Stories from Sorras

OOC: This thread provides a place for those in this setting who are interested in exploring stories within their nation, outside of their own individual threads in much the same way as Scraps of Worldbuilding in Eras. Here you will be able to experiment with new characters, investigate otherwise unrelated plotlines and much much more. With the limit being your endless imagination, have fun. - GAP

Colorless were the times of old, where no stories were told. Not a sound, not a light, not a hope, not a dream, until she woke up. Mâ opened her eyes deep within Sorras to the darkness within and the silence it held, as she began to walk. Across caverns and hidden seas from below, Mâ rose trying to find light, but she found a canvass of eternal blue. Heartbroken, amidst the barren lands, Mâ wept, and the tear fell. Bright like a diamond, it shone, and she picked it up, placing it above in the skies.

Far and wide she would travel, as her tears decorated the skies, until they woke up. Dû opened their eyes above the clouds, and the skies turned to brightness, as they descended to meet Mâ. Mesmerized by the beauty of her tears, they asked to take them to their realm. Mâ accepted, under the request that the light be brought to this world, and her tears to watch over her. To that, they agreed taking Mâ to their realm, and such jewells were hung up to the skies, invisible when the Dû was awake, and watching over once Mâ arose. And between them, they would watch over, as light rose and fell.

Yet, the world was hollow and empty, until under the light of both Mâ and Dâ, She woke up.

Anah-shur the Tales Teller​

This one is actually my favorite story. Did you know that High Elven Oracles are able to see not only into the future, but into the past as well? This power is the one I think it's the most interesting. After all, one's saying that they can look into the future only works if you're there to see it for yourself. However, when someone tells you about your own past, I shudder at the mere thought, because that's what true power means.

Enough with my babbling, I should start with the story.

---

The Forgotten Queen​

SA 997 EA​

But I can't...

So let the spirits talk...

Ḑ̶̐å̷̼̏r̴̻͗͜k̸͈̙͌n̸͙̂͜ḙ̸͚͊ŝ̸̫͒ş̵̞̓ ̴͎̤͋l̸͕̒o̸̖͂̍o̴̞͎͂m̶͙͖͒s̴̫͚͐ ̷̣̀ͅo̴̤͐͌n̷̢̰̈́͠c̵̘͒̒e̸̝̩̔ ̷̲̋a̷̺̣̍͠g̶̩̉̈́ǎ̸̟̥̇ȋ̶̲n̵͙̽
̷͍̅I̵̩͂n̴̺̾ ̴̟̗̐͠t̵͇͍͐h̵̗͋ę̵̃̎ ̵̞̔l̶̞̻͌ą̸̹̚̕ñ̸̰̈́d̴͓͖́͂
̷̻̀ͅT̸̛̥̣̅h̸̙̐e̵͘͜ ̶̣̓͘d̶̛̻̲̏ä̵̦̜r̵͈̈͊ḱ̴̙̻ ̶͓̜̋̾s̸̳͉͑̾h̵̗͉̽̈́a̴̰̎d̷̯̻̍o̵̠͋ẁ̶͇̥s̵̻͘ ̴̦̐w̸̝̽i̷̲͕͠l̷̻͙̇ļ̸͙̂͋ ̷͉͍̇͐s̴̰̱̃́p̷̧͊ṛ̴͗e̶̯̽͒á̷̤̮͊d̸͍̐͛
̶͍̑̀A̴͕̠͊c̶̗̒͂͜r̷̫̺͐o̶͈͈̎̈́s̵͕̀s̵̝̻͒ ̶̡̝̅͐t̴͉̃h̴̟͍̓͑e̵̛͎ͅ ̴̯̲̈̐ḻ̴̕ͅa̸͍͒͌n̷͍͍̆ḑ̵̵̙̦̼̌̀͂
̶̨̄͝L̶̫̿ẹ̵̛̯t̵̪͌ ̷̜͗̋t̸̻̔́h̶̡̪͘e̴̛͉͓ ̷͚̎w̴͍͐̀ŏ̴̤r̸̙͈̃̓l̴͍̓͜d̸͉̞̅ ̸̬͊̽b̵̪͝u̴͇̾̀r̶̳͝n̷̬̈́
̷͋̈͜Ì̴̭͝n̴̗̍ ̴̻̅͜d̷̞̯́̀a̵̢̔r̸̉̇ͅḱ̶͜n̶͈̱̾e̷̮̍̏ș̴̏̃s̵̭̻̊ ̷̯͎̈͒b̵͇̤̑e̷̘͓̍c̷͉̻͂̒a̵̞̱͗͑ũ̵̼̉s̸̛̖e̷̪̥̎͂ ̴̫̞̓ä̷͈́g̸̥̿a̶̞̐̚i̴̺̖͐n̵̤̹̿
̴͕̕͝H̸̟̍e̴͍̽͝a̸̡͊̅r̵̹͊t̷̟͕͐̎ ̶̭͉̔͐a̶̲̎n̸͓̋d̸͍̜͋ ̶̲́͠p̵̯͇̈a̷͈̐s̸̨̗͑̀s̸̖̗̒i̸̼̓̃o̵͚̕n̷̬̈́̚ ̸̠͛͌ẅ̴͕̼i̸͖̾̽ḽ̶͌̃l̷̼̿ ̴̧́̾d̷̤̺̎e̷̤͚̍́t̷̤͘ȅ̷̬̘̚r̴̰̐̊m̴̫̖̊̃i̷̠͍̚n̷̗̹̉͝ě̵̙̈ͅ
̷̺͆T̶̥̫̾ḫ̶͑͂ͅḛ̷̑̚ ̸̩̠̓͘f̵̮͐a̷̳͂͐t̵͎̒ë̶̬͉́͝ ̶̨͖͐̊ǫ̴̎f̶̟̾̃ ̵̧̓t̴̻̖̉h̵̡̳͆͝e̸̦̍̽ ̷̯̜̇̀w̵͔̣̄͝o̴͎̯͋r̸̥̔̀l̷͖̂̀d̵͎̻̃
̷̨̊́T̴͖͐̌r̶̢̄̐i̶̙̖͗͐à̸͔̪̈́l̶̬̋ ̶̥͓̌̃i̶͇̽͑s̴̘͎͂͠ ̴̼͂ť̵̲h̵̬̯́̃e̸̘͋̏ ̵̘͙̓k̴͔͕̀͝ẻ̸̺͝ÿ̶͉́̐
̷̰̠̇̽M̴̻͂a̵͜͝g̴̱̺͛ǐ̷̛͓̱c̶̝͐͝ ̴̠̺̓i̷̫̗̓̈́s̵͙̒̀͜ ̸̘̣̊b̷̠͇̎̌u̶̠͑ŕ̷̠͚n̴̪͑í̸̗n̴̯̈g̴̨̟̃̒ ̴̢̤͛į̸͋n̸̾ͅ ̷̷̣͕̣͕̈́͂̈́͂m̵̫͐ḛ̸͈͝

Spoiler: Meaning

Darkness looms once again
In the land
The dark shadows will spread
Across the land
Let the world burn
In darkness because again
Heart and passion will determine
The fate of the world
Trial is the key
Magic is burning in me

---

Another message from me, Anah-shur










Ỉ̵̢̠̣̭̘͍͎̞̺͔̱̙͈͚̱̩̩̙̣̮̦̭͙͙̫̱̘̽͗̓̈̇̊͛̽̿̑̈̄̃́̂͋̇͐̒̽́̕͜ ̶̢̛̤͒̈́̀͒̈͐̀̔̅̈́̀̎̊̂́͒̇̀͛̅͂̏̆̄͒̀̓̆̍͐̆̆̍̏̄͊͂̅́̈̈̚͘̚̕̚̚͝c̷̡̢̡̨̡̨̨̡̢̛͓̣̝̖͎͙̭̪͇͚̼̝̻̝̳̙͍̣̰̖͇͖̫̩̖̺̪̤̪͇̮̹̟̞͍̠̯͖̥͐͊͗͆̉̑̿̔̑͋̉̑̅̔̎́͋̄̎͒̅̑̀̋̄͑͊͊̏̃̎̅̐͐́͊̓͌̆̕͝͠͝͠ͅạ̸̛̛̛͕͓͉̰͍͉̉͛̈́̃̌̀̃̈́͊̔̾͐̈́̽̌͐͛̄̊̏͆͒̅͋̅̋̾͘͝͝͝͝ǹ̴̡̨̛̙̯͎̳̺̘̬̥̯̞̼͈͈̗͕̖̥̝̬͈̞̗̰̒̆͗̑͐̐̏̐́̋̊͂̊͒̅̒̾͛̒̐͌̃̇̈́̔̀̍̾́̎͋̿̍͌͂̽̏̉̚̚͜͝͠'̶̡̧̹̳̺̻̦̭̰͙̙̲̣̩̤̝̖͚̟̟̤͎̠̖̹̯͈̺̼̙̜̫͚̗̰͈̇̿̏̕͜͜ţ̸̢̨̢̨̢̳̤̣͍̤͖̥̖͈̖̙̟̱͍̺̩͈̼̮̹̠̰̣̫̬͎͖͇̀͐̓̄ͅͅ ̴̨̧̡̧̧̛̛͔͈̫̜̹̹̭̬̰͖̠͕̪͖̼̗͎̱̥̱̰͓̩̮̰̤̠̬̭͓̜̯͈̭̩͔̐͐̔̽͌͋̔́̓̓̑̈́̿̽͛̌́̀̈́̀́̐̿̚ͅͅd̸̢̨̨̨̨̡̛̖̮͕͖̫̪̺̜̝̜͙̜̟͕͚̹̦͚̠̠͓̘͕͈̬̖͓̻͙͍̼͖̣̪͈̖͎͉͉͒̿̉̇͒̐̔̑́̔̏̀̉͋̇̈͊̀̎̽́͛͆͊́̔̊̿̓̅͌́͌̓̿̓̒̄̓̋͘̕̚̕͝͝͠ó̶̩͉̱͙̰̓͗̇̑͆́̎̑͐̌̎͒̀̎̔̔̈́̊̒͌͆͊̄͘̚ ̸̨̡̢̨̛̜̫̹̩͎̩̟̞͕͚̼̻̰̹̝̻̹̥̪̘͓͎̖̻̗̖̟̩͚͔̝̜̻̼͙̪̩̼̟̂̊̆̉̓̐̑̏́̍̾̍̀͊̓͒̓͗͂͆̏͛̿̊̈́̊͑͘̕͘͘̕͠͠ͅͅi̵̢̨̘͇̘̱̺͙̟̗̰̰̫̗̹̦̦̳̯̩̐͂͆̒̓̀̉ͅt̶̢̢̧̧̲̠̜͎̗̹͈̫̬͉̫͈͔̱͈͇̝̗̮̳̫̥̣̄̾́̇͗̊͌́͑̊̈̓͐̿̒͊͐̃̾̈́͐̆̇͒́̍͋̈́̌̓̊̑̅͆̈͘̕̕͜͝ͅ ̸̡̡̳͚̹͚͍̹̯̼̟̳̞̘̲̤̟͎̘̝͈͈̰̞̤̳̙̗̪̤̺͙̤̬́̂̈́͌̚ȧ̸̧̢̰̯̻̯͉̜̺̩̣̖̱͕̱͈̘̖̬̠͉̳͈̪̪̹͉̹̥̞̫̜͙̥̪̠̤̠̤̤̥̗̪̝̍̋́͂̅̈́͌̄̀̅̂͛͊̏͒̒͋̐̈́́͗̍̀͂̋̃́͒̓̈́̿͆͘͘̕͜͜͜͝͠͝ͅͅn̴̪̳̥̟̺̤͓͍͐̈́͛̎̈́̈̉́̄̔͒̀̈́̅̄̔̄̃̾̆̈́̉͋͒̔̓̀̈̍̀͛̿̍̓̀͘̚͝͠ÿ̵̛̞͔̫̳͍̭́̉̂͑̌͐̾͆͆̊̄̎́̆͑̽̑̋̀̈́̈́͒̋̊͒̑̐̓̾̀̀̂̌͆̊͑͌͋̾̄̚͘̚̕͜͝͝͠͝͝m̴̡̪̯̯̞͎̂̋̑̇̀͋̌̾̓͆̇̅͘ớ̷̪̮͙̻͖͒̈͌̿̈́͂͊̏̂̏̆̔̀́͆̌̎̋͛̃̋͌̆͛͐͋̍̈́̑͗̕͘̚͘̚͘͝͝͝ͅr̵̨̧̢̨̠̗͈̠̦̬̙͔͕̳̦͇̲͙̣͕̦͕̥͚̪͕̰̭̭͛̑̔̇̀͆͛͗͋̐͑͆̀̅̎̓̅̌̈́̏͛̆̓̑̔̌͐̅̄̀̅̐̽͗̾̿̈́̆̐̇̓̇̈́̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝e̴̞͒̅̀͆͊̎̽̔́







̴͎̹̞͈̠͓̤͍͒̂́͊̿̑͋͗́͒́̃̚̕S̵̨̗̬̗̠̯̟̻͚̝͍̊̉̒̽̋͛̾̓̽̌́̑͐̈́̆̆̾͑͗̔̓͆̿͐͂̀̆̅̚̕̚͝͠͝͝͠͠ǫ̸̛̛̞̱̲͓̈̈̏̇̀̉̓̈́̏͛͋̈́͌́͛̈́̂͊̽̓̌̃̒̒̉̒̾́͊̽̅͗̆̑͘͠͝͠m̶̧̛̩̭̜̜͖̹̳͕̬͎̤̳̩̥̜̬̪̦̈́̑͊͛̏͘ȩ̸̢̧̡̛̭̯̝̬͎̬͇͉̟̟̳̣̯̖̥̞͚̺̱̦̰̳̳͉̦͎̳̯̟͇̻̘̭̻͎̤̤̘̦̫̜̰͈̓͐́̓͊̄̏͌͆̉͋̈́̇̌̐́̃̒͗͘͝ǫ̷̧͕͙̹̜͎̖͇̗̮̲̼̗̙̩̭̺̝͕̲̫̙̮̱̪̪̼͖̪̟͈̻̰̬̱͊̊͗̌̌͌̅̈̄͗̓̅̃́̽̔́́̊̄͗͐̽̃̒̑̃̿̆̾̃̽̋͂̈́͑̓͑̽̚͘͘͘̕͠͝͝͠͠͝n̸̨̡̢̨̢̡̛͖̫̪̣̯̘̺̬̫͕̣͎͉͈̫̝͕͓̞̭͕̠͍̠͚͔͚̹̥͚͓̗̗̗̳͕̙̾̎̍̆̿̌͊̀́̈́͒̓̑̽̒̈́̈̒̾͛̓͗̀͋͑̂̇̐͛͆͊̿̎̎̌̕̚̕͘͜͜͝͝͠͝ȩ̵̡̤̪̩̤̲̰̞̱̮͍͎̗͈̜̠̮̹̫͇̬̙̮̬̯̝̱͖́̐͋͋̐̍̊͑̈͌̈́͑̿͘͘͜͝ ̴̡̞̭̲̺̮̘̜̜̬͔̤̤͕̜̻͎͎͗̊̍̊͂͂̈́̍͋͋̒̌̒͊̒̈́̈̌͊̌́́̆̉̋͗̋̓̾̅̌͗̒͂̾̾͂̃̇̑̐̈́̕̕͜ͅs̸̢̻͎̞̲͖̦̱̻̯̾͐̈̈́̿͆̏̊̊̉̄͂͐̉̄̓͒̌͘̕̚̕͝͝͝a̵̡̡̡̨̛͕͚͚̲͓̩̗̱̯̯̺͎̭̙̠͉̩̱̰͔͚͕̙̤̮̭̖̬̳͔̥̳͙̠̖̖̞͓̭̒̊́͋̿̆̓̉̈̍͛̿͑͐͑̈͛́̌̓͒̊͊̇̐̇͋̌̇͛̈́̋͗̚̚̕͜͜͜͜͠͝v̸̹͈͍̈́͗̈́̀̍̄̂̇͛̂̈̃͊̇̓̎̍̌̑̃̽̾̍̓͗͂̓̓̑͊͌͗̆̍͆͊͐̇̌̏̇̽̈́̏́̆͘̕͝͝é̴͔̮̫͍̗̣̜̉̒́̐͗̀̀̐͠ ̵̭̻͇͍̯̿̍͊̄̂͝͝m̸̡̨̛̳̼͍̱͓̊̈́̄̅̀̂̅͆̀̎̓̀͛̾́̋̒̄͒̈́̈̄͛̌͗̂́̓̐̃̏͒͌̽̄̓̑̓̀̃͘̚͠e̴̡̧̧̧̧̧̛̛̲̫͕̰̯̠͈͇̰̪͕͇̲̼̖̹͕̪̙̞͓̘͇͉̱̟̯̍͒͌͂̀͒̍͛͊͂́͐̈̓̿͆͑͂͒̽̓̓̆͊̿͒̒̒͐̄́͋͂̾̈̏̉̇̀͋̄͘̚̚͜͠͠͝͠ͅͅ
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Three years before Forests and Shadows

Part I

Arbia and Cail circled each other as the other sixteen year old twins sized each other up. The other young warriors hollered and chanted to encourage their peers to tear into each other. They'd been doing it for every pair today but the fact that these were twins- and the Chief’s twins at that- made the crowd incredibly eager to see.

“You sure about this?” Ponrai asked Unean, as he watched his Chief’s children getting ready to spar.

“They've been fighting each other since they were little,” Unean replied.
“And they’ve been sniping at each other the entire trials. Time to let them vent it out and see if they have what it takes.”

Ponrai nodded… still unsure. But not one to question his Chief.

“You ready sis? Let’s get this over with.”

Arbia scowled. They circled each other some more. They'd fought and scrapped ever since they were little kids. And Cail had won most of them. He was the male. Bigger. Stronger. But it has been recently, as they progressed through the trials, that Arbia had realized that though she'd never be as tall or as strong as her twin brother she could be faster. So she was ready when her father selected them to spar for their final test.

“Yap all you want Cail, hit me or hold your dick like an idiot, your choice.”

Cail growled and Arbia smirked, seeing a look in her brother’s eyes. He fell for her trap. He summoned a fireball and launched it. Arbia ducked and the crowd of young warriors behind her ducked. Arbia leapt from her crouched position and charged at Cail, who charged at her, going for a punch, but Arbia tumbled forward into a summersault and leapt to her feet, running and jumping. She leapt and grabbed a branch, grinning at her brother as he looked up frustrated.

“You gonna fight?” he asked as he spread his arms out wide.
“Come and get me sis!”

Cluaran watched the siblings, smirking as Arbia got the better of Cail, refraining from the chanting and hollering to watch her as she pulled herself from hanging the branch to crouching on it.

“You asked for it,” Arbia muttered and leapt at Cail, throwing a fireball at her brother, forcing himself to throw his arms up to block it. He growled and looked up but! She was gone! He looked to his right and he grunted as Arbia’s kick hit him square in the face.

“You're so fucking obvious,” she muttered, charging her brother and trying to tackle him. Cail just grabbed onto her.
She always tried this! When would she learn that she’d never be able to wrestle him down?

But Arbia smiled as she looked down and struggled because she knew that… yeah there was it! Cail tossed her, to throw her to the ground but… she caught herself on her tiptoes and spun around to balance herself. She'd just started to get used to balancing on her toes while her tail was wrapped around her waist and she saw her opening! Her brother was still stumbling and she charged, jumping in the air and turning her body as she swung her body, and brought her foot down on his head. Cail grunted and fell to one knee and Arbia roundhouse kicked his head again but he wouldn't fall. So she looked around. The crowd was hollering and chanting and she ran to one of the nearby trees. Hopped up and climbed onto a sturdy branch, and leapt!

Cail was dazed, on one knee… and Arbia leapt at him! She'd blast him with a fireball and…

…and in a split second she smirked. No. She'd wait until she was right on top of him and then….

The split second hesitation while she was in the air. It was all Cail needed. He gained some clarity and jumped up and towards her. The split second.

“Oh fu…” Arbia thought as her brother clotheslined her out of midair. She dropped like a rock and hit the ground. She was winded and gasped for air and then…

Cail let out a powerful yell and blasted a fireball from his palm and… it vanished against the ground next to her head.

Arbia growled and looked up at a smirking Cail.

“Yield.”

Arbia was dazed, helpless, but she wasn't going to surrender until….

“IT’S OVER!” Unean called.

The young warriors settled down, the calls and howls quieting.

“Cail! Arbia!”

Cail breathed deep and stepped back from his sister as Arbia pulled herself to her feet. She was fuming. All that time practicing. Finally realizing how she was going to beat her brother.
And he still bested her. She blushed as she stood next to her brother.

“You two have both proven you're ready to be granted the rank of warrior. As your father and your Chief, I’m proud!”

Unean reached towards Ponrai, who handed him two red bands of fabric. He tried one each around the left arm of each of them, and cried out “to victory!” as he lifted their arms up. The crowd cheered and Unean pushed them both toward the crowd.

“You two have had your fun. Now! Biatais, Iam! Have at it!”

Cail and Arbia each embraced their friends as Biatais and Iam entered the area where the two siblings had just fought. And soon they were hollering and cheering with them as a new sparring session began.

Though Arbia smiled at her brother and he smiled back.

Some day. One day. She'd figure out how to beat him. And Cail could see that look in her eyes because he'd love to prove her wrong again.

Three years before Forests and Shadows

Part II

These humans called themselves the Shrumlands or the Shrummish. To Arbia she'd always heard to them referred to as "the northern men" or the Luchd-cleachdaidh, an Arkian term meaning "the usurpers."

Arbia had freshly completed the last of the warrior trials now that she was 16, and now her and the others who passed with her were on their first assignment. Watching the Shrummish.

Cail, her twin brother, Cluaran, Biatais, Iam,
Peasairean, Leann, and Leatas were all spread out along this stretch of border, on their side of the river, as was their pack leader, an older warrior named Ponrai. They each had their own section to watch over. Of course one fresh warrior wouldn't be able to stop an attack all by themselves but no one was expecting an attack.

The attack had come thousands of years ago.

No one knew how it happened really, that had been lost to time. But this Shrummish town was in the vicinity of a city called Chantreigh and it was said that it was Arkian land until these humans drove them out.

Now look at it.

Arbia was crouched on a tree branch on the edge of the border, watching the town across the river from her vantage point. She could imagine the forest spreading all through here. The humans must have ravaged it when they took the land. Carved their mushroom homes out of nature itself and pillaged the land with "cultivation." It made her blood boil knowing what they must have done to land that was supposedly like where she was from before it was taken.

She fidgeted a bit. Her bearskin boot clad feet were a bit wobly on the branch. Usually she'd let her tail hang loose to help balance but she had it wrapped around her waist, as if she was going into battle. She wouldn't let some Shrummish human sneak up on her and grab her tail. That's what they liked to do, so she'd been told.
Her job was to keep an eye on things and IF the Shrummish moved into their lands in force she'd tell Ponrai and they'd all return to the village to tell her father the Chief. And then, with an invasion under way, the Warchief could finally call all the clans together to defeat them and reclaim what was theirs.

That had actually irked Arbia. Lord Salroth had led them into battle to crush the Empire of Man in the south. It was three hundred years ago and a great victory whose memories and songs were still celebrated today. But these men, who took Arkian land, these men Salroth forbid them from unifying to attack. The Warchief could only call Arkian banners if their lands were invaded or if Salroth himself demanded it. And Salroth was not interested in petty territorial disputes.

So the young warriors from Arbia's clan would watch, and observe, in the forests and shadows, watching to see if Shrummish incursion came.

None did, for centuries. And now it was Arbia's turn.

The birds sang a gentle song and Arbia stayed crouch on the tree branch overlooking the town.

Such an odd place. Of course her own village had homes too. But those were very simple dwellings made of leaves, branches, mud, grass, and animal pelts. And they were all centred around a central hearth. No roads were paved and children ran freely as the played.
But here the mushroom homes seemed elaborate. They had openings one could peer through, and some sort of substance that was transparent but solid. The women routinely washed them. And they had these paved walkways, and other buildings that seemed to not be homes at all! While children seemed to be here and there most were watched over by older children or parents. It just seemed so odd.

Though she did have an encounter with two of them. Two nights ago she wasn't in the tree branch but down on the ground hunting for a rabbit to roast for a meal. She had picked up the sound of children laughing and she'd hidden in a thick bush as two young boys approached the forest. They must have crossed the river at a bridge some ways away.
Arbia had thought better than to do something, but she felt pent up, freshly made a warrior and told to just watch, so she leapt out of the bushes, growled, and howled. The boys screamed and ran off crying. And soon there were adults there, with swords and spears, as she hid in the leafy canopy of the forest. It made her chuckle.
Because she knew her people had stories about the Shrumish. Surely they had some about her's? Not that most Arkians gave it much thought but she had thought about it. And she wondered... would those boys tell stories of her? She hoped they would!

Ugh. She missed Cluaran. Or even her brother. Cail would know how to make her laugh. She steadied herself with one hand gripping the tree branch as she crouched on it, and eyed the village some more.

You know... humans and Arkians... they weren't that different. Arkians had a more natural affinity for magic, they had tails, and their hair was thicker, but they looked closer to humans than either race did to elves. Or some of the races of the Ux Minivir. Or even some of the races Lord Salroth had in his Shadow Realm.

Maybe they were kin? Maybe humans and Arkains were related somehow?
But that didn't state Arbia's dislike. No it fuelled it. If they were kin, then what the Shrummish humans did taking their land was an unforgivable sin! And the humans in the southern Empire threatening to enslave them was too, before Lord Salroth saved them.

She fidgeted again and gave up, letting her tail unwind from around her waist and dangle freely to help with her balance. It was fine. She was attentive. No human could sneak up on her.

Still... she cocked her head now that she had some balance. She watched the village from the darkness of the forest, beyond the river. The guards never really made any incursions except to investigate what those boys had seen and mostly life seemed to pass idly by in the settlement.
It was an odd life, yes. It took her a while to realize there was a whole building dedicated to making bread for example. But as odd as it was... she wondered what these people were like? It wasn't what she was here to think about but... well... she couldn't help it.

OOC note: post approved by @Paxiosolange

Ten years before Forests and Shadows

It had all started with a praying mantis. The creature was so odd, yet cool looking. Arbia and a few other kids her age were gathered around one on the edge of the village, studying it.

"Do you think it's claws can kill?" Cluaran asked.

"That's stupid, you're stupid," Biatais shot back. Arbia growled a bit, dropping to all fours and lowering her head to the inset. It cocked its triangle shaped head as it looked at her, and she cocked her head back too.

"I think it's cute."

"But can it kill?" Cluaran asked.

"Why do you care?" Biatais shot back.

"Because Cluaran replied.
"If it can we could lead an army of them! Our enemies would be swarmed by little bugs with knife arms!"

Cluaran straightened his arms out like blades and widely swung them around as he spun in a circle before collapsing from getting dizzy, causing Biatais to laugh.

Arbia, still with her head lowered to the insect, looked up for a moment and sighed and shook her head at the boys before returning her gaze to the mantis. She was incredibly interested in this thing when...

"OWEEEEEE!"

Arbia howled in pain, loud enough to get Cluaran and Biatais' attention as she leapt up and fell on her back! Her tail! It HURRRRTTTT!

She rolled her back and tail against the dirt, the burning feeling so intense as Cluaran looked down at her with concern and then up at Cail, who was chuckling, smoke still rising from his palm thanks to the small fireball he'd tossed at his twin sister's tail.

"That was a cheap shot," Cluaran said.

"Yeah, her back was turned," Biatais added.

"A good warrior never turns their back!" Cail replied. This brought Cluaran and Biatais in to start arguing over the lessons they'd been taught by the adults about honour vs advantageous strategy.

"It's not my fault my sister's more interested in bugs then staying alert!"

"It's still a cheap shot! You should have issued a challenge!" Cluaran replied.

"Yeah you..." Biatais' point was cut off by a feral yell as Arbia angrily leapt at Cail, the two nine year olds tumbling to the ground.

Both Biatais and Cluaran ran after as Cail, caught by surprise, kicked Arbia off of him and got up to run back into town, turning around just long enough to stick his tongue out at his sister. Arbia growled angrily and chased after him.

"She's gonna kill him!" Biatais said as he turned to Cluaran.
"Wanna go see?"

"Awesome," Cluaran replied with a smirk as the two boys ran after them.

Cail weaved through some adults carrying baskets of berries and roots and leapt over some wooden seats near the hearth as Arbia came running after him.

"Cail you coward! YOU BURNED MY TAIL!"

"You had your back turned! Not my fault you weren't ready!"

"Well I am now!"

Arbia glared at her brother through the flames in village's central hearth, and moved to get to him but he mockingly just kept circling the hearth, staying opposite of her.

The teens and adults around didn't seem to pay them much mind. Kids playing and fighting was very normal. And these two especially.

But Arbia's eyes reflected the fire of the hearth. If only she could jump over it! But even at her most brash she knew she couldn't do that so she stopped. Bouncing in place on the balls of her bare feet. Cail focused on her. Ready to move. They were twins. They could tell what each other was thinking.

And then...

Arbia took off as fast as she could, cutting as close to the fire as possibly as she turned the corner. Cail took off too, and when it seemed like his sister would catch up to him he broke from the circle and ran through the village back to their home.
Arbia chased after her brother, the pain from the fireball tossed at her tail now replaced by pure joy of adrenaline and wind in her face and through her hair as she ran after her brother.

Cail stopped at their home, unremarkable amongst all the other mud, leaf, and animal skinned dwellings despite their father being the Chief, and seeing his sister running up he thrust his palm forward. His practice with wind magic paid off, as a powerful gust of wind knocked Arbia off her feet and onto her back.

Biatais and Cluaran arrived to see this as Cail leapt at his sister, but Arbia was quick enough to roll away and kick him before leaping onto him and raining fists on the back of Cail's head, baring her teeth fiercely as her brother turned under her first to block her fists with his arms and then to grab her wrists as the two rolled on the ground each gaining a momentary advantage.

"Go!" Biatais called out!

"FIREBALL! FIREBALL!" Cluaran chanted.

Eventually Cail had grabbed Arbia by one writs and Arbia had grabbed Cail by the other, the two scrapping in the dirt and kicking each other when...

"STOP!"

Biatais and Cluara stopped their chanting and gulped as Cail and Arbia's father, the Chief, emerged from his dwelling. They stood there obediently but the Chief's children were still scrapping on the ground.

Unean sighed and chuckled. Maybe they needed to learn to listen but there was nothing wrong with their spirits.

"Go play elsewhere," Unean commanded Cluaran and Biatais.
"I'll deal with them."

"Yessir!" the two boys proclaimed nervously and ran off before Unean looked down at his two kids. Growling and kicking each other still.

"I SAID STOP!" he barked.

That finally got their attention. Looking up at their father, still on the ground. Unean bent down and grabbed each of them by the hair and pulled them to their feet.

"Brush yourselves off. You're young Arkian warriors. Not forest bandits," he ordered and the two brushed the dirt off of their bearskin tunics, each growling slightly as they looked at each other.

"So how'd this happen?"

"I was looking at a mantis and Cail burned my tail!" Arbia explained but Cail was unapologetic.

"You said to attack when the enemy least expects it!"

"I was looking at a mantis!"

"Who cares? It's a bug!"

"It's neat!"

"You were distracted! Dad didn't you say never be distracted?"

"WHEN WE'RE FIGHTING HUMANS DO I LOOK LIKE A HUMAN TO YOU?"

The two nine year olds glared at each other and Unean just chuckled for a moment.

"Arbia, your brother got the jump on you," he said and Arbia scowled and shot a glance at Cail, who smiled wide, very proud of himself.

"But you managed to fight him back, and wrestled him to the ground."

Cail's smile deflated while it was Arbia's turn to grin.

"Use your speed more, girl," Unean said as he ruffled Arbia's hair. The two had been scrapping since they were toddlers. They were mostly evenly matched but they were growing. Now at the age where Cail was getting bigger and stronger than his sister. Arbia would need to master speed if she hoped to keep up.

"You Cail," Unean added.
"You made a mistake by running. She's swifter than you. You should have stood your ground after you attacked her. And overpowered her."

Cail looked at his sister, and nodded. He was, indeed, taller than her.

"You landed the first strike Cail, but you let her set the terms of the engagement."

"I did?" they both asked in unison and Unean chuckled again, ruffling both of their hair.

"Yes you did, whether you know it or not. You need to start learning your strengths. And how to make sure the battle always favours you and not your opponent.

"Yes father," they both muttered.

"Go play with your friends," Unean remarked.
"I'm meeting with some guests later. You're not to disturb me, or them. Understand?"

"Yes father," Cail repeated but Arbia was curious.

"The vampires? From Lord Salroth?"

"Yes," Unean grunted.
"To discuss things you're not to be worried about. Now go."

"I wanna meet the vampi..."

"Arbia! Go play with your brother and friends and no more fighting for today. You can beat each other senseless tomorrow if you want."

The two siblings looked at each other, as if sizing each other up, before nodding at their father.

"Get," Unean said and the two ran off. That was downright pleasant, dealing with his kids. The vampires though, that had him on edge.

Takes place during The Girl of the Sun

All systems, in the end, are meant to be tested.

Take the Arkians. Though savage and barbaric by the standards of most on their continent their social system can be seen as remarkably progressive in so far as it does not discriminate against gender.
Hereditary Chieftains pass their authority down to the eldest surviving child, male or female. And no male unsuited for a warrior's life is shamed for it. Nor are females who rather fight and hunt than heal or gather berries.
Arkians have, on the whole, a society where all can feel content and useful in a role they're adept for.

But again... all systems are meant to be tested. And for the Arkian Westlands clan that test was in the form of Radkon.

At sixteen he was just old enough to be a full-fledged warrior but young enough that he was left home while most of his clan's warriors went off to fight for Lord Salroth.
And while most of his peers happily howled in pride at this, a chance to show their clan their worth as warriors on their own, where was Radkon?

Well while the other sixteen and seventeen year old warriors guarded the border with the Shrumlands eagerly, ready to fight an invasion that they were sure would come, Radkon was lying under a tree, in the shade, not even in sight of the border he should be watching.

To say he wasn't driven would be a mistake, even as he drifted asleep in the calm woodland afternoon, only moving to arch his back and stretch before relaxing again.
The fact was that while his peers saw this as their chance to be the clan's warrior elite, and made big shows of marching and pack hunting to impress those that were left, he saw it as a chance for the elders to stop riding his fucking tail! It was just him, his peers around his own age, and the older warriors. None of Chief Unean's trusted lieutenants to demand this or that.
Sure glory would be won in Salroth's army but... he was here. And he was sleepy.

And he only awoke when a rustling above him stirred him from his nap. He opened one eye and sighed. It was likely nothing but he was technically here to do a job...

He yawned and stretched and adjusted the twine used to hold his unruly wild black hair to the right side- it was a style he was trying out- and looked up. He climbed the tree, pulled himself up onto a branch and crouched. Looking... he didn't see anything and went a bit higher into the canopy and smirked as his head poked through the thick leafy layer. Squirrels. Just squirrels.

"Y'all are lucky I'm not hungry," he smirked before he jumped down out of the tree. He looked around. It was still midday. The sun still shone through the forest's cover. He contemplated going to sleep again but... he was up. His nap had sated his tiredness and now his youthful vigour had taken over. He grumbled. He'd love to go back to the village and meet up with Panes, his friend in the healer's circle. Spend the afternoon just goofing off.
But he couldn't. He had to be here or else Freum, their pack leader, would chew into him. So he decided to amuse himself.

Radkon squat down under the tree he'd been napping under and held up his hand, palm up. He concentrated, and a ball of light appeared. He smiled. It was getting easier.
It was a simple spell, but one only really used to light things up at night. Even under the cover of the forest... it had little use during the day. At least in its current form.

But what was a simple utilitarian spell taught to him by the elder warriors was something he found he could do more with. He began to wiggle his fingers randomly. As if he were tickling the glowing ball.

And it reacted! The ball, previously a perfect glowing sphere of golden light, moves against his fingers, like a ball of clay might. Soon he was moving his wrist, keeping the ball of light tethered to his palm but watching it dance as he waved and spun his hand.
And then...

He splayed his hand, all fingers as wide as he could, and the ball spread too, to the point where the solid ball of light was stretched to the point of transparency. And then....

On the ground before him was the family of squirrels he'd seen in the tree.

"Wizard..." he said with a smirk and laugh. He moved his other hand in, and passed it through the illusion.

"Ok," he said to himself, "moment of truth."

The experiment thus far had been a successful reproduction of what he'd achieved previously. But now it was time to see if he could get to that next level. He slowly closed his palm where he'd originated the light sources, and moved it down to his side. All the while concentrating on the image he was projecting.

His hand went limp by his side as he relaxed the muscles. And he stared forward in deep concentration.

The squirrels were still there. At first he couldn't believe it. His eyes went wide... he'd been practicing this for a while now and he'd finally gotten it... and slowly... he started to relax but stayed focused.

It felt so tenuous as he went from an alert crouching position to relaxed and sitting crossed legged, like the very act of relaxing his muscles would cause the image to vanish but it didn't. And of course it didn't.
It was mental. Not physical. Separating the two was something he'd learned from Panes' healing tutor. And now he'd finally figured out how that worked, the mental trick to understand it in his own head.

He watched the projection of the squirrels and smiled until...

He heard a howl. An Arkian howl. Freum was calling the warriors to a pack meeting. So he could play leader some more. Radkon sighed and the image vanished as he relaxed the mental picture of it in his head.

"Time to humour Warchief Freum," he chuckled to himself as he crossed his fingers behind his head and walked off. At least some progress for something notable has been achieved today.

The sun had begun to set over the endless horizon in the distance. Its lingering light danced in the sky with the coming darkness that would soon shroud all the land below, leaving a bright red hue on the horizon. The sea of sand dunes surrounding the mountaintop continued on for as far as the eye could see. An endless, cruel, abyss that swallowed most of the life that inhabited it, except for those with the will to survive.

Korrin sat at the peak of the highest tower of the monastery on the mountain, meditating and taking in this natural splendor. After years of adventuring, whoring, drinking, and warring, his fate had brought him here of all places. Many years ago if you had asked him where he would be, he would’ve answered back home, leading his people onto the true path of enlightenment. Leading them back to truth after spending so long wandering aimlessly in a desert of spiritual and moral rot, led astray by that demon who kept them on a short leash.

He had been angry after his exile. After all, why wouldn’t he be? The Mountain Men had told him that he was destined for great things, the Lunar Queen Gealach had told them as much in their dreams. That is why he was selected, that he is why he was raised by them. Taken from such a young age and spent years under their watchful eye, not knowing the loving embrace of a family but the cold correction of warrior monks instead. But now he finally understood.

After wandering aimlessly in the desert like his brethren, devoid of any meaning or guidance, Gealach had finally spoken to him. He had been following her plan for him this entire time. He was not ready, nor were his people, whenever he had initially left. The conditions needed to be met for them to come back into the loving embrace of the Lunar Mother and the Fiery Father, and just as they needed to be ready, he did too. True inner peace and discovery, and what it meant to actually know the beloved parents that his people had so ignorantly rejected for the false promises of an abomination that plagued them. He was finally a worthy shepherd ready to lead his flock back.

As Korrin sat at the peak of this mountain and the darkness of the night enveloped him, accompanied by the cold desert winds. The moon, a harsh mistress, bathes our world in silver grace, casting shadows that dance like whispered secrets; she is only cruel to those who falter in the art of embracing her luminous enigma.

He breathed, in and out, in and out. His body temperature stays warm with every breath. It was a technique the monks here at the desert monastery had taught him. The more he inhaled and exhaled, the more heat his body exuded. Soon a steady steam joined every exhale as his breaths grew deeper and the more lost in thought of his home he had become.

He stood at this peak, overlooking the world below. In and out. In and out. Then finally, he roared like a great ape with a massive gast of flames coming out of his throat, his voice being heard throughout the surrounding desert and mountains. His path forward was clear, he knew what he had to do.

Concurrent with Black Snow and Girl of the Sun



Haril’s realm burned, everywhere there was the stinging reek of black smoke and the infernal heat of newborn fire. The air had a repugnant quality to it, a heady mélange of burnt flesh, charred wood, and brimstone. Wailing choruses carried in the wind, pained screams and demonic screeches mingling together to serenade the world's fiery demise.

Miasa watched from atop a nearby hill, her body prone and hugging the ground, she was like a coiled snake in long grass, invisible until she chose to strike. She almost pitied the mortals below, doomed by ignorance and the forgetfulness that short-lived creatures were cursed to. Once the 13 realms had challenged Salroth, but that had been another age, and this latest incarnation of that storied empire was much reduced from its once glorious state.

The fiery death of this city was not Miasa’s concern, her task related to something far more pressing than the present slaughter. Somewhere deep within the bowels of the dying city an object of great value awaited, the human cultists had worshipped at its feet, reverently guarding it from prying eyes, their usefulness had now ended, and it could not be allowed to fall into the hands of Salroth’s parasitic horde.

“Dark sister*, sheath my soul in your whispers, dark sister bind my flesh to the shadows that I might come in darkness, a night visitor who enters unbidden and leaves unseen” she whispered as she drew a bloody line across her arm

Black blood flowed from the open wound, then it began to spread like vines across her skin and as though set alight.... smoke rose from the latticework of blood. She felt her flesh peel back as her soul was flayed and pulled free from earthly constraints, the agony of her sorcery almost unbearable. Then, only silence and the whisper of unseen things. She began to move, her form flowing across the land like shadows beneath a setting sun.



*Ny’Holek, the dark sister, outer god of the plain of whispers, her domain is shadow, obfuscation, deception, and intrigue

*************************************************************************************one with the shadow, Miasa clung to the formless dark, her form cloaked in inky blackness as she flowed forward with unnatural speed. The sorcery of the dark sister would get her close to her target, and even the demons of Salroth would struggle to see what Ny’Holek concealed, still such power carried a price and soon the pain would become unbearable, and her soul would be forced back into its presently discarded flesh.

She regarded the world through eyes as black as coals, the half-realm she wandered through was bled free of color or sound. She watched as horned monstrosities tore into the stampede of fleeing peasants, limbs and gore spraying in every direction as the frail mass of humanity was massacred in all directions. She glided past the carnage, flitting from one patch of shadow to another, always mindful of her destination.

A great house of worship beckoned ahead, its stout oak doors pried open like a jaw torn in two, beneath its parochial exterior lay a secret that must remain in the dark. Inside was a mix of charnel house and abattoir, mutilated corpses lay strewn about the pews, infernal ghouls stripping the flesh from the dead with bestial hunger. Miasa felt a sharp pain suffuse her being as the shadows began to recede and she found herself surrounded by ravening monsters that hungered for the warm flesh of a live meal.

“Ny’Holek, mistress of the dark corners, make me sharp like creeping shadows!” Miasa whispered in the elder tongue, lips burning and a line of inky blood flowing from her mouth with each uttered syllable

With freshly sprouting talons she slashed a long cut down her other arm, the smoking darkness rising from the wound once more. Darkness flowed across her body, but this time it did not conceal her, it made her vast and terrible. She pounced upon the ghouls, twin blades of razor-sharp shadow ripping into the scavengers with vicious cuts. Limbs were torn from their sockets and brutal fissures opened in the flesh of the demons, their bodies burning in the cold absence of the dark.

Soon every remaining demon had been eviscerated, Miasa fell to her knees, shadows receding and her exhaustion now evident, she needed to get to the catacombs and quickly. Rising with a pained exertion she began moving again, the force of will alone keeping the pain in check. Into the priesthood's private rooms and down the concealed stairs into the catacombs below.

*************************************************************************************
Miasa felt some of her strength return as the dark sister's sorcery faded away, even a few moments of the outer gods' power came with a terrible cost to the body. Thankfully this time she had been lucky, the sorcery of the void seemed to have left no lasting injury. Still, she drew her Kris knives and kept to the shadows, she would need to rely upon her wits and more mundane skillset to survive.

The air was colder underground, the dank scent of mildewing rock almost strong enough to erase the earlier smoke and brimstone. The eyeless grins of countless preserved skeletons greeted her as she moved down the corridor. Most were simply monastics who had lived and died here in service to their gods, a few though bore the subtle signs of the mother's faith. Strange glyphs had been covertly carved into the eye sockets and teeth.

The elder tongue was anathema to mortals, its alienness causing pain and inflicting madness on those not of the mother's blood. Miasa was a hybrid of kingsmouth, her blood flowed with the blessed starspawn lineage, and such writings barely even stung to gaze at. The words whispered of devotions completed and ancient wisdom won, Miasa felt a modicum of respect for the long dead, but she understood their so-called “wisdom” was, but the smallest of morsels compared to the true revelations.

Mortals served a worthy purpose of course; all were destined to behold the mother's ascension and to be guided into new revelations by her children. At least that was what the priesthood always said, the mortals might have possessed none of the elder blood, but they proved useful in other ways. Once many cults had flowered across the thirteen, now precious few remained, the eternal conflict drawing ever more of the empire's attention back to the Homefront.

“Let them pave the way for she who sleeps” Miasa whispered, reciting the ancient scripture as she reached the great antechamber

A vast oval-shaped room awaited, the bones of the dead arrayed as though sitting in an amphitheater, an eternal silent audience to the rituals of the cult. At the Centre of the room stood a vast stone altar, a black-robed figure chanting over the bloodied corpse of a slain peasant. The sacrifice was a man in his early twenties his throat had been slit cleanly and copper-scented blood flowed from the altar into a nearby drain in a crimson trail.

Behind the altar stood an immense mirror of Veridian-colored glass, it seemed to hum despite appearing otherwise no different than a


“I don’t understand! I made the offerings just like the book said! Why won't the mirror work!!!” the cultist cried out in panic and exasperation

The robed cultist was frantically leafing through the pages of a grimoire, fingers stained with grime and gore as he searched for a means of escape. His heart skipped a beat when he felt Miasa silently approach and prod his shoulder with a forceful finger.

“Looks like she didn’t think much of your offering!” Miasa said nonchalantly, motioning to the corpse


The cultist froze for a moment, body fixed in place as fear overwhelmed him, after a long pause the cultist dropped to his knees in supplication. He reached out attempting to touch the toes of Miasa’s boots, which earned him a swift kick to the ribs, he stumbled back but did not react, he knelt in place in utter abasement.

“The mother has delivered me! She has sent one of her messengers to lead me from this place!” The Cultist exclaimed in manic excitement

Miasa regarded the groveling cultist with a mixture of pity and disgust, so willing to entrust his existence to forces he knew next to nothing about. She removed her mask, strands of dark hair flowing down her face as she did so, she regarded the cultist with two pupilless black eyes, their surface as dark as obsidian on a moonless night. The cultist trembled slightly at her visage, darkly beautiful it may have been, but there was no promise of warmth or safety in its expression.

“You tried to open the mirror of souls, yes?” Miasa asked quizzically

“Exactly, the grimoire speaks of it serving as a gate between worlds, a bridge between one corner of existence and another, it demands a sacrifice, but the damn thing did nothing when I bled the servants dry!!!” The cultist replied his tone exhaustion and desperation in equal measure

Miasa resisted the urge to place her hand over her face in embarrassment, it was like watching an ape trying to make sense of sheet music, the mortals were little more than children caught between the machinations of the void and the infernal. Sighing, she regarded the robed figure and knew she would need to move quickly to complete her task, the demons would not be deceived by the guise of a church for long, soon they would descend seeking warm flesh to butcher.

“You were half right,” Miasa said gently, running a hand across the face of the mirror, a warn humming flowing across its surface as she did so

“It doesn’t feed on blood, something as petty as spilled blood holds no interest to what awaits on the other side” she explained calmly

“What does it want then!?” the cultist asked impatiently

“For someone who spends their time reading grimoires you don’t seem particularly wise, the clue was in the name mortal “mirror of souls” rather obvious If you deign to use your brain” Miasa replied in a disappointed voice

“But how does one even acquire a soul?!” The Cultist asked in confusion

“Oh, it's really quite simple,” Miasa said lunging forward and pinning the cultist against the mirror "You just find someone to gaze into its surface for long enough!"

He whimpered as she pulled back his eyelids and forced him to gaze into the now glowing surface of the mirror. The screaming started not long after as tendrils of light flowed down from the mirror and pierced the terrified cultist's eyes with lances of burning light. The man burned in a green fire as the mirror consumed him, thousands of screaming reflections appearing on the glass as it devoured his soul to fuel itself. Soon only dust remained as Miasa released her grip on the tattered robe and allowed it to fall to the floor completely empty.

The Mirror was humming loudly now, a low droning noise that pulsated and made the air vibrate, tides of burning green fire washed across the once solid object. Striding forward Miasa uttered something in elder speak, the taste of burning metal filling her mouth in response, The fire began to swirl around her as she drew glyphs in the air with a free hand and began to siphon the power away from the mirror and into herself.

“One last trip across the void” she muttered as her eyes blazed with eldritch fire and her form disappeared into a Veridian comet

The lance of fire speared the mirror, flowing through it and onto some unseen place, great cracks flowed across the surface snaking to cover its entirety. What followed was an explosion of shattered glass and force that seemed to resemble countless screeching voices, the very stone above the catacombs began to loosen. Rocks fell and the collapsing masonry buried everything below, concealing the mirror of souls forever after.

*************************************************************************************

Miasa glided through the mirror, body floating on a current of eldritch flame, she descended to the ground below and knelt as much from weariness as deference as the arcane energies dissipated. Sayyona awaited her on the steps below, the empress of Borea a regal sight in her black scale gown and horned Tiara.

“You have done well Miasa, I expected nothing less from the daughter of the sunless sky,*,” Sayyona said using Miasa’s formal title

“It is always a pleasure to aid family, Sayyona, Immacula of the mother” Miasa replied respectfully

The Boreans were kin to the dark sister, their differences like a comparison between dawn and midnight. Where Ny’Holek had seen fit to produce only a handful of children and scatter them across Sorras, the mother had divided herself into an entire race. Perhaps that was why Miasa found herself in demand, where the Boreans clung to their wholeness and cast a great shadow, Miasa instead navigated the darkness alone.

“Had that mirror been discovered, Salroth would have possessed the means to move armies across Sorras or to invade places beyond, he is threat enough already, we will not allow him to use our own relics against us” Sayyona explained

That statement was of course only half correct, the first men had been the true architects of the soul mirrors, powering these terrible gates with the spirits of sacrificed slaves and captives. For a time they had utilized these relics to journey across the void, experiencing the wonders of terrors of the worlds beyond the mortal realm, but when their empire fell, the mirrors were lost along with their users.

Mortals, demons, and more than a few magi had sought to harness the power of the first men, thus far they had failed but the mirrors lay scattered across Sorras and if discovered posed an existential risk to Borea. Miasa suspected she would have many more to destroy before the war with the internals finally ended.

*The first amongst the dark sister's children, a being of terrible power able to command eldritch powers and shadow. Smaller in number than the Boreans, the sisters of Ny'Holek are formidable allies to their cousins

Concurrent with "No Child"
The Whitestone Palace
Damecité

Raymond wearily stared, across the great hall, as peasants and freemen began to shuffle their way in from the large wooden doors opposite his end of the room. Along both sides of the room, were the ladies and gentlemen of court, all of whom chatted and giggled as the commoners formed a line, leading up to the throne from which Raymond was seated.

Looking to his side, Raymond quickly looked at the Royal Herald, gesturing for him to begin the proceedings.

Stepping forward, the Herald raised his brass buisine to his lips and with a few triumphant blasts, announced the approaching men.

“Here enter the common people of the Royal Demesne, before his excellency, the Lord Regent of Deuxraces and Constable of the Realm, Raymond d'Alentoise to present their petitions and disputes before their royal liege.”

The Herald, after hooking his trumpet to his side took a large scroll from a table beside him and unfurled it and beginning to read its contents beckoned forward the first petitioners.

“Approach, first petitioner, Thibault of Chenton!”

And so from the front of the line a middle-aged man, dressed in a weathered arming cap and dirt-covered leather garments approached the foot of the steps leading to the throne and kneeled, looking up to address Raymond.

“Your Excellency, sir,” said the man, his strong rural accent dominating his speech. “I wish to ask you a small request!”

“Yes?” Raymond said, putting his palm under his chin as he leaned on the arm of the throne.

“I wished to ask if you’d be so kind as to settle a dispute between myself and a neighbor who in recent months has done nothing but harass my family and me!” He gestured behind himself at two women, one older who seemed to be his wife and one younger, who was pregnant and very obviously his daughter alongside a young boy presumably his son.

“Who is this neighbor of yours?” Asked Raymond.

“A man named Herman, also from Chenton! He holds about an acre next to my own.”

“What was his offense?”

“A general malevolence Sir, too many grievances to list!”
“Then try your best to list some,” Raymond said rolling his eye

“Well sir, to start he keeps letting his sheep cross over into my farmland, instead of keeping them on his pasture where they should be, that would've been fine if it wasn’t for the fact every time I try and chase the sheep off, he always comes out yelling about how I’m trespassing on his pastures!” The man grumbled furiously.

Raymond nodded, letting him continue.

“I could forgive that all, but the final straw was his gods' forsaken son who has left my daughter with a child but refuses to enter a marriage!” He pulled his daughter close, wrapping an arm around her.

“It is an outrage and a disgrace upon my family and justice must be delivered.”

His interest now piqued, Raymond sat forward on the throne. “Are Herman and his son present in this hall now? If so, point them out to me so they may be brought forward.”

Turning back to the line of men behind him, the man, Thibault, picked out two men from the queue.

“That’s them!” He said pointing.

The two men he pointed to were dressed in finer leathers and linens than the previous family, the older man was a stout, grey-bearded fellow with a yellow tunic and brown breeches and his son wore similar except his tunic was a darkish blue, a handsome young man he had a soft face, broad shoulders and deep piercing blue eyes. They were not men of means, but they certainly were not lacking for anything.

Raymond called for them both to approach, which they quickly did, kneeling before him and stating their names. Herman and Marquet of Chenton.

“Do you have words to say in your defense?” Asked Raymond, with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Herman was gruff but his accent was not as thick as the last man.
“Thibaut is a lying bastard, neither I nor my sheep have ever laid foot or hoof on his land in our lives! And he continues to farm in my pastures even after I’ve told him to get off my grazing fields. It's an absolute outrage!” The shepherd said in a huff.

“What then about this business with his daughter? Is the child your son’s?” Raymond said, trying to conceal a small, entertained smile.

“Your excellency, I will not deny my son’s seed is strong and that he has bedded and impregnated Tibault’s wench daughter.” The man said looking to his son, who stood beside him slightly beaming with pride at the lauding of his exploits.
“But you cannot expect my son who is of better stock and breed than these people, to be married to such a low girl.”

Tibault’s daughter bowed her head in shame, trying to hide her tears with her hands, her mother embracing her as she began to quietly sob.

In an instant, Tibault burst into a rage and lunged at Herman, grabbing him by the beard and mercilessly attempting to beat the man while screaming.
“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF MY DAUGHTER THAT WAY!” Amongst other fouler obscenities

Raymond let out a quick chuckle before he gestured for his guards to break up the fighting, he watched as the men were ripped apart from each other as Raymond’s household men held them back.

“Enough, enough of that. Now I will make my decision.” Raymond said as he scanned the people in front of him, a bloodied but defiant Herman, Tibault with bloodlust in his eyes, the prideful son and his weeping conquest.

Raymond shook his head and after a moment stood up, and spoke to the assembled petitioners.

“It is in my belief that in this matter it would be most just, is a fine of five deniers* per instance of trespass onto Herman’s land so I would say one and a quarter sol is what is owed the man for those particular instances.
As for the child, Herman, your son should assist Tibault’s daughter in some way involving the raising of the child whether that be through money or physical means as he would be obligated under usual circumstances, but I cannot force a marriage. Though the health and well-being of the child will be in my thoughts and prayers.”

Thibault rose in protest. “But sir, it's my land he trespassed on! Not to mention what if he gets another girl pregnant, or starts a family he’ll never be able to fully help my daughter, meaning the burden will be on us!”

“I cannot say for sure if it was ever your land or not but rest assured that I have decided it as such that it is now Herman’s. And as for your daughter, I will pray for her to the gods so that she does not have to resort to any licentiousness or degeneracy to sustain herself and the child. But, there is little more I can do for you.” Raymond smiled.

“Well, that is all then! You are all dismissed.”

Herman smiled at his son whose chest was still filled with pride and embraced him, putting his arm around him and patting his back as he walked to the exit of the hall.

Devastated, Thibault looked to his family defeated, walking towards them with his head low and defeated. He turned back for a second to look at Raymond, muttered to himself something and gathered his family.

“Ah before you go, deposit your fine to the local bailiff and he will grant it back to Herman and his family. If the due is not paid within the fortnight, you will be placed into prison and must pay off your debt from there.”

Thibault said nothing, most likely out of fear that he might get into worse trouble if he opened his mouth. But, his stare said ten thousand ugly words which were all directed toward Raymond before the man quickly hurried his family out of the chamber.

“Finally, now that that mess is over." He mumbled to himself, still laughing a little.
"Call the next petitioner!” Raymond shouted to the herald, who began to once again read out the names of the next petitioners.