The drums of war beat
Anger rang out to the first sister
The lure of popularity dug in deep
Envy and Hate called to the second sister
The superiority of their act broke by sleep
When laziness summoned the third sister
Fall of the Three Sisters
The "Fall of Three Sisters" is a poem about the emotions the Queen of Eylium calls on you to suppress. Most have heard it a hundred times, before they can even walk. In a realm where your emotions can cause a flower to bloom or a monster, hungry for your insides, to appear- every being is taught to do their part. The Queen's presence keeps every day feelings from getting in the way of life but violence, chaos, and extreme moments can slip beyond her control.
Myth and Lore of the Three Sisters
The Storyteller walked back to his tree with Kibber. The smell of the mint grew as he passed. The plants stood taller in his wake. Kibber watch them stretch as they walked and the Storyteller recited the poem.
"The Queen does not influence you any more?" Kibber asked.
"No." The Storyteller continued. "Kibber, your qestions are on the right track, but I need you to listen now. The Queen was the oldest sister. The second sister is behind the Cult of Cold. The third sister left but before she disappeared she came to this library."
They reached the tree. The storyteller summoned a scroll wrapped tightly around a silvered rod.
"She gave me this and told me that I was not here to serve the Queen. That I was from before their time."
Kibber opened the scroll. He was not a trained arcana expert, by any means. But, after the years spent traveling the domain, he knew what he was looking at. "This is a spell to summon a portal!"
The Storyteller nodded, "The third sister was not lazy. She was preparing. She knew someone would find their way here."
Squirrel tails, sprigs of dried herbs, a vast collection of scoops and spoons, bags with root vegetables were all suspended with a wispy green vine growing over the rafters and joists. The room was highlighted in a warm yellow light from a large hearth with a bulging cauldron that bubbled and spit over a steady fire. Work tables in the back were covered with confusing collections of materials.
"Excuse me ma'am, I'm looking for a pound of dried sage," the young scholar looked wide-eyed at the chaos of the shop.
"Have a seat dear. I'll find it for you. Would you like some stew?" an elderly woman pulled a scarf over her head. She finished stirring the cauldron and started filling up a bowl.
"Um. I don't think I have time for lunch. The Prior will want be back as soon as possible." The young man replied.
"I'm sure it will be fine. She picked up her cane and made her way over to the table in the front of the shop, carrying a bowl of soup in her other hand. Here, sit." she said it in a grandmotherly way. She scooted off to find the sage before he could protest.
She checked the baskets, then the pots. She moved on to the drawers.
"What is your name young man?" She asked.
"Oh, um. I am Nathan Avast."
She took extra time to show off her collection of pocket knives in the bottom left drawer. Then she moved some piles around on the worktable. As the young man finished his stew she returned to the baskets and pulled out a cloth satchel.
"Ah! Here it is!" She shouted her victory. She gave the boy the satchel.
"How much do I owe?" he asked.
"Oh, the academy already has a tab for that. And the soup is already paid." She replied.
He looked at her quizically, but the whole experience was odd so he simply said, "Ok, thank you," and left with his dried sage.
The woman snatched up his bowl and examined the remains. "OOO! This one has promise."