Time: Morning Location: Roshmi Mentions: Nobody Another knife vanished from a brunch table somewhere in Roshmi. When Nimueh turned the corner she tested its edge with her thumb. Dull, of course. But any dull knife could be sharpened. She already had a steak knife she had stolen from a kitchen and two other butterknives. Ten minutes later she was in a shadowy, filthy alleyway running a rock along the knives’ edges.
The hunt wasn’t over yet. Maybe today she couldn’t catch Nabarra, not in the state her other hand was. But tonight she’d break into a healer’s house and get that fixed quickly. It would scar, but they would just join the other scars on her body.
As her hand went over the century-old rhythms of sharpening a blade Nimueh closed her eyes and started meditating. The grinding noise brought her into her trance. Bringing her back to where she stood on the roof. The arrow hit but not well enough. That was her first mistake. The second was that she allowed Nabarra to crawl up to the opposite roof. Letting her jump over was also a mistake. The raider had fought harder than anticipated. Indeed, she was trained by those who were trained by her father. The most stinging failure was that of her magic though. As the daughter of the famed lady of sorrows, Nimueh should’ve been better. Her weakness was becoming a problem. As a healer would heal the problem that was her hand, she’d need a mystic to deal with her magic.
Again she went over the memory, picking out the pieces. Nabarra made mistakes as well. She disarmed herself before a light elf. Why? To prove innocence, probably. So she was ideological. And loud. Very loud. All that told Nimueh that her prey wasn’t one for hiding. At least she wouldn’t do it well. There would be clues running from the greenhouse. But that place would be swarming with guards now.
“Again.” She whispered to herself. Her mind pulled her back to when she had drawn her arrow. The light elf. Who was he? Not a simple one. The way he held his blade betrayed training but also experience. His features felt familiar. Like she had seen him before some decades ago. He at least frequented the greenhouse. That would be her next target.
Nimueh was pulled from her meditations by the vibrations on her bracelet. She frowned. Who could call her now!? Then she noticed the purple flashing light and never accepted a message so fast in her life.
The hologram from her wrist showed the helmet of Xenelith, her father. “Sir.” Nimueh said, immediately standing at the attention as if he was right in front of her. Though she hoped he wouldn’t see her shameful wounds.
“At ease, huntress.” His voice was cold and stern. Like it always was. Like it always had to be. Nimueh dropped the salute but remained silent. You didn’t speak to a superior unless spoken to. Though she deeply hoped he wouldn’t ask about her mission. “There’s been a change of plans.” Nimueh’s heart skipped. “The king of Roshmi intends to surrender in return for keeping his position as ruler.” Typical. “Amarantha and Basilian will fly towards the city to broker the arrangement.”
Nimueh’s jaw nearly dropped. Wide-eyed she looked at her father, who remained quiet for a moment. Amarantha? Here. Something fluttered in her chest. The queen herself! There was no great hero in Nimueh’s mind, save for her father perhaps. But while she was well acquainted with his coldness, the queen had always felt like something else. Her grace and power was ethereal. Hard to define. Yet she was a role model for Nimueh nonetheless. The way she spun her web of men and magic made it hard for any dark elf girl not to love her.
“Make sure the king doesn’t change his mind in the meantime. Head for the palace. Your presence should be enough. Make sure all the tokens are locked down. The princess is a rambunctious one so make sure she stays in your hand.” Nimueh gave a single nod as she carved the commands into her mind. “And Nimueh.” He used her name! “Make me proud.” The connection cut out and Nimueh exhaled all her tension as she doubled over.
Time: Morning Location: Roshmi Mentions: Nabarra @nasty & Orias @Helo Following the former raider was easy enough. Nabarra stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd of demi-humans in Roshmi. Nimueh herself would’ve stood out as well if she hadn’t been wearing the hood with the fake, filled fox-ear covers. For now, she kept her distance and kept guessing what the raider would do. Would she jump into the sewers? Head for a safe house?
Her heart started to beat faster again. She swore she could almost smell Nabarra. Was it fear she smelled? She liked to think so. The crowd was growing annoying though. People moved in front of her like erratic ants. A few times she forcefully pulled someone out of the way. Then suddenly Nabarra was gone.
Nimueh stopped. "Shit." Her heart dropped. She couldn’t lose her prey. Not now. She looked around. The place was packed. No way she could’ve jumped into the sewers. On the roof? No, Nimueh would’ve spotted her climbing. She walked up towards where she last saw her prey, then spotted the small alleyway. There she was, sitting on the ground like some overwhelmed idiot.
The huntress wasn’t about to take chances. She had to be underestimating her prey now. Her father spoke too highly of Nabarra. She had been made for sure. All of this had to be an act to lure her out. Well, she wasn’t going to play by Nabarra’s rules.
She jumped up a barrel, then a stack of boxes, then a shader, and nearly fell through, but jumped just in time. People said something. She didn’t care. In cities, nobody cares. Quite swiftly she got onto the roof of the buildings. Her eyes scanned the horizon. No archers nearby. Good. Quickly she pulled her own bow from her shoulder and knocked an arrow.
Carefully she walked towards the edge of the roof that looked into the narrow alleyway. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Though she kept her wits about her. She knew she had to keep the sun in front of her, so her shadow would fall onto the tiles of the roof.
When she looked over the edge she cocked her eyebrow for a second. A light elf had stepped out of what she presumed to be a greenhouse. A greenhouse, what a ridiculous luxury. As if this part of Avalia wasn’t warm enough yet. Light elves had grown soft.
Though to the man’s credit, he did know how to draw and hold a blade. The grip and the pose betrayed training. A soldier? Things were becoming interesting. The betrayer and the light elves exchanged some tense words. Maybe he would do her job for her. It would be a shape she would get to bring her father Nabarra’s ears, but he ordered her dead. Not to bring a trophy of her. “C’mon weakling. Finish her.” She whispered. Though perhaps Nabarra would just cut him down. In that case, Avalia had to suffer one less light elf. Either way, she’d win.
Except she didn’t, as Nabarra began to toss away her weapons. What in the name of Halastra was she doing? Had she gone insane? After only a decade? Then she tossed away her armor. Her armor! Nimueh became disgusted by her. Was this once the hero of the dark elves? The feared raider that killed tens if not hundreds of light elves?
Of course, she would fill those shoes one day as the most fearsome raider and killer in Avalia. Though she thought those shoes would’ve been hard to fill. Looking down at Nabarra now, she felt like she had already overtaken her. Now, with the war, she would swiftly replace tales of the betrayer with tales of the huntress. One swift arrow would be the start of her story.
“Halastra.” Nimueh whispered, hoping that invoking the goddess’ name would draw her gaze. She focused as she pulled back the bowstring and aimed along the arrow shaft at Nabarra. The light elf was of no consequence. She wanted to hit the back of the spine. Cripple her so she could finish the job up close. “Bear witness.” And then she released the arrow.
Time: Midnight ⇒ Very early morning Location: Town near Roshmi Mentions: Nabarra @nasty Scurrying out of a tavern as the call for war came out would never look good. The hooded figure crawled out of the window on the balcony, then crawled up the drain on the roof. Halastra hung high in the sky. Her purple gaze looked over him. “B-Blessed be… the lady of… of shadowsss.” Hissed the hooded creature as he made Halastra sign towards the goddess and then quickly started to make his way along the rooftops. Below adventurers and guards patrolled. Surely they didn’t expect an attack already. It was far too soon?
The figure reached the edge of town and leaped across the dirt wall that was raised. His agility made it an easy feat. “What?” he heard. Like a shadow, he slinked behind a spike in the ditches. Orange fire-flame went over the place he was at just a second ago. “What is it?” Another voice said. Demi-human? Light elf? The figure wasn’t sure. If it were light elves he could be in trouble. For a while he heard neither voice. Then: “Nothing. I thought I saw something.” “You’re on edge.” The other voice said. “The dark elves aren’t here yet. Keep your wits.”
The orange light vanished again. The cloaked and hooded figure continued running. The trees were close. He ran into them without a second thought. He knew this place well. For half an hour he ran. Until he reached the place.
Before him was a dark elf maiden, digging a shallow pit with some wood and moss laying next to her. “You’re a slippery one, Radomir.” She teased with her voice. “War’s declared and you still manage to slip out of the town. So, did you find her?”
“Yes-Yes.” Skittered the creature as it lowered its hood, revealing a mouse-like visage. “The Traitor-Deserter. I have found her. She is in the village.” His beady eyes looked at the pit, then looked around. In only two more spots did he see a bit more disturbed moss. The huntress had definitely dug some more traps than that. “Mistress, why wait until the declaration. Why not ambush her in bed yesterday? It's easier. Faster. Cleaner.”
“And useless.” Nimueh cut him off as she stabbed down some sharpened sticks down in the shallow pit she had dug. “She’s more than just a bounty now. She’s a message.” She hated him questioning her. For one she had lived vastly longer than him and hunted vastly more dangerous game. Secondly, he knew nothing of war. Radomir was one thing only. A survivor.
When it came to game like the infamous Nabarra, you couldn’t immediately strike. Like a hydra, you had to examine the prey. See how it reacted. Then drive it or lure it into a trap. Weaken it day after day after day. Deny it sleep or rest. Keep it on edge for days if not weeks.
“Now-Now… the payment?” Radomir asked.
Nimueh carefully covered the pit trap with some moss and sticks. If the mouse demi-human hadn’t seen the trap being made, he wouldn’t have recognized it. Though maybe he would’ve smelled it. The huntress got up and turned towards the mouse turncoat. With a sweet smile, she said: “Could you grab the spade over there first?” She pointed at a spade somewhere in the corner.
Radomir grew anxious. The huntress wasn’t known to be nice. Especially not towards non-dark elves. The mouse looked at the spade. It looked normal. Then he looked at the ground. No disturbed moss or grass. Still, carefully he walked towards it, never putting weight on the foot he was moving until he was sure there was nothing but solid earth and root underneath him. From the corner of his eyes he could see Nimueh just standing there, waiting for him. He reached the spade. There was no rope attached to it. Did she really just asked him to bring the spade. He pulled it out of the ground and waited for a second. Nothing happened. Maybe he was really just paranoid.
Then he turned to face Nimueh. She held a knife backhanded. For a second he saw the purple glint of a spider silk thin thread in Halastra's moon. His eyes grew. Nimueh flashed him a cruel smile. He braced for a jump. Wood creaked somewhere. The spade flung away. His feet left the ground. He was in the air. The next thing he knew he was on the ground. Pinned by something heavy. He looked up. A heavy box laid on top of him. Something was wrong with one of his legs. He couldn’t move it. It hurt, though it registered like something distant. “Traitor!” Radomir hissed and screeched. “Traitor! You promised me! Oathbreaker! Turncoat! Snake!”
Radomir kept calling her names but Nimueh didn’t seem to care. She casually retrieved the shovel and put it away. “Your usefulness vanished when the war started, Radomir.” She said as she walked over to him and crouched before him. Despite this, she still looked as if she towered over him. “Now you’ll be useful as bait.”
“A thousand mouseling curses upon you! A thousand curses upon your father! A million on your people! You will never have Avalia! May the deserter kill you!” He hissed and trashed underneath the weight. With every move the pain became more pronounced though. His leg was burning.
The huntress’ eyes looked over the mouseling. No blood. That was good. He wouldn’t bleed to death just yet. With her hand, she grabbed his snout and turned it to look her right in her cold, icy eyes. Her mother’s eyes. Eyes of sorrow, the dark elf priests had called them. She didn’t feel sorrow now. She felt her rage being answered. “Save your breath, vermin. I need your screams in a bit.”
Solaris was still an hour out. Nimueh looked at the pyre. It would be big enough. And it was close enough to the forest’s edge to know for sure that it would be seen. An exhausted Radomir hung from a pole with his arms up. Behind it began the traps that led into the forest. In the front was a sign with on it, carved neatly, it read: “We are coming”. In the common tongue. The true message was written in the language of dark elves: “Your sins against your people are not forgiven. Your treason is not forgotten. Blood is owed. We are coming for you.”
It would be clear enough for the one it was meant to. Looking at what she made Nimueh couldn’t help but smile. Large game on Daka could be fun but there was nothing quite like hunting something bigger, something more dangerous. Her heart was racing in her chest. She was excited! Her eyes turned towards the wood piled up at the mouseling’s feet. It was built low. The fires wouldn’t burn high. They didn’t have to. The smoke and the light would be seen easily from the town walls. It would, however, make for a very slow and torturous death.
“Treason. Traitor. A thousand curses.” Radomir, almost breathless, kept saying. The last hour had taken a toll on him. Half an hour ago he could barely yell anymore.
Nimueh just smiled at him and then tossed the torch on the pyre. The oil carried the flame in a ring around the outer edges of the fire. Radomir, somehow having found new energy, began to kick away with his one good leg. His screams were first low and barely audible, then began to grow louder and louder as the flames began to lick his feet.
The huntress didn’t stick around to see how the fire would so slowly consume him. She chose to go up the trees and keep a safe distance so nobody would see her instantly, though she still had a pretty good sight on the small clearing where the pyre was. Radomir’s shouts and screams of pain reached her a few minutes later now. Which meant they’d reach the town soon enough as well. All while Solaris rose over the horizon. It was almost poetic. But Nimueh had no time to mule over poetics like some lovestruck seccenter. She would see her prey for the first time now.
⋆ Failure, especially that of his underlings ⋆ Any non-dark elf * Light Elf royalty * Cowards
Fears:
⋆ Failing his duty ⋆ Seeing the dark elf people die-off ⋆ Falling in love again
Sexuality:
Heterosexual
Personality:
Much of Xenelith's fame comes from how close a bond he knits with every individual soldier. Officers and warriors alike are often invited or visited during their guard duty by him. He works hard so he is seen as a general that knows his men. Those who live the sword he finds easy to bond with. Civilians are harder to understand and bond with for him. That is why he's not overly fond of parties. Still, it is not an act he puts up. There is not a task he will give people under him that he wouldn't complete himself. This sense of equality makes him appear selfless many times and indeed, there are many records spread over the millennia of Xenelith putting himself between his people and danger. This selflessness has given Xenelith a reputation of being kind among his own people. This is not reflected beyond the borders of Daka. His name summons memories of deep cruelties. Putting heads on spikes as an example is the least of his sins.
Xenelith has, over the years, become a tempered blade. In the past, he was known for bursts of impatient rage and anger. Emotions often got the better of him. To devastating effect, but it put himself and others in danger. In years past Xenelith had reflected upon this and grown calmer and stoical. Even in battle, he appears composed and tranquil. Like the eye of a storm. This self-control makes Xenelith a dangerously brave warrior to fight one-on-one. Because that calm often manifests as intense pressure against his opponent. Like a predator, he waits for an opening or a flaw which he will mercilessly exploit. A duel with Xenelith is like a war of attrition. Because of this tranquility, some might say - behind his back of course - that he has become slow and rusted. This is not entirely untrue. He dislikes unnecessary movements. While he might be slow to react to new situations, at the very same time he remains inevitable. His opponent might circle around him, dash before him or try to strike from the shadows but at some point, they will have to face him. That inevitability means that he doesn't have to adapt to new situations. New situations adapt to him.
This is because Xenelith has honed more than just his blade. He always thinks five steps ahead. He doesn't need more than a plan B, because between that and plan A all possibilities are accounted for. This near-genius foresight is combined with his charismatic aura that seemingly only those who live by the blade can sense. He is a master at stirring the hearts of his people. Moving them to greater feats and even self-sacrifice for the greater good. Civilians seem entirely immune to those kinds of charms though. It is perhaps because he is almost entirely without humor, and the few jokes he does make are so dark that it often upsets people rather than make them laugh. Xenelith might be the perfect general but he is not the perfect person. While he isn't entirely insane, his single-minded hatred towards the rest of Avalia makes him slightly disturbed at the least. Age has also taken a toll on him. He is inevitable, but youthful energy has long since wanned.
Xenelith was one of the first dark elves born in the harsh land of Daka. That night Halastra stood full in the sky, while Lunathea hid behind the horizon. This was seen as an omen that Xenelith would be a great wizard in service of the witch-moon goddess. When Xenelith turned a century, the omen was proven true as he showed great talent for the dark arts. Under the tutelage of some of the great masters of the dark elves Xenelith learned as much as he could. These masters were more than just elders in the way of dark magic. They were the fabled assassins that killed the last of their counterparts amongst the light elves. They saw Xenelith as their prodigy and legacy. Sadly the cold and hard lands of Daka were no place for the old and tired ones. The elders died in the proceeding two centuries. Leaving Xenelith to forge his own fate after the last one was interred.
He decided that Avalia should bleed for what they had done to the dark elves. He started as a common soldier in the army of Malthemoor. At the time he was sent out mostly to hunt dangerous beasts that threatened the settlements. His prowess in magic, combined with his relentlessness and leadership earned him both the praise and ire of those above him. They gave him increasingly more dangerous tasks hoping he would at the very least be humbled by some measure of defeat. Instead, he succeeded against all odds and entrenched himself as the most capable warrior in the army. Over the course of the next few centuries he climbed the ranks, earning more and more infamy amongst the races of Avalia. He launched raid after raid upon the mainland. Especially against the light elves.
With age, he slowed down but became more deadly than ever. For four hundred years now he has been a general of the army and in that time he has made sure that all of his warriors, every single one of them, is ready for the inevitable war to come. It was his single-minded focus. Which was why his sudden marriage to the Lady of Sorrows was such a strange event. Love had not been a thing that Xenelith troubled himself with for many years. Yet suddenly he married a high priestess of Halastra. The child she bore meant her dead. Though Nimueh enjoyed his love, she was raised much like any other dark elf. To his delight though, she became one of his best warriors at her age. With her, at his side he knows that he will win the coming, inevitable war.
⋆ Parties ⋆ Diplomacy ⋆ Any race except for the Dark Elves
Fears:
⋆ Failure, specifically failing her father ⋆ Death ⋆ Losing her father
Sexuality:
Heterosexual
Personality:
Unlike her father, the famed general Xenelith, Nimueh is an often reclusive person. Since birth, she got along better with wolf cubs than other dark elves. Later in youth, she never really got along with those of her own kind either. She wasn't bullied (or at least not more than most) nor excluded needlessly. Still she never found someone to truly connect with. After decades those she had called friends drifted away. Since then she became almost entirely selfless. Save for one person. She would do anything for her father. The man that always made her feel like she belonged. None the less she is a dark elf. One raised with the last name "Dreadclaw". Which meant that she was taught how to be cruel the very moment she knew what cruelty was. The love her father showed her was balanced by the hatred he imbued her with towards the other races. The endless stories he told her about the times before the war were etched in her mind. Her father had known early on that she would never play well with others. To that end he honed her to be a singular blade in the dark. The arrow from the shadows. To her there is no protecting or saving others.
Nimueh has fallen into the same flaws as her father in his youth though. Much like him in his younger years she is ill-tempered. It has been a challenge to keep her calm for all these years. She has been itching to sail for Avalia and start slaying her foes. Some would say - only behind hers and her father's back - that she's a rabid dog. Those men have never seen her angry. She doesn't shout or scream or grunt. All the rage and hatred she holds is honed into perfect focus. Her admirers would call her brave. Others would call her headstrong and foolish. When she has chosen her prey, nothing can stop her. She is fast and adaptable, having survived sometimes for years out in the harsh wilds of Daka.
She strives to emulate her father. To that end, she has recently tried to read books. Still, she's not that clever. She can lay a clever trap but in a debate, she'll flounder and fail. Often times she still lets herself be led by emotions. Even when calm Nimueh is a cold person. Very few, if anyone, would follow her in battle. She makes enemies, true enemies that would want her dead, far easier than she makes friends. And those few friends she makes never stick around. Sometimes, in her loneliest hours, she believes that she needs to connect to someone. Someone that would make her laugh and would laugh at her jokes. Not that she's particularly funny though. Still, sometimes in her darkest hours, she would doubt her own life and question if things could be different. All those times though she has always come to the conclusion that no, her life cannot be different. That loneliness, the way she was raised and her own personality definitely would make for someone that most normal people would call "disturbed". Some would say she is more akin to an animal. Not just because of her cruelty or detachment from dark elven society but because of her drive as well. She's restless. Uncontrollable. If she found her prey she can hunt it day and night without sleep or rest.
Despite her coldness she has had a string of "lovers" that have shared her bed. Most of the time though it was only for the physical aspect of the relationship and she has always grown bored of it.
History:
Nimueh was born from a very strange union. Xenelith was an accomplished warrior and a general known for his inspiring but cruel leadership. Her mother, Sillae, was a blessed priestess of Halastra also called the Lady of Sorrows. Despite that, she never truly inherited aspects of either of them. From a young age, it was clear that Nimueh was just outright bad at making friends. She kept to herself most of the time and scared away anyone that got close. For a dark elf, these are dangerous traits. Few survive Daka on their own. She did not show a real aptitude for magic either. Luckily Over the years, her talents revealed themselves. Even as a 55-year-old she was swift and quiet. At the age of 78, Xenelith took her out into the wilderness of Daka for an extended hunt. To his own surprise, she managed to fell a giant spider with her bow. Since then Xenelith knew what talent his daughter possessed and knew that she would be vital for the war to come.
In the years afterward, Nimueh grew as a hunter. She learned how to track her prey through snow or swamp. Every year she felled larger prey. Eventually, when she turned 100, she entered the service of the army. She shot through the ranks on her own merit using a false last name. At the age of 120, she arrived before her father as Nimueh Ravenshot. When she turned 125 her father bestowed upon her two gifts. The first was a medallion worn by one of the assassins that had killed the light elf elders a millennia ago. The second was a task: find a great warrior on Avalia’s mainland and kill him. Three years later she came back with the pointed ears of a light elf.
Since that day she has served her father as a relentless hunter. Now, as the inevitable war grows closer, Nimueh has been honing her skills by hunting slaves like they are sport. Waiting when she can start to hunt her true prey: the free races of Avalia.
It had to be a strange sight. There he sat. An old man bathing his feet in a gentle, crystal clear stream and basking in the light of the Su’une like one of his apparent age would do. Enjoying the soft afternoon breeze and the smell of the various flowers. And all around him was everything that would disrupt that peaceful image: men and women clad in plate armor forged by Uwné himself. Further out archers that would shoot down anything that would come close. Not that it was necessary. Only a god could destroy another god. And no matter how hard a mortal fought, no matter how many sacrificed themselves, they couldn’t even delay a god. Not really.
Yet they still stood around him. All for the illusion of safety and security. He didn’t mind it all that much really. By now he was used to them. He carefully picked a daisy and looked at the little flower. Sure, it was a simple and common flower, but still beautiful. As all flowers should be. Maybe he would take this one with him and plant it in its ancestral pot. Maybe he would tinker with it a little like he had done before. Crafting could be capable but Uwné always felt like the ultimate goal of crafting and creation was to create beauty and honor it.
Yet even peace and beautiful things could change in an instant. For something was coming, the rush of wind and a small pop filled his ears. A shadow darkened the light of the Su'une and what swiftly followed was the sound of a boom, reverbating the very air and sending all into chaos like a switch. Birds and beasts ran while those who could not fight cowered. He could see now what was coming… No… What was falling from the sky! A black, dread thing!
The Cainites turned their attention towards the monster while Uwné got up with the help of his cane. The archers moved around him. “Sir, we should move.” One of them, commander Tolaen, said as he took Uwné’s shoulder. Though the god didn’t seem willing to move. “I think that’s a drakhorey. It’s not safe.” The commander insisted. Meanwhile the archers released their first volley. The god kept staring at the creature with pure fascination.
It grew closer still and the enormity of the thing became apparent. Arrows that bounced off black scales, twisted horns and a terrible visage, yet… It simply fell in a lopsided manner, making no attempts to correct itself. It became apparent the thing was dead or dying and that it would crash into the earth downstream, almost on top of them.
The earth shook. All the mortals had to catch their bearings. The Cainites did their best to move as fast as they could. Something was wrong. Something had killed a drakhorey in the air. They had their blade-spears ready to strike. The archers were already nocking their second volley. “Wait!” Uwné exclaimed, raising his arms. There was a tense moment. The drakhorey didn’t move. “Don’t you smell that?” He then asked. A few of the Cainites looked around and some of the archers sniffed the air. “Gooseberries?” One asked. “No… rosewater.” Then another said: “That’s lavender.” It was all of those things and none of them. It was wonderful and intoxicating and impossible and laced with divinity. The moment he smelled that his heart skipped for a second.
There was silence beside the pleasant smells, wafting above the smell of the blood that trickled from the drakhorey’s mouth. Then came a terrible sound, like bones cracking. The beast’s chest, which faced them, began to heave and then press outward, before the sound of a mighty tear echoed over them, and from that tear gushed blood and viscera, and then… A slender bloody hand, followed by another. They tore open the tear and from it emerged a startling scene. The figure took two steps forward, almost falling to their knees before gaining their balance to stand tall. It was a pale naked woman, covered in blood. A terrible, yet beautiful contrast. She looked upon them and they looked upon her and she smiled pearly whites.
She pushed her hair that dripped with crimson aside and spoke with a voice like silky satin, dripping with desire. ”Apologies if I crushed anything. Once inside, they don’t tend to stay still.”
Out of instinct the men stepped back. Yet their eyes were glued upon the gore-covered woman. Something sparked within their minds and Uwné knew that in the days to come some esoteric force would compel them to write, sing, paint or sculpt something. What they instinctively sensed, Uwné saw and understood. How could he not. For the longest time he thought it was nothing more than an ethereal force. One even worse understood than magic.
Of course, he knew about the existence of Wyn from Thallin and I’Iro. But none of their descriptions did her justice. She wasn’t just beauty. She was – to the crafters and creators of the world – inspiration given shape. The muse manifested. That which they would forever chase in their lives.
The mortals that stood in a half-circle around her couldn’t tear their eyes away from her. Not even the women could. All of them were enthralled. Uwné, meanwhile, stumbled forward. With one hand he grabbed some fabric of his own mantle. It tore cleanly from the garment and in his hand it transformed in the most absorbent wool fabric cloth there was upon the Shard. His face betrayed just how awestruck he was to finally see her, as he wordlessly offered her the large piece of cloth.
Wyn looked upon him with her violet eyes, her expression one of curiosity. She tilted her head as she took the cloth, brushing a hand against his. She smiled again. "Why thank you. You are kind, my lord. Not many offer help so readily." She then began to wipe her face.
”That surprises me.” Uwné said as he tried not to feel like a lovestruck mortal. ”It should be a sin to fail offering you aid.” For a moment he shook off the state of awe and realized that he had not introduced himself. ”My name is Uwné. God of Crafting. And you must Wyn, goddess of beauty.”
Wyn giggled as she wiped her arms. ”How sweet of you, lord Uwné. To compliment one so dirty as I.” Wyn mused as she looked upon the crafting god and then gave a wink. She moved down to her torso, still maintaining eye contact. ”It seems my reputation precedes me, even if I wished such a meeting could have been in better circumstances. And not so messy. I apologize, again, for such an intrusion upon your lands. It was not my intent to bring about any unnecessary additions. Still, how nice to meet your acquaintance. I have heard a great deal about you in my travels, lord Uwné.”
“All good things I hope.” He jested, though he sincerely hoped that she only heard good things of him. As he watched her clean herself he realized just how inadequate the cloth was. A goddess of such beauty deserved to have rivers redirected just so she could take a bath. Sadly, that was not something Uwné could do at the time. So he would offer her the next best thing: “If I may be so bold, my lady. Perhaps you would wish to take a bath? The bath houses of New Tellur are really quite nice. Nothing worthy of your beauty, of course but they are the best I can offer at the time.”
”Only ever the best, your works are legendary to the mortal races.” Wyn confessed. Her attention fell upon the cloth, now stained red. She had gotten herself somewhat clean but red still lingered upon her delicate skin. ”A bath would be quite nice.” she finally said, ”But I would not want to impose upon you, after what I’ve done.”
“You would be gracing me, my lady.” Uwné said. To that, Wyn relented with a modest smile.
So together they went back towards New Tellur. The city was relatively close and the coach ride was pleasant enough. Though the god of crafting kept worrying that the roads might be too bumpy for the breathtaking Wyn, who gave comments here and there and asked questions. Meanwhile, with every minute Unwé remained beside her he grew more and more infatuated with her.
Eventually the coach and its escort stopped at a tall, beautiful white-marbled hall. Uwné offered his hand towards the goddess to help step out in front of the stairs, which she elegantly took. The stairs themselves were covered by a deep-sea blue carpet leading towards the large arched hallway. Beside the stairs stood two gigantic statues of maidens each carrying a large amphora from which an endless stream of water flowed. Wyn took it all in with a curious eye, her gaze often pausing on the statues.
Unwé guided her up the twenty or so stairs and into the entryway. Which was bathed in light from a skylight above. The floor was pleasant and heated for the comfort of the mortals that came here to bathe. As the two divines walked, there was a bustle of activity around them, as mortal stewards and bath maidens were rushing about in a mad dash to prepare all the possible baths for her Divinity.
As they came to a stop before another set of doors, Uwné turned towards Wyn and said: “Please, if there is anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable do tell me. Anything at all. You can ask for any food from all four corners of the Shard or any dress no matter how impossible it would be to make.” At the same time several bath maidens – the most beautiful ones of course – had already gathered in a half-circle behind Wyn. Ready to serve her in any way she would desire.
Wyn purred, "Your hospitality is most welcoming my lord. It is welcome relief in a fledgling world still beset by ugly horrors. I feel most at home here already and I have barely just arrived. My thanks to you and these lovely servants who will dote upon me." she began to turn, but stopped with a solemn sigh and turned to him, taking his hands and intertwining their fingers. She looked at him with large eyes. "But I am ashamed I must admit that I am without clothes here. If it wouldn't be too much of a bother for you dear Unwé, I would not be opposed to wearing something of your make. I heard your crafts are truly inspiring but oh, I hope I do not ask too much of you. I already feel like a burden." she pouted.
His eyes were fixed upon all that was Wyn as she asked him for clothes. He wasn’t sure he had a heart, but it was raging in his chest as she touched him. When she asked for a dress, in a blink of an eye every dress in the Golden Gallery would be inadequate. The vast wardrobe of dresses he made for future queens and princesses that filled entire chambers of his palace might as well have faded into ash. Nothing would be enough and he knew it.
Gently he lifted her entwined hand and softly kissed the back of hers. ”You could never burden me.” My love. He desperately wanted to speak the only part he thought. He wanted to confess his love for her. But not now. How could he? He was wholly insufficient compared to her. ”When the waters release you, a dress will be waiting.”
"Truly, I have never met another God as kind as you." Wyn stated, "I shall look forward to wearing your craft as this grime is washed away. Thank you, again, my lord." she then slipped through his fingers, not before lingering on the thr last few, before letting go completely. She winked at him and walked away.
It physically hurt to let her hand go as she was guided towards the baths. Then he waited, counting the grains of time until she was certainly three doors away and hopefully distracted by the pleasures of the bathhouse. ”A loom!” He bellowed. ”A loom and spindles! Everyone, even the Cainites, were shocked at the sudden outburst. In all of history, the god of crafting had never expressed such urgency. Furniture and wood tore itself apart and reformed to create the tools of the master weaver. The fabric of everyone present unraveled on its own. Right there and then, in the middle of the entrance of New Tellur’s bathhouse, he started weaving and spinning like a madman. Jewelry fell from the necks and fingers of mortals on their own accord, melted on the ground and flowed like water towards the god. Furs packed upon carts that were carried into the city suddenly fought against their binds. As if some necromantic force gave them new life. Those furs – once free - ran like the wolves, beavers and foxes they once were through the city. All of it threw itself before Uwné, ready to be crafted.
It took great effort from the god but he was done soon enough. The dress approached the worthiness of the goddess of beauty. Or so he hoped. Though it gave him an idea. Already her presence was giving him inspiration. How delightful that felt! Carefully the mortals carried away the dress with all its pieces to place upon the mannequin for Wyn. Meanwhile Uwnés tools and devices faded to dust that was carried away by a gentle yet unnatural wind. All he could do now was wait for her return and hope.
It was but several hours later before Wyn finally returned, striding through the doors standing tall, proud and radiant. Flanking her and walking in sync were the bath maidens, now pale beauties in the goddesses image, still paling in comparison however. Indeed the women now had defined Wynnite traits. White hair, snow white and fair skin, unblemished complexions and of modest bust and heights. They of course were not all identical to one another, but with little differences only one who scrutinized could see.
When Wyn saw the crafting god and what hung next to him, she burst out into a giddy smile and walked over to him. ”I must say, that was delightful darling. Who knew that I had been missing so much of mortal development out in the wilds facing teeth and claw. What a joy it was to be bathed and relaxed. Though I will admit, touching my divinity did not come without a price.” she gestured back to the maidens, who were standing at attention behind them. ”My beauty may have rubbed off on them, but none made a fuss. In fact, I think it’s a rather satisfying look, don’t you think?” she smirked then eyed the dress. ”Oooo, and what’s this pretty thing?”
”They look beautiful, though not as stunning as you.” Uwné said as he gave the mortal bath maidens only a glance before he returned to look at Wyn and her alone. ”My gift to you. A dress worthy of a goddess such as you.” He let her examine the dress for a moment before he braved his question. ”If I may be so bold, Wyn. I have heard of your hunt for the drakhorey. Truly, none of them can stand against one such as you, but you shouldn’t suffer filth and grime for it. I would make you a dress. One more beautiful than this one that could protect you from more than just filth.” And now came the careful lie. ”But to make such a dress… it would take some time. At least a few days. Perhaps you could stay and taste some more of the pleasures of mortal development? Surely the beasts would not suddenly vanish.”
Wyn’s eyes flashed with joy and she grabbed Uwné’s hand’s again. ”Oh I would love too! The great hunt can wait a few days at least, I’m sure they’ll begin to scamper out of these countries when they’ve heard I have arrived. That seems like a fair start…” She then let go and moved her hands to touch the dress. ”Come ladies, I need this dress on.” she commanded and at once, the bath maidens rushed to her side and the delicate process of putting on a divine’s dress commenced right before everyone’s eyes.
The following days Wyn spent her time lounging and enjoying the pleasures of civilized life. With Uwné never far from her side. Arm in arm he led her through the inner city arbors and parks showing her the variety of exotic plants there, much to her delight. In the plazas and busy streets she was the envy of every woman, who she paid little heed to. At the palace he offered her gift after gift after gift. Each one more beautiful and more lavish than the next. He offered her a bracelet in the shape of a drakhorey with ruby eyes, a white-gold necklace woven with exonite with a rubified drakhorey eye at the center and a set of fine but lethal silvery claws making the killing of any abhorrent beasts much easier.
In those days Uwné rarely left the goddess’ side. He poured her wine and offered her figs, strawberries and dates as they laid in the su’unarium, become friendly with one another. Dinner consisted of at least fifty courses every evening. It was in those days that Uwné fell more and more for the goddess of beauty. With every smile and delicate laugh he sunk deeper and deeper. There were very few moments in those days that they were separate, but when they were the god of crafting felt an endless yearning that seemingly nothing could fill.
One day he knew he could not delay it any longer. Wyn was his muse, and like all muses her presence would be fleeting. It was better to see her off with one last gift than find her chambers empty someday. At dawn he had passed a message to her servants asking her to meet him in the eastern parlor. Where he now waited for her nervously, with a small box in his hand, in the shadow as the su’une slowly rose.
Next to him floated the dress he had made for her. It was an impossible piece of silken lace and linen chiffon fabric. Soft animal fur covered the shoulders, giving the dress still a ferocious look. Finally, silvery beads ran all along the dress. From the shoulders down to the tights. Each bead was personally engraved and enchanted by Uwné. The dress would never bear filth or gore. A thin shield of pure magic would protect whoever wore it at all times. Above all else no other god could make a dress that could even come close to its quality. Next to the floating dress laid a crown upon a red, velvet cushion. The white-gold and exonite were impossibly entwined within the piece. As if he had woven the metal rather than beaten and forged it into shape. The hundreds of metallic threads that wove themselves together held a large, white, shimmering diamond at the fore.
Wyn eventually arrived, fashionably late as always, wearing the same first dress he had given her at the baths. She let her hair down today and was followed by many more pale imitations of her, for where Wyn went her beauty washed away the forms of those in her service to reflect what she wanted in them. They stopped upon the threshold, giving the two gods a wide berth as Wyn approached. Her gaze immediately fell upon the legal dress at her side and a look of hunger fell across her features. Without saying a word to Unwé she went before it and gingerly touched the cloth.
Eventually the beauty goddess spoke in a misty voice, "You've outdone yourself this time, my lord. Such a dress for me? I almost feel I am not worthy of such a thing."
Uwné offered her a meek smile. ”I doubt there is anything in this world that you are not worthy of, my muse.” He said as he walked towards the pillow upon which the woven metal crown rested strategically in the shadows. He carefully took it and walked back into the dawnlight where the dress and Wyn stood. The second the rays of the su’une hit the white diamond the light diffracted. The colorful light didn't shine everywhere like beams, instead it flowed leisurely. Like water suspended in the air. ”I would offer you this as well. A crown...befitting a goddess… and a queen.” He said as he extended the crown towards the goddess of beauty.
Wyn's eyes widened at the display and eagerly she took the crown within her hands and looked upon it with marvelous joy. She then looked to Unwé then to the crown then back to him. "It's magnificent, truly a work unrivaled. But… A Queen? Me? My lord…" she whispered.
The god of crafting slowly dropped to one knee and revealed the tiny box. It was carved entirely from a single piece of guardian tree and engraved with images of love and caring. He opened it, and upon a soft, black pillow laid a ring of adamantite. On it were six figures, each inspired by the beautiful perfection of the wynnites, which were entwined with each other and held a gem down on the ring. The gem itself first looked like a diamond containing the purest white. Then the colors slowly shifted and bled from that pureness and began to float in the gem as pink, purple, blue, green, red and all the other colors. After a while, the colors coalesced back into that pure, perfect white. It was a gem that couldn’t naturally exist. It was a creation of Uwné itself and it was literally unique.
She had inspired such work. As his muse her mere smile had driven him to the furthest reaches of the crafting arts. Now he was on his knee, nervous. ”Wyn… goddess of beauty. Will you marry me?” The question was genuine but laced with the desperation of an artist begging his muse to stay. A fool's errand. She would say no. He had already resigned himself to that fate. Yet he had to do it. As an artisan – no, as the patron of all artisans – he had to court the goddess of muses!
Wyn gasped, covering her mouth with a free hand as she looked down upon the great craftsmen and his ringed proposal. "Oh Uwné! It's… Beautiful. I accept!" The Goddess out stretched her hand and awaited for him to put it upon her fingers. Gently Uwné took her hand and slowly slid the ring around her elegant ring finger. It fitted perfectly. Despite the fact that he never paused or stopped of shock, he was still barely believing reality. The goddess of beauty, his very own muse, decided to marry him! Still with her hand in his, he rose up, gently caressed her cheek with his other hand, looked into her silvery grey eyes and inched closer to kiss her.
Before he even neared her a finger stopped him from coming closer, as Wyn placed it before his lips. She smiled innocently, "I accept… But I do have some conditions I'd like you to hear before we fully commit to one another. Nothing reality shattering by any means my love, I just wish to be honest with you." her finger fell away from his lips and moved to caress his cheek. "Firstly, I shall be your one and only. No consorts. No concubines. Only me and us. The same goes for myself, for I find it would be rather exhausting to have a second or third husband or wife. We will strive for better. Secondly, I will bare you no children, Uwné. I have seen both the good and the bad of what two gods bring forth by copulating. I do not wish the ugly by chancing for the good. You understand? Thirdly, I need time alone out in the world to finish off the Drakhorey threat and any other unforeseen things. In three hundred years, we shall be wed. During the internment period I will not except you to be faithful to me nor should you, I. But when we exchange our vows I shall think of none but you, ever again. And lastly," her hand moved to his beard. "I am the goddess of beauty, you are the God of crafting. Both of us gods, yet, a question has lingered on my mind since I came here. We can look like any we desire but why do you chose such an old, frail man? It does not suite you, my love. You, a lord, a giver, a craftsmen… I wish to see your true potential unlocked, one that all can look upon and know you for what you truly are- A king!" her hand fell down to his own and she searched for his grip. "If I ask too much of you, forgive me and I will return this ring to your care."
“No! No. You could never ask too much of me, my love.” He said as he took her hand, and held his other hand over the ring. He wasn’t a violent god. Even in the apocalypse he barely lifted a sword. But whoever dared remove that ring would experience his wrath. “As for my appearance, I-“ He stopped himself from speaking the lie he told everyone. God and mortal alike. “It is a façade. I claimed this form pretending to be humble but in truth I did not want the mortals to fear me. You have seen our brethren, so surely you understand. But you are right. This form is not worthy of your beauty. I will perfect it, I promise you. On the day of our wedding I will show you my true form.” In all of its beauty and might. He hadn’t released his form of creation since he met Exo and he did not intend to unleash it again for quite some time. Yet for her he would bare himself.
Slowly he raised her hand to his lips and he kissed the back of it gently. “I agree with all your conditions.” He gave her a melancholic smile. “I know you may think of others in the next three hundred years and I can live with that. Just know that you will forever be on my mind. No matter if you are right beside me or on the other side of this Shard. I will always love you.” Then he released her hand and took a step back. Tears began to pool in his eyes. “I’ve kept you too long already. Beauty should not be confined within walls. Not even by palace walls like these.”
Wyn took a step forward. "I am happy you have accepted my proposals but come now, do not cry beloved." she cupped her hands across his face. "I shall visit you every fifty years as a promise. Anything more shall be a blessing and upon the three hundredth year, we shall wed." Wyn smiled, drawing in close. "I understand this form and you are kind to the mortals for wearing it but make no mistake my love, there will come a time when they forget just how powerful a God is. Do not be afraid to show them." she drew a breath, lowering her voice to but a whisper. "You've been so kind to me these past few days. Showering me with attention and gifts, what more can a goddess ask for? But I think it's time for your own gifts, yes?" she finished in a murmur, biting her lip before going in for a kiss.
Uwné saw off win until she passed through the city gates into the wider world again. After that he tore his gaze away. There was only three hundred years to prepare for a marriage that would shape the world. Would the palace be large enough? No, no of course not! He’d have to expand the feast into the city itself! No, no that’s preposterous. Everyone of note in the whole world would be invited. Not even New Tellur would be able to host them all. A new place would have to be constructed! Somewhere special! There was only one option. No city in existence, not even the city of the gods, would be enough. He would design the site of their marriage himself. A new city with only a singular purpose!
There were other matters as well. What he offered Wyn now was only an engagement ring. The ring he’d give her upon the wedding would have to be leagues beyond it! And her dress, of course he would have to make her a dress. One even more intricate than the ones he gave her now. The fibers would yet have to be made. He already knew he’d agonize over every strand. The jewels couldn’t just come from the Shard either. Not even those from the underworld would be enough. Teams of explorers would have to be sent out retrieving the rarest of games. He would fuse them together to make something truly unique again. And the courses. The food would have to be sourced from every layer known.
Uwné, for the first time in fifteen decades, retreated into his palace and closed the doors behind him. The mortals were well taken care of by their own kin. He had made sure of that. The next few years he would have to work on his wedding. Three hundred years was by far too little.
Uwné is enjoying a pleasant stroll into the wilds escorted by his guard when suddenly a massive, malevolent beast plummets from the skies. The guards recognize it as a darkhorey and get ready to fight for their god (even though it’s not really necessary). Uwné for his part was quick to sense something off and realized there was more to the scene. Then Wyn appears, bursting from the insides of the drakhorey in all her gore-drenched beauty. The god of crafting is instantly stricken by her and offers her a large piece of cloth that would absorb all the blood. He asks if she would take a bath in the bath house of New Tellur and she graciously accepts.
At the bath house Wyn is escorted away by mortals to enjoy the pleasures of civilization. Calm, collected Uwné becomes a madman and transforms local furniture into workshop tools. Gold, fabric and fur come to him in an effort to make a dress worthy of Wyn. Like a man possessed he finishes the job.
Wyn returns to him with her attendants, who have turned into wynnites due to their proximity to the goddess. She spots the dress and is immediately happy with it. Again Uwné is bold and asks her to stay for a few days so he can make her a dress that is even better and would help her fight the drakhorey. Again she accepts. For days she enjoys the civilized pleasures of New Tellur while Uwné showers her with gifts and trinkets. For days on end he secretly doesn’t want her to leave. Though he knows that a muse can be fickle, and vanish from one moment to the other.
Eventually he offers her the promised dress. Together with a crown that lets diffracted light flow like it is water and a question: would she want to be his queen? To his total surprise she accepts, though under a few conditions: before the marriage they can still ‘see other people’ but after the wedding they would be exclusive, she would not give him children and she will only marry him in 300 years. She then also asks why he uses the form of an old, frail man.
Uwné agrees to all these demands without a moment's notice and explains that the form is to not scare the mortals away. A mortal looking man is much less threatening than a god made of the stuff of stars.
Happy with the agreement, Wyn kisses Uwné.
After she leaves the god of crafting begins preparations for a wedding that would overshadow all other weddings ever.
A soft southern wind carried the fresh smell of the gardens into Phaera’s room, while the midday Su’une poured the midday heat through the windows onto her stone floor. Large, pink-colored curtains billowed in the floor-to-ceiling open windows. Phaera herself remained in the shadows. After more than two decades she still couldn’t fully handle the heat. The shadow was pleasant enough. Next to her sat a steam cup of tea, with a pot containing a Khatem flower. She had requested it specifically and the royal quartermaster was kind enough to procure it for her. It was a day like any other. Her eyes lazily scanned over the various scrolls she had with her. She studied magic slowly, carefully and relentlessly. This is what made her so powerful.
Then a knock disturbed her. Which did not happen often. Especially not during the midday. Nonetheless, she put the scroll down and stood up. When she opened the door she was greeted by a bowing man with long, colorful, flowing robes. “Apologies my lady. I was hoping I could discuss a certain matter with you today.”
Phaera smiled. “Of course, come on in.” With a wave she invited him inside. She was no stranger to humble servants. Though the robes marked him not as a servant but a Vizier. In the palace, there were no viziers that didn’t come from the nobility. “Do you want some tea? It’s Khatem. I believe this is the Culliaën breed.” She said as she motioned for the administrator to take a seat at the small, round table in the parlor.
“I… I believe that would be lovely, my lady.” The vizier said as he walked through her chamber towards the round table. It was set for visitors, with snacks like sweet pudding, grilled paneer cheese, and flatbread to serve it on. He took his seat as he looked around. Then he saw it: a glass bottle filled with what he knew to be cockroach milk. It stood there in view of everyone. Something shrieked from the corner. The Vizier almost jumped out of his chair as he turned around to see what it was: Phaera’s hunting falcon. It was looking quite menacingly at the man.
“Oh sush you.” The princess said playfully towards her pet. Though it seemed to heed her and quieted down. Then she turned back towards the vizier. He was nervous. Which meant he didn’t like being here. Still, she gave him another smile and poured another cup. It was a normal one for now. If he had been the Grand Vizier or someone of a higher rank she would have brought out her archaesukor pieces. Clay cups excavated from the various dig sites within the Kingdoms that are then repaired using silver and gold. Uwné had started the tradition over four centuries ago. And while there were a lot more cups now than back then, they were still a rarity and an honor to be served. She put another cup on her side of the table, which was only 90° away from the chair of the vizier. “So, what is it you would like to discuss?”
She was already gearing up to hear the bad news. Perhaps the day of marriage for Inayah was finally chosen. She would loath giving away her son like that but she knew it was necessary. Or perhaps it was about Manu. Youth and a fiery spirit were a lethal combination. Maybe he had challenged some other nobleman’s son to a duel. She would talk to him-
“It’s about Raela.”
Phaera frowned. Her sweet Raela? Innocent Raela? The girl that smiled and laughed and danced? “What happened?” The princess asked. She didn’t try to hide her motherly worry. Her mind instinctively went to the worst possible outcome: she was kidnapped. A fury was already rising up inside of her.
“Nothing, my lady. Nothing has happened.” The man quickly said. Which relaxed Phaera. For a moment everything was silent. Though the princess didn’t want to pull it out of him. Nervous men needed time to gather their courage. Eventually, he spoke: “But I’m afraid that’s the problem. You see my lady Raela is already eighteen, with no immediate suitor. It is believed now would be a good time to send her away for her… familial duty.”
Ah. So that was what this was about. The corner of Phaera’s mouth rose up a little, though she quickly masked it by taking a careful sip from her cup. “You speak of this… Monastic duty? Apologies, where would she be sent to then?” Her tone was still nice. She sounded genuine.
“T-The Summerblossom Temple has traditionally welcomed the royal children for their duty.” The administrator said.
Though he failed to mention that this was not in any way set in stone. It was tradition. Only that. If she wanted she could’ve sent her sweet little girl to the Springlotus Temple. Where incidentally they did teach her magic. She knew this because one of her handmaidens had mentioned it some days ago. But Phaera wasn’t stupid. Someone wanted her to do something and think it was her idea.
“Ten whole years.” She said as she lowered her cup and looked out over her beautiful, Su’une soaked garden. Colorful dircaans wandered over the grass, others lounged comfortably on the stone pathways. One was rambunctiously chasing a female. Meanwhile inside a silence had descended upon the room. She pretended to think on it. Then suddenly she looked up. “What is your name?”
“M-Me?” The vizier stuttered. “I am Balasuna vur Rusajar, my lady.”
“Right.” Phaera said as she stood up and walked into the light. Yes, it was much too hot. She turned around. Her shadow stretched out towards the feet of the administrator. “Balasuna, you will return to the Grand Vizier that has set you up to this task and you will make clear that what he seeks will not be done.”
The administrator shot up in shock. “But my lady! It is tradition that every child of the-“
He was silenced simply by her raised hand. “I will not send my daughter to become a farmer and a cheesemaker. I don’t care how traditional it is. Her gift lies with magic, which means it lies with me.” Or an Irodemia back home. Where Raela could get a proper education like she herself had. But the Grand Vizier didn’t need to know that just now. “Have I made myself clear?”
“My lady this- this is madness! Chakravarti themself-“
Again he was silenced by her raising her hand. “For all I care the eight-armed goddess descends from the heavens and tells me that Raela must go. She will not go and become a lugi herder.” As the heat fell on her open back it felt nice, pleasant now. She loved this land. It was beautiful. Not just the earth and the stones and the trees but also the people, the culture, the buildings. But they had odd traditions. Strange customs. She had tried, truly, to understand why she would have to send her children away someday. In the first ten years of her marriage, she had visited the Summerblossom monastery many times. Every time she stayed for a week to try out the life. Every time she left happy to return to the palace. It was no life for a child as gifted as Raela. It was no place for a future king.
The poor vizier, a victim in this shadowy game she had now started, looked harrowed by her decision. Though he offered her no more fight. He simply fell back in his chair. Resigning to his fate. She felt for him. Well, perhaps it wasn’t yet time for his career to be executed just yet. “Come with me.” She said as she took a step to the side, showing the beautiful garden beyond the large windows. Her hand was outstretched, and half of her face once again lit by the sunlight. “I still have a few more questions. And I was hoping you would entertain me this afternoon.”
Phaera II, consort of Ossurman X, is lounging in her room reading some scrolls on magic as she often does. Though the serenity is broken by someone knocking on her door. A vizier came to talk to her about Raela. The girl has no suitor, so she must start considering sending Raela to the monastery for her familial duties.
Phaera is quick to catch on and realizes she’s most likely being manipulated. So she tells the Vizier that she will not send her daughter to such a place and that her place is with her. Even if Chakvarti herself would descend from the heavens to tell her, her daughter will not become a lugi herder. The vizier resigns to this (and his fate) though Phaera asks him to walk with her through the gardens, delaying his career execution for a little while.
New Tellur was growing ever more under the protection of Uwné. The shacks had been replaced by true hovels. Mortalkind was carving a permanent existence out around the hill of Gallath. The golems worked tirelessly on the next houses while refugees kept flowing in. Normally the god of crafting would be walking amongst them now, when the sun rose high. And then at night many could see the soft lights from his open workshop atop the hill. Not now though. None had seen the god for a week. His golems forbid any to climb the hill. Save for a select few, who swore secrecy.
Uwné was surrounded now by hundreds if not thousands of pots, small and big. With a strange wand he was manipulating a gnarly tree that grew from one of the pots. A crude, man-made map laid open on a nearby table. Small figurines of the various things that sat in pots were everywhere on the map.
From behind the pot two small eyes peered at the god. Uwné pretend to ignore it for a little while. The small girl, no more than seven, looked with big eyes as he worked. Each tree had to be perfect. They’d be the single ancestor of their entire line. And each bit of flora and fauna would be vital to the survival and prosperity of the people. The god slowly worked his way down the pots until he finally reached the one where the tiny human hid behind. He suddenly bowed down and looked her straight in the eyes. ”You’re not supposed to be here.
The little girl blushed as she stood upright. “Mommy was worried about you.” She said as she clutched a small piece of cloth. “So I wanted to see why you didn’t visit us anymore.”
Uwné gave her an apologetic smile. ”Well you can tell mommy that I’m quite alright. But I’m doing very important things now.” Then he turned his gaze further out. Towards the golems that were supposed to keep anyone out. How did the little girl get past them?
“What’s that?” She then suddenly asked as she pointed towards one of the trees.
The god turned to look. “Ah, that’s an olive tree. This must be the first time You’ve seen one of those, right?”
The little girl nodded and quite fearlessly stepped forwards towards the tree. “It looks old and dry.”
”They are meant to grow very close to the Su’une.” Uwné explained. Well, it wasn’t factually correct. But she would learn the full truth soon enough. ”And their fruit is delicious.” Carefully he picked an olive from the tree and offered it to the little child. Who ate it with glee.
“And what’s that?” She then asked, her attention drawn by a very grey, hardy looking tree.
”A steelbark.” Uwné said. With every question the little girl asked, the god began to brim with pride as he explained its function. Of course, the little girl wouldn’t remember much of it. But it felt nice to present his various creations to someone. Soon though, the world would see his creations. Many trees, brushes, weeds and other flora were uplifted from the various memories of the oldest humans. Things like the cypress, the olive tree and the lavender flower existed before the facture and would now exist again.
There were other creations as well. Things of his own design. The steelbark, the Sirensong bells, the Kariath trees. Unbeknownst to him though, one bush, a normal bush, was touched by the little girl and something strange had happened to it. Magic, that unpredictable and unforeseeable force, altered the bush ever so slightly. To the point that it escaped the god.
~
A week later and at night a golden glow lit up the whole hill of Gallath. Small motes of that light broke off and flew through the air. Days after that, aided by he great power of Uwné, green began to break through the broken realm of Uwné. Trees grew into forests and hardy plants took residence up in the craggy lands. The cordgrass was encouraged to cover more and more land, further away from the river. Eventually the realm of Uwné was no longer a desolate wasteland but a thriving, vibrant land.
As Uwné watched the motes of light carrying the seeds fly day and night, his mind roamed towards Ahtziri. She had already blessed his realm with the ore-worms burrowing deep beneath them. Even now he could feel them and when the time was right he would tell of them to his people. Though he wondered if she would bring more of her unique life here.
Uwné is working on some plant-life when a little girl spies on him. He catches her. The little girl, curious as any child, starts asking about the many potted plants Uwné had in his workshop. With pride he explained what they were. Then a week later he seeds his realm with the various plants he had carefully made
- 0 MA (reduced): Creation of mundane flora in Uwné’s realm. - 0 MA (reduced): Creation of special flora in Uwné’s realm. Examples: the Steelbark Tree (endemic), Labyrinth mushrooms: the mindreading mushrooms that expand by finding fertile land in fauna’s memories, Sirensong bells: flowers that emit a soft sound that sooths and calms large herbivores, Kariath trees: trees whose resin can be burned as incense which encourages creativity and whose fruit induces a state of total focus, khatem flowers: tea bulb flowers, Yrrassil bushes, delius trees and guardian trees: trees that grow around orbs of power, accidental concentrations of magical power, the trees grow around them to calm the power down - 0 MA (reduced): Creating 2 fauna phenomenon/random mutations: everblossom trees. Trees that blossom year around except during winter. A rare mutation that means the tree rarely actually produces viable seeds and it generally exhausts the tree rather quickly. Leading to its death. Everautumn Trees: a mutation that causes the leaves of the tree to discolor into red, yellow and orange year round as if it is always autumn. The mutation is less dangerous to trees but the discoloration does mean it grows slower. Both mutations can be found in nearly all trees at random. Though selective breeding could procreate them as well (with a lot of effort)
Lord Zee
Vec
Rekkuza
Iwannabeyours
princess
Cmmelody
Necrodancer
ActRaiserTheReturned
Timemaster
