The Rhithwyr Coven was an old Welsh Coven that, unlike many of its contemporaries, was not formed out of blood or necessity, but out of plain pragmatic convenience, mix in the fact that the families which founded it weren't as old as others and it becomes easy to imagine they were riddled with problems: lack of support, internal squabbles and petty cockmeasuring contests between the descendants of the original founders. The Rhithwyr Coven was one of many such Covens during its time, and like many of them it was destined to fall. Or at least that was what was supposed to happen, enter Gwion Bach, the man who became a focal point in the Welsh magic scene, who rallied many of the different Welsh Covens under his banner, at least until his ultimate disappearance after stealing from the Sorcerer Ceridwen, however, it was thanks to his influence that many of the Covens found the pride to carry on, even as they slowly dispersed into their previous state of affairs, and into actuality.
Now met Emrys, from the Rhithwyr Coven, who believed himself the reincarnation of Gwion Bach and who decided the obvious answer to pull his coven from obscurity was to enact an ancient rumored 'ritual' with the remnants of the Coven. In a curious twist, his ritual had an effect, however, it was one he could neither expect nor see as
something else took notice. Emrys, you see, was ambitious but not very bright, so when his ritual 'failed' he decided to fake being blessed and go with plan B, which was to wage war against a smaller Coven in order to take what was theirs. The following conflict marked not only the end of Emrys, but also of the Rhithwyr Coven as a whole, who with foolish hopes followed him, unaware that the Coven they were going to attack had recently gained the protection of one Mordred the Mystic.
But our story doesn't end there, for you see, Emrys exact words were "Boed bendith ar etifeddiaeth y Rhithwyr" or "May there be a blessing on the legacy of the Illusionists" which he interpreted as his future, but which can also become "inheritor". Emerys was not as well versed as he liked to appear, he was, however, knowledgeable enough to understand how to add more elements to a ritual and desperate enough to use everything he could... Including carnal pleasures. Cue in Anwen, the last survivor of the Rhithwyr Coven, alive only thanks to Mordred the Mystic's oath to never kill a pregnant woman, and who hid for 4 months to dodge the fall of her actions but who was ultimately exiled to America with her newborn baby..
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the origin of one Elian Caer Walker.
And as all origins, it all goes downhill from there.
When one is born, it is expected for them to be tended to right? Welp, not Elian, you see, his mother was a Witch of middling power and who, before the whole ritual thing, looked at nonmagical folk in a peculiar way, that meant that such silly things like passports or papers were never something she bothered with, the wealth of the Coven was not as large as others but it did exist. It was also wealth she could no longer touch. Worse, she was having an adverse reaction to the magic of the land, already she could feel herself weakening, it was like she had a thread around her throat and everyday it got tighter by a hairwidth. That wasn't the last of her worries. Elian was weird, even by baby standards, have you ever seen a baby stare transfixed at nothing? Well, have you seen that same baby start to giggle the moment the wall starts to bleed? Or cry and try to get away from a mirror? What little magic Anwen had was spent on creating and maintaining wards, against hostile intentions, against evil spirits, again anything and everything she could think of. The result was a rotting cottage that could compete against any sanctum, but how you ask? How could a Witch that was for all purposes washed off manage to create such strong and versatile protections? Well, one way to get power in magic is with technique and knowledge... The other is with meaning, like, say, a sacrifice.
A willing sacrifice at that, the wards were tied to herself as the anchor and some days they took so much from her that even getting out of bed was something she couldn't manage, had she not charmed some of the locals to bring them food and essentials from time to time they would have likely perished. But she didn't care, all the pain was worth it as long as her son could be a child for one day more.
Elian never learned this.
To him his mother was always distant, not in a cold way but a tired one, she was also sad. He remembers when he was 8, it was the first time he saw a ghost, some kind of lost soul in rags and with a rope dangling from his neck, similar yet so different from the men who left things by their door, when he asked his mother about it she just started crying so he learned to not bring it up. Nor the squiggly things that floated in the sky or the leathery figures that smiled at him. But even so he was curious, in his 10 years of life he never set foot on the world outside, instead remaining confined to the small cottage he called a home. It was only natural for a child to be curious, so, one day he waited for his mother to enter deep slumber and for the first time experienced the outside world himself.
That was his first mistake.
Did you know? That some things know you once you know them? Whispers and cries assaulted his ears as soon as he exited his heaven, strange creatures came out of the trees and fire started erupting from the floor. All the while his eyes bled and bled like a river, while promises, threats and laughter corrupted his mind. He was lucky that the first hand to reach him was his mother's, dragging him back to the safety of their little home. She didn't scold him or get angry, she just hugged him with all the strength that was left in her bones, even as she flinched from time to time.
The following years were... different, everyday his mother looked worse, where before she would occasionally cook or wander the house now it was a miracle if he could get her to eat twice per day. And that was just on his mother's side, now he could see more and more, things in the sky, figures emerging from the ground, whispers accompanied by pleas that he learned to tune out.
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