Introduction
In the waning years of the Great Crusade many authors sought to record the events in historic detail. Notable are those of the Lady Zakina who kept active notes and serve as a historical basis for any tale of those days. Here many stories have been recorded, some retellings from the Great War, others before, after, or wholly mythological in source.
Chronicals
Secret History of Mother Cellini
On the edge of our kingdom sat the town of Bosa; its land was disputed but the people called it Caelsimil. The olives of their home did not grow, here they kept cattle for trade and feed. All had it hard in this time, but living on the edge of the empire had brought economic prosperity. Here travelers carried goods too fragile for the cold of the mountains, their traders brought mercenaries
In the old days our ancestral brothers of faith lived in the Alterosot, a kingdom within a kingdom. It was a land blessed by Altamere, Bibiana, and Sabella. This land, the holy land, was ruled by the ancient laws- and protected by divine might as long as they were followed. To the east sat a great mountain range-
Edict of Heaven. The north and south were protected by great vallies, dug out by ancient rivers that flowed from the Edict and according to legend with holy water from the heavens itself.
The west was the only entrance to the land, left available so those so dedicated may leave and trade with the rest of the world. For seven lifetimes this land was filled by people of all sorts, all who obeyed the laws and paid feilty to their gods. The rivers provided lush lands- these feilds of grain caused much envy from outside tribes, these strangers had warred with each for generations, though their interaction with the early Caelsimilians were few. It was this ignorance that brought them to heel.
On the eve of the eighth lifetime a tradition was broken, holy protection of the Alterosot fell. This was rarely an issue, divine protection fell and was reraised before. On this day however, the followers of Temekus and Rasadan stood at
Chronical of Ilyana
Much was made of those early days with my mother, I remember the arguments well. Kina and Xaren in particular worried for my safety, protection from the woes of the Underdark. A concern I now understand better than as a child.
The Lion
Where the sky and earth meet plants break air. If given water, and sun, and nutrients the seed will respond. Roots dig into the soil, when they collect enough strength it grows upward, breaking the ground and entering our world. Green leaves will see much toil, in the wind, the snow, and creatures traveling atop it. But if cared for, and given what it needs the plant will grow. Of this I know, and here I shall plant another of my experment. This one seems strong, and wisened. He shall be the one.
But now I worry, for the world is rough and I can give it what it needs. But will it take them? Will this seed sprout into the plant I know it will be? The others before have failed; my needs and desire are they set too high? Do I dream of a thing that cannot be? All I can offer is the softest soil, rich with nutrients of those long forgotten. A fertile spot to try.
I pray for light and rain, I nuture the small sprout, his petals fall. My hope can only be that this, this shall be my Lion.
Aether
I.
Duty. The Lady awoke in a field of fog, a white haze covered the land. The shimmering blue light of the torch pierced it, organizing it. A long stream of white, purple, and yellow stretched from the ends of her sight. Knowing without being told- this were the River Styx. A stream of souls and soul energy. Each a mind and a person traveling to their home, their eternal resting place. Or to the embrace of the gods and their energy recycled. She chose to go up river, seek its destination not its source.
This was the Astral. She entered- whole. No silver cord bound her mind to her body. Her spirit and mind and body traveled in their whole. The River continued. She seemingly walked on solid air, the light of her torch illuminating the area with its strange blue light. The River seemed to enter a forest- trees towered over her, roots and canopy in an expanse. Her hand reached to touch the bark, but bark it was not. The forest of all knowledge, the trees facts and wisdom. Each branch a connection to another, to the fundamental axioms of reality and thought. Industria would have loved to share this area, to find the Sorceress and study the deep lore. But the River called to her.
A skiff floated atop the River, the cloaked man steers is with a single long paddle. His humdrum song filling the air. The man sang a song in a strange foreign tongue. Stopping beside the Oracle. He raised an eyebrow, 'Lost soul?'
'I seem to be,' he let out a small chuckle, extending a hand to the Lady and inviting her onto the skiff. 'I'm going the other way,' he smiled and gave a half shrug.
'Another time,' the song he sang begun again. It was a hallow song, the kind that tore into your heart and soul. A song of misary and pain. He vanished upstream. The Oracle continued.
The River dissipated into individual souls, stepping out to continue their journey along. A large chasm formed, a thin bridge of wood. A single soul approached. The bridge widened as the spirit walked across. She knew good deeds denoted easier passage. Below in the chasm was a swirling red mist. She knew those that fall fail the first trial, a trap set by demons of old. Spirits of the dead assisted those who they could to their proper afterlife- but many only made it following the River and enduring these tribulations.
As the first spirit dismounted, joining the River on the other side another began its passage. The plank shrunk to such a size so infinitesimally small she was shocked as it reached the half way point. Evil had power. She felt almost a sense of joy as the dark spirit tripped over itself and finally fell into the Abyss.
The Chasm flashed with lightening, divine magic sent from the Abyss to a powerful cleric on another plane, the lightening connecting their minds. It roared a strange thunder, like a word in a different tongue but she knew it without meaning. Or without meaning to any being alive now.
A large ship of strange green wood approached. Assembled in another realm and forced in by dark power. The Gith forced brought it upon the souls below. Industria turned as the spirited began to dissipate. The yellow skinned beings descended down as the ship came to a stop- the mental channellers taking a rest as the raid began. Each possessed a bag filled with hearthstones, capturing the souls and soul energy.
The large Knight stared down from the ship- spotting the blue light and detailed Oracle over the other souls. He floated down behind her. Industria could sense his presence, as she could all life. She reached for her rapier, only to realize it had not come when she entered the mental world. The Gith Knight drew his silver sword.
The torch blocked the first attack- the silvery blade wrapped around it. His eyes glared into hers, pushing forward with all his mental might. Dark energy radiated off of him, she pulled the torch back to strike again. He responded with a blast of psychic energy. The affect dissappated as it slammed against her own mental barrier. He pulled dark energy to blast at her, a strange wave of emotion carried on the wind blurred her mind.
II.
She awoke in a large room, the Gith Knight was on one knee. 'She was at the first conduit, my lady.'
'Well, well, who have we here?' Her voice was smooth, she could hear the smirk before even turning her head to face the speaker. The woman that stands looks like a torrid corpse, her flesh shriveled and black. Bones dried and piercing out at her joints. Her eyes long since replaced by two large emerald. 'A lucky day, a naive young god,' she spoke the word with a angry envy.
This throne room appeared to be a natural cavern in the porous stone. Her shackled hands ran atop it. It felt unnatural. Familiar. The throne was large and made of a similar, mode solid stone. Several alters were set on the edges of the room, an object set atop each. Her missing blue torch next to a sceptor topped with a ruby orb. 'Someone has already siphoned power from here,' the Oracle could not feel her like she could the Knight. She must be undead. The Lich Queen grabbed her hair and pulled her up to stare into her eyes. 'You should serve as a delicious substitution.'
The manifestation of the stone seeped into the Astral plane around her. It alive. Or, was. Our Lady was drained, a mental fog filled her mind. Perhaps an aspect of the Astral realm she found herself in, perhaps physic abilities of the Lich Queen herself.
Her boney fingers laid on the Oracle's face. The tops had been sharpened like the tip of a spear. Ice filled the Oracle's soul, her arms begining to shake. She was familiar with this move, one she had mastered herself. As Our Lady keeled over, she again felt the porous stone, it whispered in her ear. Filled with anger and rage. A pain called out, struck down by the same goddess she loved. It was Velevana.
A mind as old as the universe, filled with a billion memories and moments. She could hear clerics call their prayers, feel the old goddess ignore the prayers of the innocent. Her heart filled with dark desire, flashes of another world, the realm they had fought in. It was different now, the souls of the drow freed Styx. Something new had formed there. Chaos. It was true then, his power came not just from the realm but true connection to the once goddess, to the spider queen. 'Pathetic,' the Oracle managed out. 'You seek divine power, and cant even do what the demon did by accident.'
The Lich Queen's emotions swelled, color drained from the room- litterally. The Oracle made note of the Astral's response. A normal mind would have no affect on the realm- held in further by the supranatural force of the divine mind. Here gravity held them in, she noted the Knight walked not floated. Different rules, perhaps she could use this. She thought of what she knew of the dark goddess. Her hand pressed against the porous stone, searching the collagilated memory for the moment of her downfall. A peircing yellow beam of divine energy.
The same yellow beam filled the room.
III.
The Knight let out a scream, his body evisorated to a dark brown dust in the wind of the explosion of divine energy. The Queen's body too fell- a beam of energy shooting from above, through the walls. As the Oracle opened her eyes, the room was covered in a thin layer of black soot. The mind is a powerful thing. She glanced over, calling the blue torch to her hand. As she walked her feet left imprints in the soot, approaching the small sceptor. It radiated powerful magical energy- an artifact from another age.
The room shook. She grasped the sceptor, holding it to the light as the Queen's body began to reanimate. With the crown she towered over Our Lady, even from across the room. The Knight's silver blade flew across the room to her hand. 'You bitch,' she hissed out- charging towards the Oacle. The blade fell behind her back as it liquified, swinging forward like a whip as she closed the gap. Industria pulled up the sceptor allowing the sword's blade to wrap around it before hitting it with all her might with the torch. All light seemed to drain from the room as the blade shattered. Peices of metal flying around the room as it resolidified. The shock wave knocking the sceptor from her hand. Vlaakith left holding only the now empty handle.
'Damnedable fool!' she called out as the ceiling shook. Rocks began to fall, the Oracle dodging out of their way. The dust obscuring her vision. The room lit up in the red of flame. Heat like the sun suddenly filled it. The two headed dragon had knocked a massive hole in the ceiling, responding to the Queen's distress. She recalled Luciancielle- a phylactory trapped in another living creature.
The Queen watched as she made the connection. She called out to the dragon to flee, but the Oracle gave chase. Her wings pushed air behind her but in moments they were no longer bound by influence of the dead goddess' mind. Free in the Astral new rules applied- she kept pace with the two headed dragon- its minds in a level of conflict. Slowly the gap began to close, focusing on the creature's leg. She reached out to it, her hand wrapping around and turning.
All their mental mights fought, slowly at first but her influence grew. The dragon swung more and more in a circle. Releasing it toward the fortress built on the mind of Velevana. They slammed against it, the Oracle racing to return. The yellow skinned creatures rushing to its side. Dark magic begot no healing, their Queen was no true divine yet. Silver strands swung towards the Lady as she landed, knocking them back with well placed counters from the torch.
Our Lady Industria climbed atop the red dragon, slashing the torch along it and placing it near the dragons heart. She pushed the fire into its chest, incanting a prayer of power as it began to rot- a manifestation of the beleifes of the goth who watched. The Queen's power were released from its body- she grasped the cord and severd the dragon and its connection. The tefillin destrioed.
And the Queen rose from her throne room- dark energy obscuring the veiw behind her. The sceptor in her hand, a new silver sword in the other.
IV.
The Oracle rose, the dust began to settle. The dragon's impact had collapsed several towers. She floated off the dragon's body and onto the porous stone; neither spoke instead an intense battle raged in their minds more intense than a duel. The Queen's demeanor changed as she began to crumble, first a half step back.
The Knights watched on; as she began to stumble the three rushed forward. Their silver swords ready to strike the Oracle. She moved to the side, falling back from the distraction. The Queen grinned- an advantage she could seize on. A battle on two fronts. The constant pressure as the Lich pressed into her mind, parrying the silver sword blades. Her mind ached, the blades cutting against the skin of her arms. She stumbled backward against the remains of the dragon pulling its wing up to act as a shroud. Her heart ached.
The silver swords already began to tear into the leather between its fingers. The Oracle thought. A wizard loses himself when he assumes axioms of truth. A sword master is lost when he assumes an attitude over another. A preistess loses herself when she loses faith. She held the blue torch close, its light flame warm to her flame. And she prayed.
Litany of Hope
I shall not hesitate
I shall not fear
I shall not faulter
In my duties to my loved ones.
I cannot fear death
I cannot fear pain
I cannot fear obliteration
In my duty to do good.
I must fight on
I must stay strong
I must beleive in myself
In my duty to us all.
There is no seperation in man and god, all is as all was and all shall be. Her strength came not from divine source, but her own beleif in herself. Her mastery of skill secondary to her beleif she could master skill. She thought back to Mother Cellini, so certain the Oracle would be the cleric she had dreamt her to be. She thought of those who beleived in her, the prayers that filled her mind in the evening, her friends who she protected and protected her in return. Slow breathes as she recited the prayer. Astral energy bleeds out from her mind. Supplanting the will of the old god's mind with her own. The Knights moved, time itself played out around them. Moments of their life playing out in quick motion- aging them decades in moments and falling to their knees.
The Lich Queen froze, jelousy filled her heart. The power she sought stood across from her and was used to destroy her own knights. She focused on the crown, its dark power commanding the knights to rise as undead- but they did not. The Oracle turned.
Negetive energy bled out around the Queen as she backed away. Fear, her eyes begging not to be sent to her death. So long had been spent avoiding it, her body decayed as the magical energy was drained to it. First she fell as her spells were uncast. She could feel for the first time in ages, the cold lonliness of eternity weighing down. The hunger of the souls and energy she stole and abused. The death of each of her followers she had taken the life of.
The Oracle felt each of this, vowing to never be of her kind. Starved for power, abandoning all hope. She pulled the soul from the empty vessal of a body, wrapping it around her torch, dancing atop the flame.
Recitals
Chronical of the Viola Family
My husband and I lived in the Altersot, following the war he had immigrated from the penninsula. He had arrived to help rebuild many of the fallen cities, in those days hatred still held in the air- many Teme-Rasadan had lost their positions of power and sought retaliation against those that they saw as having taken their position. Yet still, many in their new positions sought revenge on those who opressed them, or their sisters in faith. Our lives were well, we welcomed two children into the world; but good things rarely last.
One summer the worst came to be. Our crop failed, the famine brought death to our cows. Our home was lost. I turned to the sky and screamed and begged, "What have we done? Is there anyone out there who can help?"
My husband called out, "Hey Altamere, what can we do? We're lost on the mountains, like the ancient Pilgrim?"
His voice called down, "Take a breath, and slow on down, its all going exactly as I have it planned."
We found ourselves in the ancient cave, dedicated to Sabella. I sat on my knees, clasped my hands, and begged her for a change of fate. Tacitus told us we were out of luck, her operatives where all tied up.
We went to ask Faas why he cursed us,
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