thing she wanted to talk about.
“Meadowlark is meant to be seen, it’s not meant to gather dust under a bed like an old sock.”
Esmer laid on the ground with her legs up on a short table, stretching her back. She was a very large woman, but surprisingly nimble. She made the journey from Yilitin in under two days. On the first day she was attacked by a rabid fox and managed to kill it with her bare hands. This was the story Esmer told Boy as she unloaded her bags, took off her walking shoes, and noticed Meadowlark was missing.
Boy didn’t believe a word his mother said.
“What about your visitors? They come all this way to see you and the sword.”
“I can take it out if you want to see it.”
“Not me. Your visitors. Your fans.”
“I don’t have visitors anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have visitors. You’re the first I’ve had in months.”
“How is that possible? You’re still the talk of the town.”
“Am I the talk of the town, or do you just bring me up in every conversation?”
“Did something happen? What did you do?”
“Maybe people are bored of me.”
“Bored of a hero? Nobody gets bored of a hero.”
“I’m not a hero.”
Esmer finished stretching and sat up straight to look at her boy.
“I wish you didn’t feel that way, Boy. I’m proud of you. A lot of people are proud of you. They admire you, look up to you, aspire to be you. The other day, I saw a child play-fighting, calling himself Boy Uruk, the Blur Creek Miracle.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I don’t think that happened.”
“Why would I make it up?”
Boy didn’t answer.
Esmer was suddenly tired. She began gathering her things. “At least put something in its place. Your walls look a little bare.”
***
While Esmer napped, Boy went out to one of his gardens to clip wildflowers.
There were four gardens. One for fruit, one for vegetables, one for grains, and one for flowers and herbs. That spring he’d planted several apple trees, and he was drawing up plans for an orange grove. The gardens surrounded the hovel on three sides. Fruits and vegetables got morning sun on the east, the grains got afternoon and evening sun on the west, and the flowers and herbs were strategically placed in the back, under the kitchen windows. The apple trees, knee-high at this point, lined the dirt path leading to the door. He hadn’t yet picked out a place for the orange grove.
Most of the land given to Boy was heavily wooded. Most of it was flat. There were some hills, and some caves, a few clearings, and a few slow-running streams that met in a small pond. The hovel sat on the southern edge of the land. It was perfectly round, built in the old-style generations ago, and the uneven and multicolored thatch on the roof made it look like it was falling apart. Originally, they told Boy, it was a hunting lodge for the royal family. He confirmed this bit of lore one night when, by candlelight, and in a fit of madness, he found a crate of dry and shriveled elk hearts buried under the floorboards.
Esmer wanted to know why he took the sword down and hid it away, and he said it didn’t look good, that it was old and in need of repair. She didn’t buy that, so Boy stumbled through something about how it reminded him too much of the friends he lost in battle. Which was partially true, and therefore slightly more believable.
He couldn’t tell her the whole truth, what really happened at Blur Creek, why he didn’t deserve the awards, why he rejected and resented the thought that he was any kind of hero. He couldn’t tell her that he didn’t sleep, even though he spent his days in the sun, working the land, or that he was afraid of the woods at night. He couldn’t tell her that every so often he thought about falling on Meadowlark, thought about taking it down, sharpening it, going out somewhere near the pond, getting up on a rock, placing it between the second and third rib on the left side, and falling, and bleeding out, the blood pooling, running in little streams through the dirt and meeting again in the pond, a thin, blooming layer on top of the water, blood dissolving in the water, blood drying in the dirt, body relaxed and mind clear, no guilt, no shame, nothing.
Boy gathered the wildflowers into a basket. The wind rose, and shook colorful leaves from their colorful trees. It was cold and quickly getting colder. He turned up the collar on his coat, got to his feet, and wiped the dirt from his knees. Little bits of sunlight came in through the trees, warming his face. He came around front of the hovel and saw, some way before him, down the darkening path, someone approaching on foot.
He was young, younger than Boy, maybe seventeen, and he had a limp. He wore rags. He didn’t wear shoes. The only thing he carried was a military trumpet.
“The Blur Creek Miracle,” the stranger said, smiling. His eyes were shot with blood. He looked hungry, sick. “That’s you, right? Boy Uruk, the Blur Creek Miracle? What a name.”
“What do they call you?” Boy asked.
“They never called me anything but my given name.” The stranger didn’t elaborate. He surveyed the land, the gardens, the pond a ways off, down a slight hill.
“Which is?”
“Rian.”
“Rian, the Trumpeter.”
“I’m nothing special with this thing. I know the marches. Learning, though. Learning songs, I mean. Actually, that’s part of why I’m here.”
“To play me a song?”
“To write you one.”
“About what?”
“Boy Uruk, the Blur Creek Miracle.”
Boy laughed.
“I’m very serious.”
Boy looked at Rian, and suddenly felt like this might be a trick, a pretense, maybe, for something more sinister. “Play something.”
“I’m very serious.”
“I know.”
“I’m just learning songs.”
“A march, then.”
Rian took a deep breath, raised the trumpet to his lips and played a somber battle cry. He hit every note. He lowered the trumpet and, breathless, asked if they could continue the conversation inside.
***
Boy lit a few candles, made a fire, and got to work on a stew of fresh-picked vegetables and herbs.
Rian sat on the floor beside the fireplace, wrapped in a wool blanket.
“I come from Northwest, out Rum River way. You know it? That’s where I grew up, I mean. I don’t come from anywhere anymore. My home is everywhere, I guess. Wherever I am. I’ve been walking for a long time now.”
“I don’t leave Yilitin much.”
“You left for Blur Creek.”
Boy pushed diced tomatoes into a pot with his knife. He grabbed a handful of potatoes and lined one up for chopping. “Where did you hear about me?”
“The first time was in a small village without a name. Somewhere in the Farlands. From the mouths of your enemies, maybe. Yes, way out there. Outside of a tavern. One night, or early morning. Can’t recall. But I heard your name and story, and took them on the road with me. Some folks I talked to didn’t know from Blur Creek. Others, most folks I would say, knew your name and story. It was funny. They all had slightly different versions. Of the story, I mean. The number of sides to a story is the number of people who tell it.” Rian stopped looking at the fire, and looked at Boy. “I said part of why I’m here is to write you a song. The other part of why I’m here is to get your side — the hero’s side — of the story.”
Boy brought the pot over and set it in the fire. He watched the stew for a moment, then took a seat on the sofa and gathered a quilt up around his legs.
“Where do you keep Meadowlark?” Rian said, adjusting his wool blanket. “I thought it would be proudly displayed.”
Boy didn’t respond. Neither said a word for a while. The fire cracked. The stew cooked.
“I’m going to feed you, Rian. Give you clothes, if you like. Then you’ll be on your way.”
Rian smiled, as if this were a common refrain, the quick hospitality, the blunt goodbye. He closed his eyes and said, “The stew smells fantastic, Boy. I can’t wait.”
Rian ate slowly, politely. He complimented the stew more than once, remarked upon the freshness of the vegetables, asked what kind of herbs were used, apparently no longer preoccupied with Blur Creek. After supper, Boy found Rian a pair of pants, a shirt, an old shawl, and an old pair of boots. Rian thanked Boy, then set out into the cold night.
Boy blew out the candles, went to the window and watched Rian go, watched him stop and look at one of the knee-high apple trees, watched him look back over his shoulder, watched him find a spot just off the path, watched him sit and stare at the hovel, blank-faced, stone-still.
“What are you doing in the dark?”
Boy jumped.
Esmer was picking through the flower basket on the kitchen table.
“I don’t know,” Boy said.
“Who were you talking to?”
“You hungry?”
“So many questions,” Esmer said.
Boy found a vase in a storage cabinet, wiped away the dust and handed it to his mother. She filled it with flowers and arranged it on the mantle above the fireplace.
“Who were you talking to, Boy?”
“Someone passing through. I gave him supper, and some clothes.”
“I bet he wanted to see Meadowlark.”
***
Esmer woke up, took a few long deep breaths, and stretched her neck. She slept well out here, better than she did in Yilitin. It was quiet, the air was cool and fresh, and she felt a certain comfort being around her only child, knowing he was nearby, safe and sound.
She went out into the main room and found the door open. The fire was out. Boy always made a fire first thing in the morning.
“Boy?”
Esmer made a fire, then put on a storm-cloak and a wool hat and went outside. It was cold and windy, and the sky was bright and gray. It felt like something had changed overnight. It felt like the first day of winter.
She found Boy in the vegetable garden, on his hands and knees, staring at the dirt. The vegetables, all of them, were dead – rotten and withered.
“All of my gardens.” He looked at his mother. “Everything is dead.”
After tea, Boy and Esmer hiked out to the north end of the property. It was Esmer’s idea. She thought it might take his mind off the spoiled gardens, being in nature, working up a sweat. Boy didn’t say much, half-listening as Esmer talked endlessly about everything going on in Yilitin.
They ate lunch near the pond. Boy still hadn’t said much, preoccupied, scanning the trees.
“What are you looking at?” Esmer asked.
“You see the willow there, upstream, hanging over the water?”
Esmer looked.
“See it? Just after the bend? Now, look at the little open area directly west of it. What do you think about setting the orange grove there?”
The rest of the afternoon was spent on chores. They cleaned the gardens, picked and weeded until all that was left was dirt. They piled the scrap in one of the larger clearings. Esmer took her afternoon nap. Boy took a fishing pole upstream and caught a few trout for supper. Near evening, they went out to the clearing and lit the scrap on fire. Boy let it burn, then cooked the trout over the coals. They ate and listened to the insects, under the black and starless sky.
***
That night it rained.
Boy couldn’t sleep. He threw a pair of logs on the fire, and sat by the window. Was it a coincidence that the same night he turned away a helpless stranger, his crops failed? Was this some divine punishment for making the young man leave? He had looked for Rian that morning, and kept an eye out all day. But there was no sign of him anywhere. What would Rian do on a night like this? What happens if a trumpet gets wet?
Boy looked out the window and saw Rian at the tree line. Rian must have noticed Boy, because he waved, slightly, then started toward the hovel.
***
They were a picture of the night before. Boy on the sofa, quilt around his legs. Rian on the floor beside the fireplace, wrapped in a wool blanket. Boy had given him a dry set of clothes.
“So…” Boy cleared his throat. “Where do you want me to start?”
“Start what?”
“My side of the story.”
Rian stopped looking at the fire, and looked at Boy. “Wherever you think is best, I guess.”
“How much detail do you need?”
“Whatever you think is important.”
The rain fell, and a strong gust of wind shook the hovel.
“I was working as a mill hand when the conscription started. Inspecting the grains. Turning the wheels. I knew it was a possibility, conscription, war, but didn’t think it would actually happen. Wars happen in other places, not here. They sent me to Bispo. I was assigned a battalion and a platoon, and I trained, learned to use a sword. Soon after, maybe a month, we set off for Blur Creek. We were in reserve, camped a few miles south of the fighting. We trained, and otherwise hung around doing nothing, talking about the Farlands, trying to understand what we were fighting over. They never really explained that, you know? Nothing besides ‘the Farlanders broke a treaty.’ What treaty? I don’t know. But they broke it. We got the call and came in from the south maybe five days in, six days. No clue as to how the battle was playing out. Were we winning? Advancing? Were we losing? Suffering heavy losses? No clue. They didn’t tell us. It turns out we had lost a few commanders, and the new leadership had never led before. We retreated too late, charged too soon, reinforced the wrong areas.” Boy paused, looked out the window. “From here on out, I don’t remember much, sorry to say. It’s all kind of a blur.”
“But Boy, what happens next is the most important part of the story! The part I’ve heard so many different versions of.”
“Those versions are probably better, anyway. Surely they’ll make a better song.”
“But they aren’t true,” Rian said.
Boy got up and went over to the window. “Songs are meant to entertain. Does it matter if they’re true?”
Rian stopped looking at Boy, and looked at the fire. “I could tell my side of the story.”
“Your side?” Boy said, turning to him. “What about the truth?”
Rian laughed, a laugh that wasn’t friendly.
“How’s this, Boy? I’ll tell you my side of the story, then you tell me if you think it’s true or not. I promise you, once we’re finished with this, things will be better for both of us. I’ll start where you left off, because, as far as I know, everything you’ve said so far is true enough. You didn’t kill any Farlanders, Boy. You didn’t fight until you were the last man. Your brothers ran to meet the enemy, and you ran the other way. You survived because you were nowhere near the battle. You survived because, by the time the beast came down from the mountains, you were back in Yilitin Provence.” He saw the look on Boy’s face. “You didn’t know about the beast, did you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Am I telling the truth?”
Boy didn’t say anything. He felt light in the head.
“Do I speak the truth, Boy?”
“Who are you?”
“Rian, the other Blur Creek Miracle,” He said. “Here’s what happens next. The people of Yilitin have heard my side of the story. They’ll come to hear yours, after the rain. I imagine there will be a crowd. You and I are going to write your song, and perform it for them. You will tell them the truth, Boy, about what kind of hero you really are. If you don’t do this, your mother will die in thirteen days, and you’ll be made to live forever with your shame. I have cursed you, Boy.”
“Why…” Boy stammered.
“Do you understand what I’m saying? Is it clear enough for you?”
“I’ll give you this place. I’ll give you Meadowlark.”
“I want your song.”
Boy felt dangerous, outside of himself, out of control.
He charged Rian. Rian, still on the ground, tried to scoot away, but Boy was too quick. Boy tackled him. They rolled around, grunting, wrestling, until Boy got the advantage, got on his knees and pummeled Rian across the face. Rian took a few punches, then saw his trumpet, reached for his trumpet, reached and reached and got hold of the mouth piece, swung the trumpet around and hit Boy in the side of the head, stunning him. Rian staggered to his feet.
“Now he wants to fight,” Rian said through bloody teeth. He hit Boy again with the trumpet. Boy’s nose cracked, sprayed blood. Then a great, golden light filled the room, and a sword shot through Rian’s chest. He fell to his knees, dropped the trumpet, and slumped to the floor. Esmer gripped the old hilt and slid Meadowlark out of Rian’s back. His body shook. His blood ran.
“Does the curse stand?” Boy asked, nose bleeding, blood all over his face and shirt. “Does the curse stand if you die?”
Rian stared at Boy, blank-faced, stone-still, dead.
Esmer opened the door, then dropped the sword and sat on the sofa. Boy got up and went to the doorway to cool down. The rain fell, and the wind was light and gentle.
“What was that all about?” Esmer asked, looking at the flowers above the fireplace.
Boy told her the truth.
Joining of Two HousesgogibearThick grey clouds rolled across the sky, extinguishing the light of the moon. Nol Toloskon was submerged in darkness. Black mages on the search for deep crystal, needed to resurrect and control their zombie hordes, made their way to the city. Massive deep crystal mines lay south of Konokul, and Nol Toloskon stood in their way.
Undetected, the entire realm had been infiltrated by the cult of Fury in the months prior to the invasion. And on this grim night a zealous cultist slid his dull grey dagger across the gatekeeper’s neck at the main entrance to the city. The gates were laid open as the black mages of Rage and Fury marched forward.
The fighting in the city walls was bloody and protracted. Resistances formed street to street. Cultists and imp swarms fell upon the citizens in terrifying disarray. The garrison outside the city was helpless to intervene as they faced the bulk of the enemy. Valiantly they mustered several sorties against their assailants before their lines broke and they were scattered in all directions.
The black mages left the city in chaos as they moved to conquer Konokul and secure the deep crystal.
Messengers flew on wings of desperation to warn the realm and gather the strength of the kingdom.
The Black Army reached the outskirts of Konokul while the city’s reinforcements still lagged many leagues away. The knights of Konokul took the battle to their enemies before they had time to settle and they took many lives - but wherever there were wraiths and demons on the battlefield the horses and foot soldiers lost heart and would not press forward. Outnumbered four to one they knew their valour would not carry the day if they allowed themselves to fight a battle of attrition. In their retreat, the demons feasted and the wraiths flew forwards to do battle with the white mages that rained magic down from the battlements.
The black mages formed a summoning circle and chanted songs of resurrection. Zombies writhed and came to grips with their new bodies and the city of Konokul trembled.
Then came an act that would form an undying bond between the Houses of Perfection and the Houses of Protection. As dawn turned into day, the wings of Meghnad could be seen in the distance beating the sky as he soared towards the commotion. After this battle he would be known as Meghnad the Doom and his roars would thunder across the world and reverberate in the heads of those who heard them forever afterwards. On this day he was a young dragon stretching his wings, what he lacked in size he made up for in ferocity.
Meghnad had no sense of his own welfare as he threw himself at the armies of Rage and Fury with reckless abandon. The courage of ignorance made fine armour for a time. Meghnad weaved through the skies and fell like bolts of lightning. His maw carried men, imps, zombies, demons, wraiths and mages to their deaths. For the majority of the day with the dragon lord’s aid the attackers were held at bay.
However even this paragon of dragons had his limits. In the evening, succumbing to his countless wounds, for the only time in his life Meghnad the Doom fell in battle and crashed into enemy lines. Dozens of claws and weapons and teeth dug into his flesh, tearing it from the bone.
It was as though the world had paused. The army of Konokul’s tears watching their saviour fall watered the seed of their resolve. They sallied forward with death in their eyes knowing they could not win the battle but to ensure when songs were sung of this day the Lords of Perfection would know they acted with valour equal to the young dragon.
“DOOM!” They cried each time they slew an enemy.
Doom! They cried scores of times. Doom! They themselves were possessed. They embodied death more than the undead, limbs torn, crawling still towards the enemy with murderous intent. To no avail. The last warrior of Konokul’s throat was ripped out by the jaws of a demon and silence fell over the battlefield.
The black armies of Fury and Rage turned towards the city with a ravenous lust. The newly risen moon cast long shadows on the invaders as they marched.
At first a whisper. And then a drumbeat of hooves.
The Eldritch Knights of Eptot Sutkon thundered across the plains outside Konokul . Riding beasts of sinew and arcana, their mithral armour reflected the moonlight and shone brighter than the sun. While they charged night became day. They crashed into Rage and Fury like an ocean crest meeting a fiery shore of lava. Smoke and steam issued forth wherever their light sabres cleaved flesh from bodies.
Lord Oso rode in the van, he seemed an image of a god, invincible and implacable. He would never smile again after this day.
Heroes were born, an alliance was forged and the innocence of a realm was lost.
Inquisitor Mortward's JournalFSwami# Inquisitor Mortward's Journal
#### A Scroll from The Archives of Ämetatilelël - Scroll #766
The final few pages of Inquisitor Mortward’s journal, found in the town of Lunnon.
[[ Mentions - Queen Violette of Vitriol, “Demon Shout” The Grave Wand of Vitriol ]]
[[[ Notes by Röe - Evidence of Queen Violette’s continued effect on the realms after the tower was fell ]]]
### __
<br>
##### ~ Eve of the 6th day of Icewhile
This town freaks me out. The folk here are strange. Feels like the life’s been drained out of them. They walk in silence and keep their heads down… If they talk, they mumble. They won’t even look each other in the eye.
Lunnon, of Pintat. A sad and sullen town. It’s been years since the tower was toppled… and still, not a bard in sight. They’re broken here. In ruins… just like the tower.
The Queen may be dead, her sick, twisted reign may have ended, but her presence still lingers. Not just in their minds, but in their malformed bodies and missing limbs.
Well, the sun’s waning. The streets are empty. It’s time to go for a walk.
___
##### ~ Eve of the 7th day of Icewhile
Everyone I spoke to today seemed to know someone, or know someone who knows someone who’s been abducted. Never to be seen again.
Her twisted abominations still terrorise the town. Remnants of her foul, unholy army. I remember the fear they wrought. The souls she tarnished… No wonder the town can’t move on. The heroes came, but clearly they didn’t clean up.
The officials told me no one knows how or why her chimeras still roam. Why they only come out at night. Where they come from, or where they go.
They told me whenever one had been abolished, another takes its place…
They told me they just keep the job pasted up on the board.
___
##### ~ Eve of the 8th day of Icewhile
Third night and so far, I’ve encountered nothing.
The nights have been still, and silent if you don’t count the groans and cracks from the sewage below. That rotting stench… I swear, I could taste it on my tongue.
I saw limp, disembodied hands hanging off railings. Splintered bones lay between the cobbles and deep red stains the streets like she stains their memories. Not even years of rain could wash away the remains of her reign.
They tell me the last incident was seven nights ago. Maybe tonight is my lucky night…
___
##### ~ Eve of the 9th day of Icewhile
Today I met another traveller. A witch. But refreshing nonetheless. She was on her own quest, in search of the Grave Wand.
Another necromancer, looking for the wand that took millions of souls. The wand that raised entire battalions. The wand responsible for these rotten remains of a town… She told me that the Queen’s corpse was never found in the ruins.
The witch also told me that like most witches, the Queen was conceived from ritual, but unlike most witches, conceived with demonic blood. She told me that she wasn’t born into royalty. That she stole the life of a Princess. Along with her name. Violette…
Surprisingly, the witch’s story doesn’t surprise me. A real Queen wouldn’t do this to her own, even if they were a witch… But a demon?
I told her it’s not been as bad since Violette’s reign ended, but I still spend most my days cleaning up after necromancers. The irresponsible ones, the reckless ones, the mad ones. I told her stories of their tests of power, their corrupted experiments, their loss of control. I told her my Tome is usually all it takes to clean up - I told her there’s not many ways to kill something that’s already dead, but it seems these books really pack a punch.
I hope she heeds my warning.
___
##### ~ Eve of the 10th day of Icewhile
I bumped into the witch again this morning. I never thought I’d see the day a witch and an inquisitor get on. I guess in this town, I’d take any pleasantries I can get. We ate bread, shared leads, rumours, myths…
She said some folks swear the Queen’s still alive, they say her corpse was never found. Some reckon her corpse wouldn’t be found because Death took her personally.
I told her others seem convinced another has already claimed the wand. They reckon the wand corrupts, and the abductions won’t stop until it’s destroyed.
The witch said whoever might claim it, won’t necessarily have the demonic talent to turn the dead like Violette did.
She even told me she met a group of children who told her people only get abducted if you misbehave.
Is this how myths are born? Suffering, tyranny, death… distilled into cautionary tales… in order to get children to behave?
___
##### ~ Morn of the 10th day of Icewhile
I saw it! My hands tremble as I write this. This one was different.
Still, a concoction of limbs. Limbs grafted together. Limbs from corpses of monsters and men. Twisted and contorted. But…
It moved too fast. Much faster than the ones I remember. And with purpose. Intention.
I couldn’t abolish it.
This one was different. But, familiar. Something more sinister.
Something more… sophisticated.
___
##### ~ Eve of the 11th day of Icewhile
They told me a child was abducted last night. I reported what I saw.
I told them I hadn’t faced her abominations in years but this was not a remnant of her army. It was different. But still… Familiar. I asked them straight up - is she really dead? Other necromancers don’t twist and graft like the Queen. They aren’t capable.
They couldn’t answer. They admitted they never found her corpse in the rubble. But no one in all the realms have reported seeing her since the tower was toppled. They said they’ve searched the town. They told me there’s only one known way out of this town and no one’s ever reported her leaving…
I know this town smells of rot, but something smells off here.
I searched all over for the witch today, but I couldn’t find her. I was to demand a séance - if the Queen is dead, a witch would be able to contact her, right?
The mood in town was even more sullen today. Everyone knows, but no one’s talking about it. Only the parents are searching, knowing they’ll never find her.
I understand the demoralisation, the unwillingness to move on from the past. The bones in the street. For this town, the terror never really stopped. For the rest of the realms, the tower falling felt achievement enough, I suppose…
Well, the sun’s waning. The streets are empty. It’s time to go for a walk. My Tome, and I.
____