Grimoire of Myths

[Alvis Alendran]

So I've been writing these things on request, and after thinking about it, and the fact they've been getting more and more entwined with one another, I've decided to post them all up in sequence. As more of them get written, if more of them get written, I'll update the list of what order they should be read in if you want them chronologically. So, the list so far, in order, and where they fall in the 'Ages of the World'.

Dusk Spirit - Dawn of First Age
Scarlet Grave - First Age
Lily Lullaby - First Age
Raven Witch - First Age
Raven Stalker - First Age
Shadows - End of First Age

Willow Spirit - Dawn of Second Age
Scarlet Stalker - Second Age
Velvet Lullaby - Second Age
Belladonna Stalker - Second Age
Lily Storm - Second Age
Destiny Dark One - End of Second Age

Destiny Lullaby - Dawn of Third Age
Moon Nightshade - Third Age
Destiny Storm - Third Age
Velvet Phanton - Third Age
Autumn Storm - Third Age

All of these except Shadows were written for on request. My signature has a link to the thread. If anyone would like to have a myth woven into this series, just follow the link!

---

Dusk Spirit​

And so we gather once more to hear the tales of long ago. And this night we shall hear of the Spirt of Dusk.

The spirit was gifted with power, and tasked with the guardianship of lands far and wide. She would oversee and guide the peoples, but was never to interfere with their affairs directly. Their lives and fates must be their own to govern. The spirit took well to task, and her lands and people prospered, drawing the eye and envy of many from around them.

And it was this very prosperity and peace that brought about the ruination of all.

From the South came legions of jealous rivals, intent on looting and slaughter. The spirit rallied her people, inspiring the to rise up in defence of their homes, for if they would not fight for their homes, who should be expected to?

And so they rose in a defiant wave, standing before the oncoming invaders to keep them from what they sought.

They fought valiantly.

They died the same way.

Her people shattered, but not yet lost, the spirit looked on with grief, and raised her hands to smite the attackers, but knew then that should she embark on this path, there would be no going back. She would change, and she could never again regain her form or position. But her people died around her, and she struck her first, and hardest blow.

Fire from the skies scorched the lands, scouring legions from teh earth, and she strode the ground amidst the ashes, a vengeful spirit that took from those who had slain her people, everything. Their lives, even their very souls, denying them rest after their deaths. In a trail behind her, the souls of the fallen followed, raising ghostly arms to war once more, and fell upon their living kinsmen.

Saved from death, her people looked on, but not in awe, but in horror of what their great spirit had become. Though alight with fire, she no longer represented what they had come to worship. She belonged to the night now, to the darkness. And so it did come to pass that the Dusk Spirit did come to pass, and her wrath and hatred was too terrible for any mortal to behold.

But her deeds did not go unnoticed. The Great Powers beyond her, that had set her to task, had noted what she had done, and sent seekers to find her adn bring her to stand before them. Knowing that to do so would be her death, and her people would be once again unguarded, she fled them, retreating into the darkest portions of the world, unknowing of the damage she wrought with such an act. For her very power and presence made the Dark grow strong.

It has been three ages of the world, and none have seen nor heard of the Dusk Spirit since. Some believe her long dead, but a spirit such as her knows nothing of the weight of time. Many believe she waits once more, for her people to need her aid again, and she will return in her fire and power to sear the lands of the foe.

So it is we keep our worships of her quiet, lest we rouse her before she is needed. And so it is we pray that we need not summon her once again.

---

Scarlet Grave​

Gather once more friends and kinsmen, for though the night grows deep, the fire is yet warm, and there are tales yet to be spun this night. We turn to another tale of elder times, And one with a tragedy and heroism all its own.

The lands had been riven by war, power unleashed upon it the like of which none had seen before, and none have seen since. The lands were barren, and the dead no longer rest easily in the earth. From the noblest of intentions, and the greatest of sacrifices did further hardship and fear come upon the very people that had been meant to be saved.

The waves of the dead had risen high, and more than one enclave of people had been overturned by their seemingly numberless hordes. The remnants of the people gathered together in a single large enclave, pooling what they could to mount a defence. Those who could not be trusted, or could not contribute were left out of the enclave, the better to fend for themselves.

Cast away from any signs of help, one such soul strove to stay alive, in any way they could. Scraping a living from the bare forests, they tried to move ahead of the dead hordes. But with so many dead about, contact was inevitable. With nought but bough from a stout ashwood tree, they fought for all they had left. Their lives, and ultimately, their very soul, for to die before the dead who walked was to join them. Their struggle was beyond mortal reckoning, as each of the dead who fell before them seemed to attract the attention of three more. Beyond endurance, and with nought but fear and stubborn determination, the battle raged.

But mere mortals have limits, and once reached, there is no exception, no matter the heroism, or how deserving one might be for more. Falling before the dead was the one fear they possessed, and it was the one fear that was realized. As they dead who walked were wont to do, they buried them beneath the tainted soil, and come the following night, they would rise to join them. And so it came to pass.

But on that night, when they rose once more from the soil, a truth was shown. The dead that walked were not possessed of hunger, nor of rage. They were possessed of despair at their state, and tried to salve this despair by having others join them. Fresh from the grave, and still covered in the blood of themselves, and their foes, the newly risen set back for the enclave.

Sure enough, the dead had found it, and had begun to assail the walls. Their numbers were vast, and they would overtake it, snuffing the last vestige of their people.

But this was not to be.

Finding a fallen blade, relic from an age past now, and set about not the living, but the dead themselves. Hewing through the packed hordes, they climbed upon a mound of destroyed dead, and stood before the bright lights of the enclave, who saw one of their exiles, Scarlet from the blood of the dead who walked, and still bearing the earth of the Grave, but holding to their defence.

"We stand for ourselves, as no one else shall do so. Stand with me now Brothers, until the last fading of the night, and we shall see our people delivered." They called over the walls. Frightened, yet heartened all the same, the people threw themselves back into the defence, and despite losses beyond the count of grief, the walls did hold.

As the sun did rise high, overpowering the gloom of the dead that walked, these purging rays began to burn them from the lands. Nearly as one, they fell to their knees as they flaked to ashes and dust before the purifying force. When the people threw up a cheer for victory, they all froze as they saw but one dead still remained. Their saviour who had rallied them in their darkest time remained, refused his rest, for forsaking the purpose that he had been given, to stand with the other fallen.

Into the world he walked, despair his companion, and he too did enter the realms of darkness, seeking a release from his existence, and believing that he might find one within that could grant him such.

But we still sing his song, that his memory may never fade, and may we never forget that honour is won by deeds, and nought else.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Lily Lullaby​

Though the night presses in on us this fell night, know that not all tales ended in such despair. Let us now turn to a new tale, one of a different sort. Listen now, and harken to my tale...

The people were safe once more, the dead who walked were now banished, and the land began a slow rebirth. It would take generations, but the people would recover, and flourish once more. But there was more to the threat of the people than they did know.

All that they once were, it threatened to fade from the minds of the people, and they would return to the barbarism that they had suffered before the coming of their guardian spirit. And this would not do, for they would forget the loss, the sacrifice, and the heroism that had come before. And to forget was to disgrace and dishonour. Something need be done.

One of the people rose up, and with knowledge of the stories of the past, wove them from a simple tale into a song of the deeds of ancient times. And thusly did the people begin to take the song of the past into their lives. The history of the people would be preserved in the Story-songs, and the crafter of the first of these travelled among the people to ensure that it was spread to every corner of them, that no one be left behind.

To reach the last of the people who had spread out across the land after the salvation from the dead who walked, they did cross through the eldest forest remaining. Beneath it's boughs, no light of the sun did pierce. And so they did find within the last remnant of the dead who walked, those who found the rays of the sun did not brush them clean.

And as they came to sweep the First of Song Sages away, it did not come to pass. Guided to song by a force they did not know, a song was brought forth to still the dead who walked. And upon the lightless earth they sank, and to the lightless earth they faded. Each of the former dead stod before the Singer, and bowed their heads. With words of thanks, they found themselves released from their bonds, and ushered to the embrace of the afterlife. Those scoured by sunlight had not been so fortunate.

And so the Singer came to the people once more, and the song yet taught again, for only with such a song could the dead be released to return to the Great Powers. And so did the Lullaby of Lilies begin, singing the dead to their final rest.

The name of the First of Song Sages is long lost to us all, but their place and glory in our people will never fade. We still sing her song, that the dead may know rest...and the living may never forget.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Raven Witch​

And now on your faces I see the recognition of the great legacy from which we come. Rest well in the knowledge that we live in blessed times, removed from the trials of our ancestors. But listen now to another tale of trials long passed...

It was in the age before the coming of the Great Darkness, when the people had nearly raised themselves back to heights that drew the eye of others. But they stood in readiness to defend what was theirs this time. To their North, South, and West their people stood in readiness and prepared for all that might come. But to their east, lay a land of Darkness, and nothing dwelt within. Or so they were to believe.

From this land emerged the form of the great blight upon the land. The carrion bird, the Raven. Such numbers they possessed, their passage blotted the very sun from the sky. Never before had such a bird been seen, and they fell upon the land in a great storm. Laying neither beak nor claw upon the flesh of the people, these creatures scoured the lands of the crops in the fields. With despair, the people did cry out for some reason, some knowledge of why they were to be so afflicted. And so unto them came the heart of the Ravens. The dark witch who commanded them, and claimed their allegiance.

Unto the people, she imparted knowledge of her servants. Not simple birds, they were teh bound souls of the fallen, given form, and protection from their song. They had come to revenge themselves on the people who had scoured them from the earth. But the people were not to accept such a fate onto themselves.

In droves did the ravens die, but once their blood had been shed, so to did they shed the blood of the people. Though they did fall in droves for each of the people they might fell through persistence and malice, they existed without number. The people were once more in danger of losing all they had, so they called to the Great Powers for help.

And the Powers did answer.

A champion did rise, and not only the ravens, but the people quailed before them, for they came in fire and wrath, not unlike their departed guardian spirit. The Raven Witch saw what had been sent for her, and fell away from the coming of the Champion. Many of her ravens were scoured away, she fled back to the darkness, but let behind a blight of her ravens to continue to keep the people from true peace, and to blight their battlefields, and defile the dead before the spirits could be sung home.

Not destroyed, but merely driven away, the Raven Witch does not end her story there, but that is a tale for another time...

---

Raven Stalker​

Ah, but I see now in your eyes that you are not satisfied with the last tale. You wish to know of the fate of the Raven Witch. That is a tale in itself, and a tale that needs speak of a new figure that rose in the time after her flight into darkness...

The people had rallied in the wake of the coming of their Champion. Shining in light and fire, he stood strong against adversity. With the departure of the Raven Witch, he went North, where the border was pressed by foreign invaders. A new watch was being formed then, one to look over the lands of darkness, lest the Raven Witch return.

But in the dark places of the lands, some remnant of her chosen ravens did gather. They had indeed been the souls of the fallen, given flesh and form, but not all of them had come seeking vengeance. Some had been brought against their will, bound to the power of the Raven Witch, against whom they had no defence in their current form. The risen Champion could not venture into the Dark lands, or perhaps he merely would not. Two score of these ravens gathered, and did what none knew they could. They gave up their flesh, their forms, their very identity as souls, to form a new creature.

The one who walked from this merger, this gift, was dark of hair and eye, and could speak with the beasts of the land. Power of the ravens was his to command, and thusly a counter to the Raven Witch was born. But this new form was mortal, and could not be counted on to last until the Witch did return. The battle must taken to the Witch, and that meant entering into the Dark lands, fighting her at her most powerful, in the places that she had come from. The Raven Stalker knew not if the Witch would even be vulnerable to mortal weapons within the Darkness. Ad that meant that only one thing could be counted upon.

Only one place within the lands had never fallen to invasion or strife. A lone mountain near the heart of the realm. It was this mountain that the guardian spirit did first speak to the people, and grant them a gift. It was here that they were granted the First Fire. And within a sacred temple, deep in the mountain, did this fire still burn, alight with power beyond that of mortals. A few acolytes did keep watch on the flames, and ensure it burned forever more. It was to this temple that the Raven Stalker did go.

Save the acolytes, none dwelt near the mountain, for the place was too sacred, too powerful for the mortal flesh to sustain contact and proximity. The Raven Stalker entered into the temple, and confronting the leader of the acolytes, explaining his purpose and quest. Upon him was granted a lantern, lit from the First Fire, and burning with light and power. It would guide him through the darkness, and give him what was needed to defeat the Raven Witch.

The Raven Stalker knew that bearing this light, this power, was not safe for him. He was made of being crafted in darkness, and the light of the Fire seared him as well as it would the Raven Witch. Shuttering the lantern as much as he dared, and moving with all haste, he began to stalk his prey.

There is nought known of what the lands within the Darkness showed him, for it was not until many years later that we did learn of the Raven Stalker and his doomed, noble quest to rid us all of the Raven Witch. We do know that he did find her within the Dark lands, and call her to battle. Both of them binding ravens to their service, they tore at one another, but she had the mastery. As his ravens turned against him, the Stalker opened his lantern, the light pushing back the darkness in ways none had foreseen, bringing light to a land that had known none since the dawn of the world.

Reeling from the light, the Raven Witch surrendered her guard, and the Raven Stalker broke the lantern upon her, engulfing her in the First Fire. Though her shriek rang loud enough to carry too all corners of the world, the Raven Stalker knew that he was finished in his task. The Witch cursed him as she burned, swore that she would have her revenge, and that she would see the lands covered in the very darkness itself. Unable to bear the light of the fire any longer, the Stalker fled, heading for the borders of the Dark lands.

We know not what fate beset him. But the Raven Stalker was not seen in our lands again. We know from the watchers of the Dark that a cloud of ravens did emerge, and fall to the earth, as though prostrate in grief and mourning at the passage of their Queen.

The Raven Stalker did save us from the Witch, and we yet sing his song, that we may always remember that heroism is not always found in the light and fire. Heroism shall come from the heart, and honour beyond reproach.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Shadows​

And so it came to pass that all that was once great and powerful to the people of the world began to wither and fade. And in it's place, darkness fell over the lands. Old, and powerful, it had waited and slept in the corners of the land, waiting for the moment that it might once again rise to proper prominence. To reclaim that which it had lost to the light. Piece by piece, the kingdom fell to the ravages of this cloud of shadow, this rapidly spreading dark. Shadows stretched across the people, and when the sun began to fade from the sky, they sheltered in their homes, shutting themselves away, burning every light they owned.

Because once the darkness came, no one was safe within it. And for a time, it was enough. A burning lantern, a blazing torch, and one could pass through any darkness that came. But over time, the shadows grew in strength, and began to battle the light, to press in at the edges, and begin to force past the normally safe wards. The people could not live like this, and they knew that something had to be done. And soon.

So a champion would need to rise up, one that could hold at bay the dark, one that might stand against the tides, against all odds, and perhaps bring home a triumph of light, to banish away the shadows from the lands, and allow the people to live in peace once more.

The champion stood tall, shining like a beacon of pure light, casting aside the forces that dwelt within the shadows, and strode to claim the one thing that would save the lands. The First Fire. Gifted to man, that fire had been kept burning brightly in reverence, for should that fire go out, ten it was said that man would fall from grace, and never reclaim it's place in the world. The Champion advanced on that flame, knowing that to bring it back to the masses would secure them from harm. The quest was sure. The goal within reach, and the Champion was confident.

The Champion remained confident...even upon his death and failure.

Thousands perished, as the Champion's failure led to the despair of the lands. The remains of the people huddled together in terror, burning ever stronger lights to keep the darkness at bay, but they knew it only delayed the inevitable. They would need a champion to save them. And so very quietly, one rose.

Not born of light and fire, this one skulked calmly in the darkness, slipped past the forces that waited, and was ignored by all of the land. They needed no praise, needed no acclaim, they knew their purpose was to bring the light back into the land. But the power to do this came with a burden. The burden of knowledge. The new Champion knew what the price of saving this land would be. One who moved through darkness could not long bear the power of the First Fire. They could bring the light back to the world...but that quest would claim their life.

Heavy in heart, they set out. Knowledge was a heavy price, but in that knowledge, came the sense of what not only SHOULD be done, but what MUST be done. The land could not much longer hold out from the onslaught. Unhindered by the darkness, knowing that those within would accept the new Champion readily as one of their own, they sought the First Fire, and took it atop the mountain it had hidden in. Lighting the ancient beacon there, light was brought tot eh land in a blazing wave. The new Champion died on that peak, scoured away just as easily as the creatures that dwelt within the darkness. The sacrifice was virutally unknown, and that Champion perished, unknown to the land at large. But not by the remnants of the darkness.

Not known as a traitor, but rather as an ideal. The new Champion had risen above their nature, made the choice on their own. Though the name was never known, the deeds live on in the memories of those who aspire to perhaps be as great, as mighty as they had been. All of those who dwell in darkness are shunned by the lighted world, and damned in their eyes, the fools not knowing that they owed their lives to one. The Champion who had walked in Darkness would never be forgotten though. The dark ones still sing their song, that the damned may still remember.

(A note on perspective! THe other stories of this piece are all told from the perspective of a Song-Sage of the People, while Shadows is not. It is from the side of the Song-Sage within the Dark Lands.)

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Willow Spirit​

And so ends the tales of the First Age of our people. Ah, but in the eyes of you all I see that your thirst for the tales of our people is not yet sated. What is that you say? Who was it that saved us from the Darkness? We do not know. Perhaps the Great Powers took pity on us, and lit the beacon themselves. But now we hearken to a later tale, in the age that did follow...

The Age of Fire and Darkness had passed from our lands, and while the lands of Darkness still loomed, we moved on with our lives. The forests of the land began to recover from the savaging they'd received, and our people flourished once more.

The Great Powers offered our people their aid once more. This time, rather than a single powerful entity, they placed guardian spirits in many place, in many things. Though many in number, no one spirit would wield power even close to that of the Dusk Spirit. Such could not be endured again.

The worship of the spirits was a natural thing, beseeching the spirits of the earth for a bountiful harvest, spirits of sky for fair weather, spirits of river for safe passage and plentiful fishing. But though the times were fair, not all was safe within the borders.

The lands of Darkness still stirred, and nameless things stirred within. The watchers of the Dark were vigilant, but they were only mortal. One by one, creatures escaped the Dark, and fled to the forests within the realm. There they gathered, there they plotted. And from there, they prepared.

The creatures of the Dark began to corrupt the forest, their very presence tainting the trees. And as the trees began to change, so too did the spirits that lived within. But not only spirits lived within the forests. There also dwelt a woodsman, caretaker of the forest, and as he saw his home begin to change, he took up his axe, and sought out the heart of the problem.

The Queen of this forest was a mighty spirit, and she cried out for his aid. To sweep aside the creatures that so assailed her, and to do so quickly, before the taint within her was beyond reversal. Steeling his heart, he marched to find those that would do such evil.

The creatures were not easy to find, but none could evade the woodsman in his home forever. With cunning and fury, he fell upon his foes. Blade rising and falling, he hewed down creature after creature, and for all his valour, for all his heroism, he was but one against many, and his foes knew nothing of mortal limitations. Sorely wounded, and nearly beyond the limits of his strength, the woodsman stood before the greatest of the Dark Ones, the locus of power that did corrupt the trees. To slay the beast was to save the woods, but the woodsman knew in his heart that even at his best, he would have been a poor match for such a creature.

Throwing himself into an attack, the woodsman felt the claws of his foe pierce his chest, his heart and lungs ruined from the strike. The beast laughed at him, but the laugh ended as the woodsman committed to one last blow, now inside the guard of his foe. The axe took the head from the beast, slaying it. A wail rose from the remaining beasts, knowing that they would not succeed in their quest. They fled the fading woodsman, leaving him to his fate.

The spirit that dwelt in the heart of the forest wept, seeing the noble woodsman laid low for his efforts. She could not allow such heroism go without the knowledge of the people. So she took his soul, so far from the songs of the Song-Sages, and she bound into a tree that grew near the river. The tree, once tall and proud, bent low under the weight of the spirit that now lived within it. The tree could not bear the weight alone, so the spirit did spread to others of it's kind. Sharing the burden of the soul of the woodsman, they held it safe in their embrace. But it was not the fate he had wished for.

Now bound, he would never join the souls of his ancestors with the Great Powers. The tree did remain bent with his sorrow, for though he had been rewarded by the Heart of the Forest, it was not the fate he would have chosen for himself. So bound, he remains within the trees, watching over the rivers and forests, offering council to those who know but to ask. Waiting, always waiting, for one to find the words that might set him free.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Scarlet Stalker​

What is that you say? Was the Dark beaten back with loss of their Raven Witch, and the lighting of the beacon? No. The Dark lands slumbered for many years, with no force truly great enough to threaten the people. And yet we waited. And yet we watched. A few attempts from the beasts to emerge were pushed back, after all, they were nearly mindless brutes. So we all believed. And so we were, all of us, deceived...

A fierce attack left the Watchers depleted, and while more were coming to relieve them, something slipped through, something that had not been seen in the lighted world in an age. It walked amongst the people in the light of day without fear of wound, it braved the light cast from the beacon lit with the First Fire. And so it came that the people invited into their company a monster in guise of human.

The first death shocked the people to silence. Pulled limb from limb with inhuman strength and power, eyes turned to the new comer among them. But they could not locate them. They had left the village. The following night, in the next village to the West, another death. And then another. Word began to spread among the people, to be wary of this Stalker of Men.

The charade now destroyed, the Stalker did cast off any attempts at blending into the people, and indulged it's predatory nature. A life was taken from each village, and then the larger towns fell prey to the violence, all the while the people did scour the lands for the Stalker. As the hunt grew more intense, the deaths began to increase. From a life every night, it grew to two. And then three. And then five. Soon whole familes fell under the merciless rage and cruelty of the Stalker.

A hunting party did fall upon the Stalker as it worked it's grisly trade on a victim, finding it Scarlet with blood both old and new. In the ensuing battle, but a single hunter escaped, his mind broken from the horror and violence he had witnessed. When the roused might of the people came, those who had girded themselves as warriors ringed the town, and prepared to sweep through it, to find and slay this Scarlet Stalker.

When they moved in, what they found was not what they expected.

The town was crimson with the blood of the folk who lived within, the Stalker having slain everyone. It sat upon a mound of dead, smiling to the advancing warriors, and all knew what she waited for. Without the Song-Sages to sing the dead home, the corpses began to move, to rise up and walk once more. The Stalker would bring about the ruination of the people once more, but this was not to pass. The warriors did pull back to the edge of town, firing the buildings as they moved, building a conflagration that none could survive, and waiting for the Scarlet Stalker to emerge. And emerge it did.

Flames wreathing it's body, the Stalker did rush the warriors, rage and hate visible on it's face. Though it slew many in it's attempts to flee, the warriors were too many, and many sold their lives simply to keep it in place while more of their number arrived to overwhelm it. Slain on the field, the Stalker was cast back into the flames, consigned to the fire for all time.

The town was never rebuilt. the land is still scorched, a new wasteland within the grounds. The fury unleashed had not been seen since the previous age, not since the Dusk Spirit had walked the lands.

But we sing the tale of the Scarlet Stalker, so that we may remember that we must always remain vigilant against the Darkness.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Velvet Lullaby​

Yes, it is true that the Dark has made many attempts to lay the people low, but is it not testament to our skills that we still stand? But the Dark was not the only thing we had to fear in that age. Often, some of the greatest of threats were not those that came from outside, but from within the people themselves. Add wood to the fire, adn build it bright, and I shall tell you another tale...

The people reeled from the horror of the Scarlet Stalker, and turned inwards to find ways to ensure such never happened again. The Song-Sages reviewed their lore, and turned to attempts to craft new songs to help their people. All hoped that the Great Powers might turn their gaze to them, and grant them another inspired sage, that they might make themselves safe. One of their number plumbed the depths of song, seeking knowledge. What she found was not what she expected.

New songs came to her, more than she ever imagined, songs to do all she could wish. Songs for freedom, songs of binding, songs of death. It was all that one could ever hope for. But she did not share what she knew with her fellow Song-Sages. She hoarded the dark knowledge, and began to use it for her own purposes. Songs of suggestion made sure she never hungered or had a thirst. Songs of death ensured no rivals might rise to challenge her. And finally, songs of lust ensured that no man would ever refuse her.

The people were slow to realize what had grown within their midst. A village remained locked under her sway, none able to challenge her. The people feared to call for a Champion, terrified of that invested form falling under the sway of this Sage. Hope started to fade, until deliverance came to them from the Watchers. A warrior of great skill and piety, with faith in the Great Powers, and quiet faith in the Dusk Spirit.

And perhaps more importantly, they had lost their hearing battling the creatures of the Dark some years past.

Advancing on the village, the warrior bat aside more than one who had fallen under the sway of the Sage, for she had found a Song of Enslavement, and many would throw aside their lives for the benefit of her safety. Undeterred, he moved into the village, until the fallen Sage stood before him. As he approached, she found her songs falling on deaf ears, and began to panic. Without the power of her songs, she was no match for such a warrior.

Dredging her knowledge of song, she at last found one that might help her. As she sang this tune, the wounds that had marred the ears of the warrior began to close. Her Song of Healing was setting him right. The warrior stood before the fallen sage, and she tearfully began a song. His eyes closed, tears in them as he heard her voice. Soft as the finest velvet, he knew what power her song possessed. A Song of Forgiveness. With a nod of his head, he gathered her close, and sank his blade into her heart.

Her death came quickly, and those slaved to her will were released. Though they sought to defile her body, to burn it to ash, the warrior refused them, bearing her body to the edge of the town, where the Song-Sages, at his demand, sang her soul home. The Velvet Lullaby had passed from the realm, and though she had done great wrong, the warrior would hear nothing of her evil. She had found great power. And that power had wrought horror to her mind, for it was not for mortals to conduct such unto the world. Her songs were not from the Great Powers, but he called them a curse from the Dark lands. All but the last. That of Forgiveness. And if the Great Powers could grant such to her, then it was not for the people to judge her.

And we sing of her death and life to remind us all that great power must be tempered by even greater wisdom. Else we lose all that we might stand for.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

BellaDonna Stalker​

You are still not sated? You wish to know more of our people? Of course there is more to tell, but I am old, and I have a thirst. Ah, thank you. Very well, gather closer and I shall speak to you of another who came upon our people, who changed how we viewed things, and who changed the borders of our land.

So much had to change in so short a time. So many lives had been broken by one of the Song-Sages delving too deeply, and finding that which mortals were not meant to find. And so decrees were made, and the Song-Sages began to at last organize themselves, to become a single group instead of scattered keepers of lore. And amongst the land, the songs that were sung helped the land grow.

Within the forests still thick and powerful with age, did dark things move once more. And of these dark things lived one who cared not for the vain ambitions of his people, but instead chose to walk a path all his own. It was this creature, wrapped in the guise of man, that first found that which allowed him to bear the light of day. The Deadly Nightshade, once consumed, would allow him time in the light, and he used this to cross great distances, seeking answers for himself. And mayhaps his peopel as well. At first unnoticed in his passage, this creature found that his consumption of the Nightshade did force upon him a change.

For every step he took upon the green lands, rot and decay did follow him. The lands behind him were fading, and he knew that it would not be long before the people did seek him out to end his life. Knowing he had but a single choice, he turned to the West, entering the one place that the people did not dwell. He entered the scorched wastes left behind from the strides of the Dusk Spirit.

Within these lands, rot could find no hold in the blasted, dry wastes. Upon his shoulders he felt a weight settle, knowing that somehow, the events that had been an age past had been a part of his own people's origin. Trekking across the lands, he found his Nightshade was beginning to empty, and he would soon face the light of day unguarded. He counted his time before death, and found it fast coming.

It was within this blasted wasteland that shadows did stretch across him. As he looked to what was coming, he saw that the nation to the east had sent a great force to sack the lands. The wasteland was thought to be uncrossable by mortals, and thus was unguarded. The dust raised by the horde did blot the sun from the sky. Though his first thought was to follow in their wake, accepting the saving grace of their passage, but something stirred within him. Perhaps a seed of nobility, but he would not turn aside from their coming, he would not allow them to pass untouched.

As the horde did march past, the beast slunk amongst the men. The horde had thought itself prepared for infiltrators, but it was prepared for mortals. The beast now amongst them was nothing of the sort, and the savagery it unleashed was beyond the measure of their minds. As the horde tried to cross, the beast stalked the grounds, slaying all that he laid hands upon. The panic that spread led the horde to shatter, and spread across the wastes, allowing sun and sand to do the work of laying them low. Soon, the few that had survived the passage encountered those of the people that had been pursing the beast. The horde begged entry to the nation, pledging their service, and that their homes would be ripe for conquest, with the losses taken from the passage. If only the people would spare them the wrath of the Stalker.

As the people did stare into the wastes, the beast did stumble forth. His Nightshade exhausted, the rays of the sun did sear his flesh, and wither his form. He fell to his knees, his tale on his lips, to be told to those who might remember him. The pursuers stared in wonder at this beast whose actions had spared the people an invasion. The pursuers did call to the Great Powers, beseeching them for knowledge, for guidance. What came was a change.

The beast that had worn the shape of man did not burn in the sun, but twisted in form, and changed. Where his body had lain, now grew the greatest and largest growth of the Nightshade plant in the lands. And it grew upon the land of the wastes, showing that the land could indeed heal.

Given name by the plant that he had become, the Belladonna Stalker had saved our people, and from the knowledge given, the domain of the people did expand to include the lands of the West. And it restored the hope of the people that perhaps, with time, all things that had been scarred in the lands might be renewed some day.

So do we sing of the Belladonna Stalker. That we may be reminded of these things. That we may be reminded that nobility is not exclusive to the people.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Lily Storm​

And so it was that our lands expanded to include more. The new comers were made part of the people, and taught our ways. What's that you say? what became of the dead within the wastes? Well, that is a tale in and of itself. Gather close, and I shall tell you of it...

The dead lay deep within the wastes, so many scattered that the Song-Sages could not hope to find more than a tiny fraction of them. But these dead did rise from their places, but somehow knew that to come before the people would be only their destruction. Even in their despair, some semblance of the wish for existance lingered on, and they would no cast aside their being.

The sudden expansion of the lands of the people alarmed a great many neighbours, and they began to wonder if the people did harbour some ambitions of empire. What was more, the fall of the nation that had sent it's horde to the wastes freed other lands of pressures that they had faced, and it was not long before war erupted in the lands around. The people were asked to lend aid, to send warriors to their neighbours and trade partners. Thus did the people meet their leaders to discuss the fate of the lands around them.

The people did refuse to send military aid to their trade partners, but did shower them with other aids. Healers were sent, weapons and armour were sent to them, and the taxation of traded goods was lessened, freeing the countries resources to face their foes.

But peace for the people was not to be had just yet.

Pushing past the neighbouring lands, a force of warriors beset the borders of the people, strong beyond expectation, and wrapped in plates of metal far heavier than any mortal man could bear. It was then that the people realized. In some of the lands beyond their neighbours...existed lands with guardian spirits of their own. And these spirits had made their people mighty indeed.

The people, however over-matched, were not ones to give up, and fought a heroic defence, slowing the advance of their foes to a crawl. But the advance ground on, eating up distance from the border to the vulnerable towns within the heart of the land. It seemed that a great slaughter was looming, and the people seemed powerless to stop it.

One of the people would not stand by and watch the end come. Taking what supplies she could, she marched into the wastes. It did not take her long, perhaps a few days, before she met the great mob of dead who walked. They began to move, as though set upon her, when she spoke to them of the coming foe. These dead had been warriors in life, and from a land who had long sought a foe that they could call worthy. She implored them to make their stand, to follow her into the teeth of the enemy, to find their worthy foes, and to redeem themselves for their flight from the Belldonna Stalker.

With a single motion, unified in purpose, the horde turned, and marched, following after the woman who had harnessed the power of the dead behind her. No Song-Sage her, she nonetheless gave voice to song, calling a song of war and victory. Thousands upon thousands of dead voices lifted with her to fill the air with power. Around the frame of the woman, did the light of fire begin to flicker. With their loyalty to her now, chains of spectral fire linked the dead to her, and she marched with them, as though the Dusk Spirit reborn.

The dead fell upon the invaders in a ceaseless tide. As living men they had been powerful fighters, trained for much of their lives, and armed for war. Now, in their new forms, they knew not pain, nor fear. And with them stood the woman who had brought the storm of death to the foe.

Mighty beyond measure, the enemy was nonetheless forced back by the ceaseless tide of dead who walked. The warriors of the people looked on in horrified awe as the fallen rose up once more, chains of the same fire binding them to the woman who strode with the dead, and turning their fearsome power against their brethren. The invaders were pushed out of the lands of the people, and their broken remnants were pursued all the way to teh borders of their home. When the dead legion returned, their leader strode to meet with the people.

The Song-Sages did fear this legion. They sought to know the mind of the woman who had summoned them, and what ambitions she might have. Fortunately for all, she had none.

She had sought to save the people, and had done so. She was now ready to release any of her followers who wished it, allowing them to find their rest and peace of the death. And for those who did not wish this rest...then she would take her legion and storm into the Dark lands, bringing a war to the creatures within. To the shock of all, not a single being within the dead legion opted for release. They would follow her into the Dark lands, and would do so with her song of war on their lips.

Humbled at the sacrifice the woman offered, the peace she offered her followers, and the loyalty of those same followers, the Song-Sages escorted the legion to the Dark lands, learning the song of war as the march went on, and ensuring that the deeds of this woman would not fade from the memory of the people.

And so she did march into the dark, leading her army to almost certain doom. But perhaps her action would purchase some peace for the people.

We still sing her song, that we might always remember that the greatest of our number is measured by the deeds they have done.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Destiny Dark One​

Though humbled by the actions of the Lily Storm, we were nonetheless proud of what she had accomplished. She had single handedly removed a threat, and brought to our aid an army from a quarter none expected. For defeating such a force, the people grew rich in tribute and trade, nations all offering their aid and friendship. The people had never been in a stronger position, and talk began to quietly circulate of the people taking upon themselves a greater role in the world.

But this pride led the people to begin to forget what threatened them. The Dark lands stirred, and those who held watch sent messages to the cities, calling for aid, as the darkness was expanding.

It seemed that the Dark had found some new source of power, for it pushed past it's old borders, spreading in a vast tide. The light from the beacon held the dark at bay from the lands of the people, but it was spreading in a ring around the land. The people then realized that the Dark was not coming for them this time. It was coming for everyone else in the lands.

Warnings were sent, places warned, but few heed them. For these lands had never been beset by the beasts that dwelt within, and had no knowledge of what awaited them. The people did wait, and worry over the growth of the Dark lands, but none could put to thought any plan that might halt the progress of such a force. In the attempt to learn what forced the Dark lands into this new form, a scout from the Watchers advanced into the shadowy realm. All called them fool, and deplored the waste of a life.

But they did not perish within the Dark lands.

This scout returned, their body battered and bleeding, their weapon notched and broken, but still moving forward. Their comrades met them, and what was said chilled them to the bone.

The Dark was expanding for it had found new power. The Dead legion that had marched to make war with the beasts within had indeed done so. But the bodies of the fallen warriors from the more distant land, enhanced and powered by spirits, had begun to fade once within the Dark. And that trapped power was even now allowing the Dark to expand once more.

More shocking still was the news of who had delivered to him this knowledge. The scout had been sent back by the Scarlet Grave, still alive after the ages, and still seeking within the Darkness. The scout was praised for their heroism, and told to stand down, to rest and heal. The scout refused such. Rising to their feet, the scout claimed that there was yet work to be done.

Setting out once more, bearing a new blade and the determination to see that the people were spared the wrath of the beasts within the shadows. The scout crossed the lands with all speed, even braving the newly made roads that led through the wastes, to allow the people to reach their new lands. The Dark was swelling up, and had already begun to engulf these lands. The scout rallied the people, calling for them to light their beacon fires, to take up arms and prepare for the coming of the Dark. And so the people did as was told, rallying to the news that Scarlet Grave lived on, and yet fought.

As the Dark began to sweep in, the scout began to change before the eyes of the people. Skin darkening, and eyes moving to pools of dark, black as ink. Time within the Dark lands had changed them, left them attuned to it. Even within the brightest light, the scout now pulled the shadows with them. Though the people did know fear at their coming, they did realize that in this form, the scout would be able to marshal them, to explore the edges of the Dark, and bring word of what came.

The scout had become a Dark One, though by this turn of events, the scout did find their Destiny, to lead the people in defence against the tides that came.

The people watched in horror as the Dark swept over the lands, engulfing the new lands, those who watched from within the influence of the beacon saw the Dark One stand tall, and exult those with them to stand their ground. As they vanished from view, all who watched knew that there would be no way to reach them in numbers enough to help them. Thousands of the people had died in that instant, along with one bold enough to brave any peril to aid others.

And so it was that the Dark One was lost to us, though we sing of their song yet, that we might never forget the heroism and sacrifice that was shown in that moment.

So came to pass that an Age was ended, and a new one begun. It would be nearly a century until any could conceive of a way to challenge the Darkness, but that, my brethren, is a tale for another night...

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Destiny Lullaby​

That age had drawn to a close. We, the people, knew not what we had lost in those dark times, only that we were once more beset. The Dark lands waxed with power once more, drawing strength from some source that we did not know. The Great Powers were silent to our pleas, and only the spirits they had granted us seemed to hold desire to help and guide us. The beacon lit with the First Fire still warded the lands of the people, at least those that had been granted to us by the Dusk Spirit in times of antiquity. But the new lands, those brought to us beyond the Wastes, were now lost once more. The people were surrounded, the Dark Lands now encircling us, isolating us. The wealth of the larger cities was dwindling without the trade, once so rich from our neighbours. It was clear that something must be done.

A plea was made, a call to the Great Powers, that they might grant a Champion once more, someone to show them the way through this darkness, to throw back the creatures of the Dark lands, and somehow free the lands around them from the hold of the Dark. And so, once more, the Powers seemed to give answer.

Not shining with white light as the last, this Champion burned once more. Fire and wrath were the elements that showed most strongly, and once more, the people rejoiced, even as they feared this new power. So like the near forgotten Dusk Spirit, this Champion took on the task of saving the lands around them. Leading a chosen band of warriors, the Champion set out.

All the while, among the Song-Sages rested one who did not believe that the Champion was sent by the Great Powers. To say so aloud was the foulest of blasphemies, and would see them cast aside. Not willing to give up what they had built for their life so easily, but neither willing to rest all of the hopes of the people in this one being, the sage set out to discover what knowledge could be found.

Forbidden,and dangerous, but seen as perhaps necessary, the Sage began to plumb the depths of the Songs that had been granted. The Song of the Velvet Lullaby firmly in their mind, wary of what could be found at the depths of this power and knowledge, the Sage did risk everything to find what might help the people.

And so they did find what they sought.

A Song of Knowing, one to ease aside the fog of uncertainty, to illuminate mysteries. While not all powerful, it might grant the Sage what was needed. Song upon their lips, they ventured to the edges of the lands of the people. Upon reaching these lands, the fog did lift, and an answer was made clear to the Sage. Feeling a fool, they turned back to the lands, and began to set out for the Temple of the First Fire.

The acolytes there did speak to the sage, and here of the plan that had been wrought. A line of beacons, smaller than that that adorned the mountain, but enough to push the Dark back from the lands of that were even now so afflicted. Word was spread that this would be wrought and put into place. Bearing a torch lit from the First Fire, the Sage did move to light the beacons, and push away the endless Dark. In great waves did the light push back the Darkness, the purifying, holy light doing the work that all had sought. Pockets of the people that had been trapped in the Dark began to emerge, sorely tested but still defiant. It seemed that all might be set right in the lands, and teh people did rejoice.

Until the First Fire began to fail.

It's power was vast and beyond the ken of mortals, but it was not without limits. And those limits had been exceeded. The acolytes sent for the Song-Sages, needing their guidance to save the First Fire, but they spoke not a word to the people at large, fearing what panic might be wrought by such an action.

As the council of Song-Sages gathered, they began to quail before the great catastrophe that loomed before them. Without the First Fire, they would all fall back into Darkness, and likely be destroyed. Talk began of summoning back the Dusk Spirit, to seek the renewal of the First Fire, but all knew that to do so risked much. Her wrath might well lay waste to teh lands once more, and the people could ill afford such. The Sages did quail before the problem. All of them. Save for one.

Song on their lips, this Sage called for Knowing, singing the song that they knew would reveal the acts they had done. But in the sight of such choices, they could no longer guess at their path. They needed to Know. And the Song did reveal the action that needed to be taken.

The power of the First Fire was indeed waning. But it could be restored to its fullest, but only through sacrifice most dear. The Song-Sage did turn to their brethren and speak.
"Know that I did that which was forbidden. And Know that in doing such, I did find the ways to save our people. The laws of our kind say I must be punished, and that I must be exiled. But Know that I have one last task to perform as one of you. Remember that the Destiny that I now take upon myself was not one forced upon me. It was the Fate that I chose. All I have done, and may yet do, is for the good of our People."

Turning from the council, the Sage stepped within the First Fire. The flames grew around them, and all cried out in horror as they sank to their knees within the fire. Flaring brightly, the First Fire took strength from the action, growing in power, taking the nobility, the selflessness of the Sage, and becoming all the stronger for it. And so a new song was born to the people.

It is said by some few of the acolytes that the body of the Sage still remains within, not burned away even after an Age. So do wonder if perhaps the sacred nature of the First Fire might not allow it to take life, and if this would be so, then the fate of the Sage is one too terrible to comprehend. But we still sing of the Destiny Lullaby, who did give their everything to the people, to remind us that there is no greater virtue than the willingness to give your all for the good of the people.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Moon Nightshade​

We marked the dawning of our Third Age by the salvation of ourselves. Though the Dark was pushed back from our borders, expanding the safe regions, there was no knowing how far the Dark had spread. The people might well be the only surviving nation in the world. The people set about ensuring that their cities did flourish, making each of them able to support itself. Around each city spread a vast area of farms, bringing the food needed to sustain the people within. And so did the people begin to divide themselves into classes. The Lower class laboured for the benefit of all, the upper class, those that called themselves noble, looked to the protection and management of the cities.

It was in this growing change of the people that others did rise up. Without an external threat to keep the people united, small groups and individuals did take it on themselves to make their own way through life, without regard to the cost to others. It was in this time that a new kind of figure entered into the lands. Bandits fell upon a farming community, looting and burning as they went, casting the survivors into the nearby land to attempt to escape. One of them found herself deep beneath the trees of the forest. And it was here that she found a new fate.

Power had swollen across the land with the spreading of the First Fire, and in the forgotten places of the world, that power was collecting, ready to act, if only given a suitable purpose and direction. Though fleeing the bandits, she had wandered into the path of a wolf pack, and was now in flight for her life once more. She stumbled into the heart of the forest, wolves circling, until one of their number leapt for her. The blood that was shed reacted to the power within the forest, and in that instant, a something new was made.

She found that the bite had caused her to have the power to assume the form of the wolf, and did so instinctively. Throwing herself into teh effort of surviving, she battled within the forest, and through desperate perseverance, she triumphed. Victory was now hers, and the wolves would fall behind her. Not content with this, she began to look elsewhere. Pack after pack of wolves were bound to her service through careful planning and strength. The strength of the beast married to a human mind made for an unstoppable combination. With a force of wolves behind her, she sought the bandits out.

Vengeance was swift and deadly, falling on the bandits with fury and rage. The wolves tore through the camp, killing all that they found. Only a bare few escaped, bringing tales of wolves who attacked in controlled ways, and that a woman strode through them, guiding them, and then changing her very skin to that of a beast, and moving with the pack. Alarmed, and fearing another creature from the Dark lands had made it's way into the lands, the people did react and send out a force to try and corner this creature that moved under the light of the moon.

She did not run, nor did she hide. She waited for them at the edge of the forest that had begun in the former wastes. Now a woodland that bore a ground cover of Nightshade, the forest was foreboding to the people, and they shunned it. The hunters came into sight, and found her sitting without fear, her face painted dark with the berries of the Nightshade, and smiling at their approach. Confronted, she explained that she was no creature sent to harm the people, and that she bore them no ill will. She had avenged her family upon the bandits, and made an offer to aid the people. She, and her new force of wolves, could cover ground quickly, and be able to hunt and limit the bandits of the lands. All she would need was their blessing, and to be left alone.

Reluctantly granting this, they asked what name she might wish to be known as. She simply looked to the sky, and then to the earth, and announced she would be known by that which she was now known for. A creature of the Moon, bearing the mark of Nightshade upon her face. And so began her new fate, and she swept across the lands, aiding those she could.

But to all things, must come an end.

Moon Nightshade was brought to heel by the largest of the bandit clans, who sent his people out to hunt the wolves. Her force shrinking, she led them personally to seek the death of the leader of the bandits, one last attempt to bring low this man. She fought with the fury of ages, pushing through scores of bandits, leaving a red ruin in her wake, before confronting the leader. Their battle lasted a night, and both were sorely wounded. The Bandit prepared to withdraw, to save his strength, and return for another battle another day. But it was not to be permitted. Throwing herself into the attack, Moon Nightshade ran herself upon his blade, but in doing so brought him within reach of her lupine jaws, and crushed the life from him.

The bandits did scatter, and the remaining wolves of her forces circled her, guarding her body as she began to return to the form she had been born into.

She was laid to rest with the honour deserved by one who had dedicated so much to the betterment of the land, and the safety of the people. The people called her Queen of Wolves, for she had bound so many to her aid that whole regions had not seen the tracks of wolves in years. Her legacy lived on, as time would show that more like her did exist, people able to change their skin with that of wolves.

We still sing of her, that we might be reminded that fate is not something to be feared and fled from, but rather embraced. By such deeds are heroes made.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Destiny Storm​

Ah, so you wish another tale? You wish to know how it was that the nobles did select one to rule over them? The taking of the throne? Then gather kinsmen, and the tale I shall tell you...

It was in the deepest of winters. It had been many years since the Moon Nightshade had stalked the land, though rumours did abound in the deep forests of wolves that seemed to think with the power of the people. No great threat had arisen since then, and the people were faced with more mundane worries. The harvest had been poor, and the winter was thick and deep that year. Rationing was enforced, and the people did try to stretch what they had until more could be found.

As fate is wont to inflict, mundane issues would forever seem to attract more serious threats. As though having waited for a moment, the beasts within the dark made a push within the lands. The Watch, barely manned in these dark days, and weakened further by the lack of food, could not do more than slow the invasion. By some power, the beasts threw up a pall of shadow in their advance, keeping away the purifying light of the First Fire. This power was clearly telling, for the advance they made was slow, as though the power that they drew on was not without limit.

The people had maintained a force of warriors to combat threats, and they began to rally to the banners raised by the noble houses. But it was a band of common warriors who observed the path that the beasts did take that realized the depth of the threat posed. These bests made not for the cities, but instead for the largest of the farms. It was here that great stores of grain were kept, and the loss of which would spell the starvation of thousands, no matter if the beasts were thrown back or not. The nobles were alerted, and hastened to intercept them, but it as clear to any who observed that they would not reach the enemy in time. Something had to be done to slow them. But any who stood before these beasts would die in moments.

A woman within the warriors stood tall, and announced that she would take the fight to the foe. Every moment that she might gain would give chance to the nobles to intercept. A small force could travel with swiftness, and make their stand before the enemy. She called out for volunteers to join her in her endeavour. When others demanded to know her course of action if none would follow her, she calmly announced that she would go alone. But that the more that came, the longer they might hold.

She rode out from her home, a bare twelve warriors with her. None who made the ride entertained any thoughts of their fate. The nobles were on the move, adn had no time to spend on a small force like theirs. They would face the horde. And they would die before it, unsung and unremembered by any. But by their actions could they save even a single life, then they would know that their deaths had not been in vain.

The dark cloud that preceded the horde made the enemy easy to track. In a wooded pass, the warriors did draw up. The woman who led them walked behind them all, and with the edge of her sword, drew a line in the earth.
"Upon this line we do stand. And on the honour of our very souls, we shall not take a step behind it. Swear this with me now, and know that when we find our ends, there will be no shame in our hearts." She announced. Each warrior swore the oath, and on their faces she found no trace of fear. The beasts did advance towards the pass, only to find it barred. They thought little of this, and came on in a darkened wave.

Of that battle, so little is known to us, even in this age. We know that the beasts threw themselves at the warriors two score times, all of their savagery and fury spent on the unwavering line of warriors. When a warrior did fall to their foes, the line stepped forward, and spread but a little thinner, but yielded nothing to their enemy.

The nobles did spy the enemy, halted in the advance, and turned their force to face the foe. Sounding war horns, and advancing to meet them. Of the warriors who had made their stand, only one remained. The woman who had led them there still stood, a carpet of dead beasts lay around her, three deep, and stretched for nearly a dozen paces behind her. The coming of the main force broke the nerve of the beasts, for all of their numbers had been halted by these few, what chance would they have against teh collected might of the people? They fled back to the Dark lands, and the peopel did turn to the one who had held the line.

She would speak of nothing until her people had been seen to, their souls sang to their end, that they might find an honourable ending. And then she told of what they had done. The noble did decree then that this one soul had been as a Storm to the foe, battering them before their arrival. And now by their unanimous agreement, she would have a new Destiny, as the first Queen of the people. Though she did try to refuse, she knew in her heart that in such a position, she could accomplish much good.

And so she ascended to the throne of the people, and did all she could to ensure the well being of those around her. She did not lay aside her sword, nor her armour, always leading her people from the front, always inspiring. She did this until her dying day.

Her line does still lead us, in our darkest times they have been tehre to guide us to victory. And we will still sing of her, for she did show that to stand need not be for glory, nor honour. But to stand with nothing but the good of other in mind...this would be the ideal that all should aspire to hold.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Velvet Phantom​

Today is no tale of heroes and champions. No, on this day we speak of villains, of thieves, and the actions that they have taken to shape the lands. And how in the most unlikely places, the seeds of what could be called honour could be found.

He was not a man of conscience, but he had become a man of means. Morals were a thing that could be afforded by those with the wealth to indulge in such things. Wanting more, but having no opportunities, this man made his life a thing of shadows and darkness, prowling the well monied sections of the kingdom.

He took what he could, jewels and coin, but never lingered for long, taking only what was easily available to him. His success was beyond expectation, the wealth he took allowing him to elevate himself far beyond his previous station, all the while knowing that he would keep needing more and more to keep himself afloat.

This Phantom took many things, but it was not until he stole into the chambers of a noble lady to take those jewels he had seen, that he found she had woken in the night. Her fright was not something that he had intended, and while pocketing her jewels, he assured her that he had meant her no harm. In his attempts to smooth her feelings, he found that a something he had not intended was taking place. This young noble lady seemed to find his presence exciting. The hint of the unknown, and of the dangerous. He stole more than her jewels that night.

Now as time moved on, his nightly predations included more than jewels. He never took what was not freely offered, and he found more and more than noble ladies would leave precious things in full view, in the hopes of tempting the Phantom to their chambers. It was this new, adn growing reputation that earned him the new name of Velvet Phantom.

Even these predations began to fall short, as his jewels began to fall short. He was becoming unable to make the ends meet that he needed to. He accepted the contract of a man who offered him a great sum of gold for his greatest theft yet. The princess of the realm.

The man swore it was to ransom her, to make a statement against the king, and taking the coin, the Velvet Phantom made his play. The princess was not hard to entice out of the castle, his reputation making him irresistible to her young and naive heart. She was led to a secluded glade, where she was taken by those he had been in employ of. The Velvet Phantom had been led to believe he worked for a noble house, one who would make statement of her capture, but the men he saw now were little more than brigands, and slavers, and he well knew the fate of those taken by them.

This, he knew, would not stand. He was a thief, and lover, not a slaver. He intervened, attacking the men, knowing that his actions were likely futile, but that he must try. Through skill and luck, the princess was able to mount her horse, and make good on her escape. The Velvet Phantom was not so fortunate.

Beset by many, he fell to the blades of his foes, but his sacrifice was not in vain. The princess returned to the capital, and told all of the attack on her, and the valiant man who had saved her life. The Velvet Phantom was retrieved, and buried with honour on the royal grounds. His funeral was attended by many of the noble ladies he'd visited, all of them stood with hearts broken at his passing.

And so ended the tale and legacy of the Velvet Phantom.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Autumn Storm​

The people had reached the highest power that we had ever known. The line of warrior queens had led us to glory for generations. No true threats had emerged to challenge our power, and the people had begun to believe that their power had grown unassailable. It was in that time of arrogance that we began to believe that the power of the Dark Lands had faded, and we would no longer be forced to bear the weight of it's containment. But it was within this time that one of the most devastating threats did emerge...

Those who watched the borders of the Dark Lands had grown attuned to it, able to sense and feel the wax and wane of the power within. And they began to feel a swelling of power, unlike anything in living memory. And to their surprise, a lone figure emerged, clothed in the form of one of the people. Knowing better than to trust such a form, but knowing well the story-songs of creatures from the Dark Lands that had shown nobility, they were reluctant to cut down such a creature without knowing it's intent.

Cautiously advancing to see what intent the creature had, one of the watchers too note of the ground beneath the feet of the creature. The grasses had withered and began to die. Shouting a warning, he besought his comrades to fall back. But with his shouted warning, the creature raised it's arms, and from it swept a wave of fire. All that the fire touched withered and rot, men falling to nothing in seconds. Fired arrows decayed before touching the flesh of the creature, and thrown axes turned to brittle rust. Not knowing how to face such a creature, the Watchers fell away, calling for the fastest among them to carry warning to all around them. It seemed that the Dark had found a new way to face the people.

The grey fire did not slow, it became a swirling tempest, a storm of rot and decay that ravaged the lands around them. Forces were sent to face them down, but nothing survived getting with a hundred feet. And with each death, it seemed that the distance the grey fire swathed grew larger. the people began to fall into despair, for what could be done to a creature such as this? The Autumn Storm seemed invincible, and would scour the lands of all traces of the people.

THe people did what they had not done in generations. They called to the Higher Powers for a champion to save them.

No answer came to them.

Believing them forsaken and helpless, the people began to try and discover where they might flee to. But there were some who began to plan a way to strike down this foe. For they had looked on it's path, and knew where the foe did aim. They aimed at the First Fire.

The loss of the beacon could well shroud the land in a second darkness, and the people would likely not survive such a thing for long. And so a band did set out across the plains, intending to cut off the Storm, and bring it to heel. Amongst them stood a Song-Sage, and a warrior, and it was upon these two the hopes of a people did rest.

The Autumn Storm saw the waiting forms, and advanced. Each step was measured and light, and the grey fire swirled soundlessly around the creature. The warrior came forward, armed with naught be their hands, and the Song-Sage began to sing. Rot assailed the warrior, flesh beginning to blacken from the flames, but then the song did sink in. Healing rushed through the warrior, combating the rot, not stopping it, for the song lacked that raw force, but it was keeping it at bay. The Autumn Storm gaped in awe as the warrior came on.

Fists hammering in, the warrior began to assault the Storm, and each blow faltered the waves of fire, but each blow sent rotted skin flying. The warrior was falling to pieces from the assault, but the plan was still in force. Bringing the Storm to it's knees, the warrior began to try and choke the life from the creature. The grey fire faded, and the others in the band loosed arrows from afar. The shafts struck the Storm in the chest, driving for the heart. As the Autumn Storm began to fade, the warrior released the neck of the beast, and staggered to their feet.

Their body was wasted and damaged, and not even the song of healing could mend the damage. The life of the warrior was over. They would not survive long with the damage that had been wrought, but they died with a clean conscience, having bought the opening that was needed to stop this storm. The band buried the warrior there, their soul sang to the afterlife.

But the people still sing the song of the Autumn Storm, that we may remember that vigilence is always required from the peopel. Else we shall be surely lost.

 

[Pietroschek]

My first impression was that it seems like the start of a saga, a traditional Norse form of tale-telling. In Raven Witch I wondered about what I quote now: "Rest well in the knowledge that we live in blessed times, removed from the trials of our ancestors. "

Is a time of hypocrite deception, decadence, and regular backstabbing in a multitude of forms really that much "better" than a time of raids and brutal fighting? I am not that sure.

On your signature you might like to contemplate what beyond postering is to be learned from "You claim you will, I did." Truly, such statements, when meant for life, need a lot of strength in many forms, plus the wisdom to handle it all properly.

A risk of your chosen writing style is that a lack of variety may degrade it into sermon. Too much of that is like a ranting bum at the street corner, as readers tend to get bored by too much repetition.

Personal Note: I reply to a text I read. I do NOT consider such the start of any debate with you. If you don't like my comment just delete it, don't waste my time with PM or emails, please.

Thanks for sharing.