In the name of the Spirit of Balance, the Mediator of Man and Spirit, Descendant of the Spirit of Nature, the Elven becoming Spirit, and the Interpreter within the Court of Chaos, Merlin.
Your hands weave the harmony twixt mortal and Spirit, Binding the ephemeral to the eternal, the fleeting to the past. Your voice, the gentle tide that quells the tempest of chaos. Your mind, the beacon lighting humanity's path through shadow.
Oh, Keeper of the Scales, With wisdom tempered by eons and grace borne of unity, You stand at the threshold of the mortal and the divine, Forever a bridge, never a wall.
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In the name of the Spirit of Humanity, The Flame of Progress, The Sovereign of Dominion, The Architect of Mortals' Ascent, We call upon Mundus.
Builder of futures, you severed the threads that hung the earth from the sky. With your hands, you casted a veil between the mystic and the mundane. Your anvil is the crucible of sovereign will and unyielding spirit.
Oh, Crowned One of Enlightenment, With shield casted out by the spirits above, You guard the path of mortal independence, Forever advancing, never retreating. With Mortality a strength, not a weakness...
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And to you, my dear... The one bearing the burden of change... The one that born by the Grey March... When the veil of mysticisms weakens.... Where humanity are first made... Deep in the depths of Eccam, you came... And to whence you shall return.
When chaos and order interchange... When mortal hearts, timeless roots, and spectral might converge... That's when fate spins a new tale...
For the name of the everlasting Spirit of Progress... O Eternal Wheel that spins unbroken. With your blessing, I write this chronicle as a humble author, and seeker of truth. I seek no blessing nor, this a deed to be added to my name. War, and Peace, Isolation, and Unity, Famine, and Gluttony... Your cycle weave the fabric of existence.
Nous, grant us the will, and the strength to pull through. May these words be penned not to satiate idle curiosity, Nor to light the heavens like distant stars, But to bear the weight of sorrow, to echo the joy of laughter, And to walk beside the reader, step by step, Not for the view upon the distant peak, But for the beauty found in the climb itself.
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Beneath the suffocating weight of a thick blanket of clouds, a group of weary travelers shuffled, their steps hesitant, and muffled by the sodden Earth. Without the flickering flames of the torch clutched tightly by their side, the world would have been swallowed by darkness as the moon remains hidden by the shroud of cloud that hung low, smothering the horizon.
The wind howled loudly, carrying a whisper of chaotic murmuring of the people, and flowing through the natural reserve are the songs of the awakening crickets. Within the environment, the creak of the ungreased wooden wheels, and the uneven clatter of hooves on the dirt path struggled to be muted.
On the cart sits a solitary cage, an oppressive structure of wrought iron, its arms constrictive, and suffocating. It has barely enough space to hold a pig. A pig who would be veiled by the dense curtain of parchment talismans, with precise, intricate markings that hold ancient power. The etching lines the paper chaotically, imitating bars that can hold back even a raging bull.
From behind the bars came a sound - a groan, faint and fragile. It is a whisper of a child to weak to cry out, wavering in the air, barely audible over the rustling talismans and the distant murmuring of the travelers. The men shivers in the cold rustic forest air, and their arms struggle to hold their torch, as numbness begin to set in.
"Of all the times to drag us out, he picks the middle of the bloody night. Can't even see where I'm stepping. Nearly twisted my ankle back then" came a complaint.
A nervous chuckle emerges from the dark sky. "Oh... Well... There's not really a good time to deliver this thing. Best we walk at night to avoid the crusaders..."
A man rubs his nose against the icy air before letting out a violent sneeze. He sniffs, his breath clouding the torchlight as he asks "Thing? You mean the kid, right? What on Earth made them wrap her up like that? What? Couldn't afford a blanket or something?"
"This better not invoke the kid, you maniac," came the first voice. His eyes darts nervously to the shrouded cage.
"You'd better not have cursed us," came the second. He clutches his cloak tighter as though the cold wasn't the only thing creeping in.
"Look... All I'm saying is... Why you gotta treat the poor lass like that?" the man defended, his voice softer now "She seems harmless to me,".
The first voice sighs loudly. "You really need to learn not to judge a tree by its barks," he scoffed, low and sharp. "It's not the child we're worried about. It's what she does to the spirits around".
"Aye, Captain" came an offended voice, sorely defeated.
The torch struggles against the oppressive darkness and the travelers trudge forward on an unending march into the jaws of shadow. Around them, the forest seem to still, as the faint rustling of leaves and occasional groan of the wind stopped.
Then, came a sudden sound - SNAP. It was the sound of a branch breaking. The leader of the travelers freezes mid-step, raising his hands amid the darkness. The group come to a sudden stop, some men even stumbling into one another. "Quiet!" he hisses a taut whisper. They gulp and swallow their breath as armored figures emerges from the behind the drapes of shadow.
"HALT!" came a commanding voice. "In the name of Mundus, the sovereign of mankind!"
At least a dozen of them emerged, blocking the path ahead, while others stepped out from the tree line behind, sealing off their escape. Men clad in plate armor, emblazoned with the sigil of Mundus - An circle with 4 equilateral triangle evenly spaced around its edge, each triangle pointing outward toward the cardinal directions.
"Crusaders" hissed the caravan leader.
The captain of the crusading squad came forward. His imposing figure stands a head taller from the caravan leader, and he stares him down with righteous fervor. "Do not think you can deceive us. We already know of your heretical practices. Why else would you cloak yourself in darkness? Speak now, and perhaps salvation is still within your grasp."
But the leader of the caravan did not dare meet his stare. He shifted his weights on his heels, and gazed thoroughly at the ground. "We're no cultists, sir... O-only travelers on the road. There's no need for this."
Then, from the behind the crusading captain walk a lady wearing a toga that hangs loosely until her knees. A simple belt dangles loosely from her shoulder dropping diagonally across her torso. Small buckles on the belt secure a short capelet attached to the jacket. Her auburn hair is tied into a loose braid with a simple bronze circlet resting on her head. A radiant sunburst pattern externs outwards upon her forehead, half tattoo, half scar. Upon her eyes swirls a combination of blue and grey, flowing like water. Most curiously, her ears runs long and tapered.
"Evoca Venture" She muttered gracefully, with her right hand gracefully flowing out from the side, as a hearty gale bellows onto the face of the travelers, blowing off their hoods and revealing disfigured faces, mishappen skulls, and green eyes growing on the side of their heads. Panic descends on the party as their secret has been unveiled.
The caravan cry out in shock, as they scream the name of the mysterious lady. "T-that sun mark! It's Elastra!" they cry out in fear.
"Cultists!" cry out the crusaders as swords fly out of their scabbards, clashing into clubs. The cultist leader hold up his staff, his hand glowing green. With a guttural chant, the earth beneath the feet of the crusaders erupted with thick roots bursting forth like serpents, coiling around their legs. His eyes grow green, and his inhumane yet, earthly feature begin to morph violently.
"Evoca Ignis!" Cry out the lady with the tapered ears as fire dance out from her hands and weaving around the thick roots, incinerating them and reducing them to ashes but leaving the crusaders unharmed as they march forward, hacking towards the still growing and writhing vines.
As a crusader rush towards a cultist, the robed man breath out a green mist, enveloping the warrior who staggered, and coughed violently with poison seeping into his lungs. Thorned vines lashes out like whips towards the crusaders with the lady still remaining in the shadows behind the attacking squad, whipping out spells as support.
But the crusaders were relentless. The poison seems to dissipate and wane over time, requiring repeated cast to be effective, as a yellow glow surrounds the attacking crusaders. One crusader fell while thorns tore out his veins but 3 more cultists fell as he did. The cultists begin to falter, some even turning their backs to flee, only to be met by more crusaders behind them. The cultist leader, now cornered, stabs his staff into the ground, summoning tree-sized roots towards the crusaders.
"Evoca Ignis" Cry out the lady one last time, a wave of heat is felt all throughout the field, with the men in armor feeling their skin burning from the heat. A massive fire engulfs the massive roots suddenly, and without mercy as it is quickly reduced to coal along with its summoner. Luckily for the crusaders, the spell lasted mere seconds, only giving those closest to the cult leader minor skin burns.
Within the darkness, silence fell once more, save for the labored breaths of the surviving crusaders as the ground was littered with the bodies of both sides. The captain knelt, planting his sword into the dirt, as he mutters a prayer to Mundus, his voice filled with triumph and sorrow.
The lady walk forward into the night towards where the cart used to be. Through the battle, the cart was overturned and the horse dead from inhaling the poisonous clouds. Curiously, the cage laden with talismans had its bars remained intact, yet its inhabitants is missing.
It was at this moment that the clouds unveil and part, revealing the full moon that cast a spotlight into the underside of the cart. A child lay hiding, her ears also long and tapered as she points to the lady in front of her.
"Your ears... Like mine" the child whispers, her voice trembling with both awe and fear as she gazes at the lady before her. Grey eyes of an adult stare tenderly at the green eyes of a child. "T-then, are you also a demon?" she queried the lady in front of her.
A crusader from afar jogs leisurely towards the adult elf, Elastra, with his hand waving. However, noticing the child, he stops immediately, and signals to his captain with a shout. "By Mundus! They were carrying a child!" he shouts.
Elastra kneels down next to the child, putting her hand out to pull the freed prisoner from the darkness underneath the carriage. The child refuses it, and crawls out into the light of the moonlight, patting her course, ragged burlap dress. The elder elf pulls his hand back with a chuckle and asks "What's your name, little one?"
"N-name? Uh-" she stammers and shakes her head in confusion. "Demon child or something" she answers without regard and then, she weakly adds "I don't know". The crusaders that had begun to gather around murmur to one another. They stand on tiptoe, craning their necks to get a better view. Despite this, Elastra's gaze upon the child remains fixed and unchanged, seeming to be uncaring of the girl's response. She nods, believing the child's simple response.
"To be met with us on an eve of a new day, and on the eve of a new season. I've decided. From one elf to another. Eve shall be your name" Elastra answer simply, without hesitation. The girl stammers, and while looking at the ground, meekly responds with "Yes, Ma'am". The whispers from the nearby crowd seems to resonate within the forest.
"That was quick..."
"It's a good name. Definitely," this one was nodding to himself as he adds his commentary.
"By Mundus, it really is a kid"
At that point, the crusaders' captain came round, and the group parted to reveal the middle aged man, his armored removed to show his scarred face. He takes a second to evaluate the situation before turning his back towards his men and orders "Well... What are you lots waiting around for?! Can't you see this child is safe now?! Give her some space, dang it! And didn't I order tents to be placed 10 minutes ago!".
The crowd quickly disperse, fearing punishment if they delay in duties even more and the captain approaches the pair of elves. Noticing the captain, Elastra disregard the child and heads to the cage, muttering "Take care of her for a while. She's unharmed. I'm taking a look at the cage,".
The captains scoffs, and murmurs to himself "Unreasonable as always... Even with a child. Elves...".
Without a word, the captain picks up the kid onto his shoulder as the child gasps in shock at the sudden motion. He heads back towards the rapidly building camp. As he did so, he can't help but shake an eerie gnawing at his mind. With the child now firmly on his shoulder, he can't help but feel like the entire world is gazing at them both. Crickets silenced, the moonlight waning, the winds pushing hard against them both.
At the overturned cart, Elastra stares with her eyes widened at the etchings on the talisman held onto the cage. "Merlin, protect us..." she mutters as she heads back to the camp in a rush.