Death Touch Final Version Preview

 Hello, readers! I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately! Life got in the way for a very long time, but I am still working on the final draft of Death Touch! I'm not going to post every single chapter again but, I wanted to give y'all a chance to compare the polished of the version of this story that will eventually be released in book form to the version that we've enjoyed together on this site with one more look at the first chapter. You can find the previous version of this chapter here and check out the rest of the story from there! Information about the release of the finally complete story will be coming soon!

Chapter 1

Sara

What a dreary place! Sara Marle was never one to complain that anything in her life was uninteresting, but there was no other word for the village of Palon. This quiet hamlet had only been standing for twenty years when she found herself there for the first time, strolling to the top of a grassy hill within its local park. Beyond this grove of peculiar white trees with orange leaves atop a seemingly endless expanse of rolling hills, there was very little to see. Less than two dozen houses, four ships, an inn and an infirmary were all one had to mark the reach of civilization into this corner of Southern Resta. 

Palon was no place for children and families, to be sure. Most of the people Sara met during her recent visit to the local inn claimed to be adventurers who would challenge the nearby Lightning Ridge. The spellwarriors of Hem Academy once claimed this jagged valley of wild growth and even wilder creatures as a training ground until they were forced to abandon their facilities to the elements. This had led to a plethora of adventurers setting up camp in Palon, hoping for the slightest glance at the inscriptions left behind the Hem Order in its abandoned ruins. One could encounter the small crowd of hardened travelers and conclude that supporting their work was the entire purpose of Palon’s existence. 

But for Sara, it was only a stop on her way home. Just days ago, she had faced the first test of her life as an acolyte of the Blackstone Order. As a priestess, she had only recently begun to practice speaking with the gods, but no amount of hours spent drilling their language into her mind had prepared her for the confusion that followed when she heard the verse of her goddess, Lady Serenity for the first time. She hadn’t expected to completely understand her words during their first conversation but, for the life of her, she couldn’t help suspecting that what she had been struggling to make sense of had been an especially dire warning. 

While this seemed too urgent to discard as the impressions of an undisciplined mind, the mere suggestion of the Goddess of Tranquility uttering words of danger to an acolyte and not the more-experienced clergy members was more than impossible to accept. It had actually caused her to be imprisoned in her quarters for a week as the others desperately hoped for either clarification of Serenity’s will or confirmation of Sara’s misunderstanding. Finally, it was decided that she must leave the Blackstone Monastery, which she called home, and meditate on her interpretation of the divine independently. 

This is how Sara found herself traveling west. From Palon, she would be home in Beldor after another another two days of walking north. But, as the sun began to crest over the mountains to the west of the village, it was decided that this was the place where she would rest for the night. The sky’s fading golden light glistened through her silken auburn hair as she wandered up a narrow path toward the top of a particularly steep hill. She was fascinated by the massive white tree that was nestled on its pinnacle. As she approached, she would brush her fingers against the clusters of orange leaves which hung from its bleached branches as she recalled its name: Whitebark’s Promise. 

She breathed a sigh of reverence as she passed under the tree’s extraordinary canopy and pressed her palm to the smooth bark of its trunk. The air here wafted with a pleasant, minty aroma that brought back memories of drinking tea back in the gardens of the monastery. Through her study in the Serene faith, she knew that such calming places were nearly always meaningful. As she groped this rare arboreal specimen, she quickly felt the sensations she expected to. Her pulse slowed, her mind began to float with euphoria and her breathing became easier. She nodded to herself, thinking, This seems like a good place to meditate before retiring to the inn.

So, she straightened the hem of her dark green travel robes before and sat, cross-legged, at the base of the tree. She then inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, leaning back very slowly. When her head came to rest against the bark, she released her breath. Choosing to contemplate the stillness of the land around her, it was easy to lull herself into the trance she sought. No predators, evil presences, or adverse weather remained to worry her. In this place, she was free from danger and could, just for now, lose herself in feelings of peace. In this blissful solitude, she then prayed to feel the loving peace that was Lady Serenity’s gift. 

The trance came for her quickly, as was characteristic of her particular efforts to commune with the divine. While anyone could theoretically do this, no one could slip into this state more easily than her. It was this gift which guided her to the Serene faith and, at the age of 21, she had already accomplished what had taken her elders twice her lifetime. She would hear frequently that the spiritual connection she had formed with the sacred realm of Fadal had grown to the point in which could actually hear Serenity’s voice a decade too soon. 

In this meditative state, Sara thought not of this, but of the mystery that had unfolded at what was once her sanctuary. She had long since gotten used to hearing disjoined words that held no particular meaning, figuring that meaning would come with more experience. But what chilled her was the one phrase she had been able to make out: “...lulled into complacency…”

Up to that point no one had any difficulty believing that Sara could hear the goddess’ gentle voice, but the possible implications of those words had soon caused a rift among the Monastery’s Serene sect. Some agreed that they were intended as a warning but far too many people instead viewed these words as proof that Sara must have lied about hearing Serenity’s voice at all. The more they debated, though, the more certain she became that there was something in those words. 

The Serene Church is in trouble, she had determined. For centuries, those of her faith had paid tribute to a goddess they always believed would shelter them from the dangers of this world with her own power. But if she were threatened, what use would her acolytes be to her if they had never known anything but perfect tranquility? When the goddess spoke, Sara could sense the desperation in her voice. There was something to this the others weren’t seeing, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. 

When she first put her home of seven years behind her, she had planned to travel further north to the capitol after a respite in Beldor. It was there she had hoped to consult with the leaders of her faith to make sense of the warning she was sure she had received. But time was clearly against her, given how her elders had reacted to her warnings and the means with which information could flash between the various temples of the kingdom. 

So, Sara found herself in desperate need of the sort of guidance that had failed her for the first time. Without mentors to rely on, all she had left was praye, so she beseeched Serenity for clarification with no clue what to expect in return. Every time she went into a trance, she could feel the words becoming clearer, but her blood soon turned to ice with the eventual realization that she could hear nothing now. 

Fearing that she had made a mistake, the idea that she may have been excommunicated for disrupting the harmony of her former sanctuary began to play on her mind. The fear nearly brought her out of her trance entirely, but she soon felt as if a long pair of gentle arms had closed around her shoulders. As her thundering heart began to settle once more, it was immediately clear to the young acolyte what was happening. Though she couldn’t find the words to describe the sensation, it filled her with a certainty that Serenity was with her. Freed from her anxieties by this comforting embrace, the burning questions that had plagued her for the past few days raced through her mind. 

To Sara’s surprise, she soon heard Serenity’s voice once more. To compound her shock, the goddess spoke in a clear voice. 

“Sara Marle, I knew you would understand.”

Sara’s heart skipped as she took in this complete sentence. The Lady’s words didn’t yet convey any real meaning, but they confirmed the acolyte’s suspicions. She let out a deep sigh in her effort to control the growing elation which threatened her trance. To hear a deity’s voice as clearly as she had was unheard of and she didn’t want to lose that feeling soon. Her focus was further threatened with the chill wind that had rustled the leaves above her come dusk, despite the impenetrable warmth that now surrounded her. Despite this, she managed to put together a reply.

“My lady! I am honored by the sound of your voice!”the young cleric declared, for lack of anything better to say. 

“Be at peace, my child,” the goddess replied warmly. “My people and yours alike live in troubled times, but you are safe for the moment.”

These words, meant to soothe, tore away the veil of confusion that had encompassed Sara’s initial attempt at divine communion. The implication that the gods were in trouble might have caused her to gasp if she could even find the fear that she should be feeling. So powerful was Serenity’s calming aura that she might have just been told that nothing had been wrong at all. But Sara couldn’t afford to lose herself in her calm, as that was the mistake that her detractors at the monastery seemed to be making. She wondered to herself, Why is she telling me this?

As if sensing this inquiry, the goddess would add, “For you see, my daughter has once again escaped our world to haunt yours once more. 

This time, Sara was unable to quell her gasp. Serenity could only be talking about Maula, the Goddess of Death. Recollections of her history came quickly to Sara, for every deity was the subject of an acolyte’s studies. Born to Serenity and Chaos, the God of War, Maula was a potential heir of Fadal. The last time she descended upon the world of Comalan was over two-hundred years ago, when it was said that Maula had rebelled against the elder gods by crushing the land of Resta under a wave of death, hence her moniker as the Goddess of Death. 

A majority of the population had suffered Maula’s wrath and all would have been lost if not for four legendary champions. Nicholai Desmond, the chosen champion of Chaos, joined forces with Helen Winstrom, the champion of Serenity. They were later joined by Artix Maloran, then the crown prince of the kingdom and Orion, the queen of the elven nation of Tanis. Together, the four had devised some sort of weapon that had driven Maula back to Fadal, where only deities and the souls of the dead may roam. 

Founded in the wake of a deadly plague that once devastated the lost nations of Necros and Coronos, Resta had seen its fair share of catastrophe but the Wave of Death was the most deadly by far. This fact sealed the legend of the Champions as a central figure in the kingdom’s history. 

If she is truly back, Sara thought to herself, surely she could only have grown more powerful in the last two centuries. Many more people could die this time!

Sensing the terror that had crept into Sara’s heart, Serenity continued soothingly, “It will be alright, Sara. Mortalkind have always surprised us! When the champions who came before banished Maula, they foresaw her return. The left behind their secrets so that others could take up the cause of banishing her once more when they were gone. I beseech you to gather the courage to be one of those who defend mortals for a second time!”

Sara initially relaxed under the belief that a plan was already in place to deal with the looming threat. But to think that she might be a participant brought back the chill in her blood. Could I really continue the work of such strong warriors?

“I once believed that Helen’s grace and determination were without equal, but I have watched over you for seven years. When first you knelt before one of my altars, I sensed something familiar,” Serenity explained in a hasty attempt to mollify the nervous woman. “Not since Helen’s death have I seen such sincere devotion. When you pledged yourself to the Doctrine of Tranquility, despite many urgings to the contrary, I felt certain that I had found what I am looking for, so I nurtured you on your path. I sense a potential equal to Helen in you!”

Sara was torn with conflict. She could not bring herself to believe what she heard about herself, despite her firm conviction that Serenity couldn’t possibly be wrong about her acolytes. To be the equal of someone so brave and strong? Impossible!

Sensing Sara’s unspoken objection, Serenity seemed to laugh. “My dear, when have I ever prized martial strength? Your historians may have made it a point to remember that Helen was a formidable warrior, but that is not what I asked of her, nor will I ask it of you.”

Desperately wishing that Serenity would reconsider, Sara could only reply, “I’m really not so special. It won’t be simple to banish a deity with devotion to you alone!”

“You are not the one who will banish her,” the goddess declared flatly. “What I ask of you instead is to keep the peace. When Maulas designs are set in motion, many will suffer. I would ask that you convince those who remain that we have not forsaken them. You must heal their wounds, ease their burdens, and protect them from despair.”

With Serenity’s desires fully clarified, Sara began to feel better about what was being asked of her. To fight on Serenity’s behalf was something best asked of a templar, but healing the hearts and bodies of those in need was something she had actually trained for. This left just one obvious question. If I am not to banish Lady Maula, who is?

“You will be aided in your quest by others chosen by my family,” Serenity explained matter-of-factly. “Two of them are close, but you may not see the last for some time.”

This changes things, Sara thought immediately upon hearing this response. Although reconnecting with her sisters and brothers in the faith to share this new information remained vital, it was clear that she had to find the other two champions in town before she left. 

“Thank you, my lady,” she said with a smile to herself. “I think I know what must be done now.”

With that, the heavy sensation of tranquility that followed her trance had begun to dissipate following Serenity’s final reply, “Trust me, trust your comrades, and trust yourself.”

Sara then found herself alone once more, uncomfortably aware of the early evening chill that hung over the hills. She stood up once more, shaking the numbness out of her legs. She had planned to return to her room at the inn much sooner, but had lost track of the time. With a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet with some difficulty due to her left leg, which had fallen asleep after remaining stationary for so long. Between the numbness in her foot, and a sudden gust of wind which nearly lifted her of the ground, she would stumble on her descent from the hill and tumble all the way to the bottom. 

As she lay there on the ground with a throbbing pain in every part of her body that could feel pain, she cursed her own luck. The first steps of my journey, she thought sourly before she passed out, inwardly thankful that there had been nothing on the hill for her body to hit besides tall grass.

Further into the foothills, a tall man with short red hair and a young woman with braided raven-colored hair had noticed Sara’s fall and rushed to help.

Once a Blade Pt. 1

The following is an unmarked letter found in the barracks of the Blackstone Monastery's Knight Quarters. An investigation to determine the letter's recipient was launched, but the trail ran cold when they discovered the carrier had been killed. There was no sign of a struggle, but evidence of magic found on his body has led to the involvement of spellwarriors. To this day, neither they nor the templars have managed to discover who this unknown writer was addressing with such a hasty scrawl and no one else described within has been located.

 War came for the entire family when I returned from the Winter Festival. The fog surrounding the "holy" city of Karatal masked the approach of their ship. As it was, we only noticed them floating in our part of the marina just this morning. When I say an enemy ship dropped anchor in our port, you must imagine an army of soldiers who've pledged their lives to some greater cause that somehow involved the Blades' demise. But since you were once a Blade yourself, I shouldn't have to explain the difference between that and the world we live in.

The Northern Lights is what they call themselves. Before you wrack your brains, no you've never heard of them. They were a small time family the last time you visited our world and, since you only stepped in last time to kill Pops, they weren't exactly bound to come up in conversation. But they've been busy in the past decade. They posture as an anti-crime family, which always seemed to mean that they were too clean to do what we do, but too grimy to join the church or just enroll in Hem Academy. We've been running circles around the spellwarriors and the Royal Guard for years, so what's some punk brigade of wannabe vigilantes to us, right? We didn't take them seriously enough.

We came to find out that the Northern Lights was founded by a fucking RAI spy. They had us fooled this whole time, thinking they were some stiff-necked chumps, but their intel gathering only seemed to improve when this rat bastard, Sheldon Hawke, passed on his skills to them. What this guy was doing leaving the Royal Army to hunt gangsters is anyone's guess, but he managed to take down the Krakens, the Demon Dogs, and the Falcons. Three of the five strongest families in Karatal are either pushing daisies or staring at four walls of iron and stone because of these rat bastards and, now, this city is nowhere near what it used to be.

If I think about it, I can almost imagine you'd love to see what the Northern Lights have done with the place. With a bunch of do-gooders running this town, it's getting harder and harder for the Blades to make any money. They even walk around in broad daylight like they own the fucking place. The sheep love these guys and the spellwarriors don't consider their work as worthy of their attention as ours. To the grimy folks like us, these bastards winning the city feels like the fucking apocalypse.

But the Blades have never gone down without a fight. If that's what they've come looking for, that's exactly what they're gonna get. It's been years since we've seen such a blood bath, but no one here is about to back down. Sharpy even came back from Hem to give us a little magical help, so you can imagine we're definitely not fucking around. If this is the last chance I get to write, I should warn you of something. I know the only reason you haven't come after us yourself is your past allegiance with us. There may be no love in your heart for any of the family, but if word were to get out that you used to be a blade, the templars would be done with you. 

That is the understanding that kept you out of our business, but it looks like it might be in your best interest to drop by and help us because the Northern Lights know all about you. For the sake of your career and your second family, you have to come help out your first family.. These guys don't give a damn about your redemption and, if they put us down, they'll be coming after you next. If you sit this one out, the whole world's gonna know you're my brother one way or the other.

So I'll see you soon, if not in the city, then we'll meet in the Forge.

Scouting Report From the Northern Reaches

 Following the conclusion of Comalan's first interstellar war, which saw the liberation of the botanical world of Allene and the end of the aggression they faced from the aquatic world of Mennon, a victory celebration in Dalaska was marred by the capture of a suspicious individual lurking in the city's vacant Chaotic temple. The man remains imprisoned in Heron, having refused to answer any questions. Among his personal effects, the authorities found only a wooden token depicting a wolf standing on a mountaintop and a single document, which only raised more questions.

Though we have discovered much of note in this expedition, it seems appropriate to address the phenomenon that launched our expedition. The mystery of the skybound stars took little time to solve after making landfall on the northern continent. Our journey has taken us across three borders and everyone we've spoken to has spoken with mixtures of worry and excitement that the four nations of this continent, and the system of islands to their immediate east have all banded together to make war beyond the confines of our world. They accomplished this with five large vessels that can fly beyond our skies into the reach of the plane of stars. Even now, their cause is difficult to wrap my head around. One thing is clear, however: despite the spider's foolhardy challenge to their lands, the northerners are unconcerned with any threats from our side of the world.

Our tactical assessment remains inconclusive, however. What our people must understand about the northerners is that, while they have developed some interesting technology--particularly in the southern nation, but some notable examples exist along the eastern shores of Resta and among the visitors from the isles of Midania-- the source of their power lies firmly within the free practice of magic. Here, there are no Eye Witches and Shadow Witches. Their disparate cultures hold distinct views on magic, with the northernmost country being the only region to hold anything approaching a realistic attitude towards the gifts of the Judges. The worst offenders lie within the eastern region of the continent, where magic is practiced freely by commoner and noble alike while two armies of spellcasters wield the official sanction of their royalty.

While this land, known as Resta, wields more magical power under its banner than every single banner that stands over our lands combined, what makes them most dangerous is their political ties to the other countries in the North. While the others have conflicts to exploit, the neutrality and wealth of this kingdom make them a friend to all. Any campaign on this continent must not begin here for to attack them is to provoke four other nations as well.

This leaves the other four nations, which are bound with Resta in an accord of convenience against their otherworldly enemies. But beneath this facade of unity sands two essential alliances, from which the strongest threat stands apart entirely. The southland has developed a warm relationship with the woodlands to the west despite the stark social differences in their cultures. These southern nation, which is called Galeon, feels a lot like home in terms of both society and climate, save for their tolerance of the caste system of their strange, long-eared neighbors. Imagine forming an alliance with the Black Crown and you will understand the confusion with which I observed the relationship between these unlikely allies. There is justified unease among the people of Galeon over this association, but a growing alliance among each of the powers who threaten respectively seems to make it necessary.

The other alliance consists of the archipelago to our northeast and the northlands from which I write this report. The Galeans have come to fear the island nation for their powerful navy. and its recent conflicts with Galean fishermen and oceanic research vessels. Here in the northern nation of Heron, the people are forthcoming with discussion of their centuries-old enmity with the woodlanders of Tanis. While their hostilities have been set aside for now, they are half-expected to resume with the defeat of their common foe. Shrewd politicians from the isles have capitalized on this hatred and the friendship between their foes and Galeon--with whom Heron shares a cold, mildly cordial relationship as is-- to form a compact. Similar to the all-encompassing threat I've referred to in Resta, to launch an attack on Heron is to declare war on Midania as well--and vice cersa.

If you're looking for a weakness in this realm, there are a few bright sides to the dark tidings I've reported so far. The first is that, while their technology has taken unexpected leaps, their most advanced weapons may have been a match for ours no less than twenty years ago. The second is the population itself. From what we've been able to tell, our banner alone carries half as many bodies as all of their combined. If we could get enough ships through the storms, we could overwhelm  each country one at a time. If Raven Hills combines their might with ours, we could claim the entire continent before the red banners realize what's happening.

In conclusion, the northern realm carries a lot of power, but it is not untamable. Although it remains the prerogative of his imperial highness and the Senate whether action in the north realm is appropriate, I offer the following actions in my duty as a scout.

Resta-- This nation is not to be trifled with. Its combination of magical power and political connections make a direct assault on their throne the most dangerous proposal one could make to the Senate. However, their flagrant abuse of the Judges' laws makes them a clear target. A campaign against them must be carefully planned, but cannot be executed swiftly enough from what I can see. But if we conquer their allies or cut their diplomatic connections first, we can put an end to their twisted abuse of magic with little trouble.

Galeon- Limited contact is recommended. Given their agreeable culture, pre-emptive aggression towards this country could be detrimental to morale and their strange ethic of nonintervention would make them poor military allies. Attempts to sabotage their diplomacy with Tanis would be simple and worthwhile, but only to deprive a much higher-priority target of a crucial ally. Whatever we do, we can expect contact with their impeccable spy network. But that is all the more reason to avoid making an enemy of them too quickly.

Tanis- The woodlands are a suitable target for our opening move. The oppressive caste system that guides their society is something few would miss and their reliance on magic is second only to Resta's. Fortunately, nonviolence is their way, so if diplomacy fails, there is little to stop us from subduing them with force once we break through their meager defenders.

Midania- Midania is second in two critical ways. Behind Resta, their legendary navy and political savvy makes them our second-largest threat and their geographically scattered population places them behind Tanis when ranking easy targets. It may be necessary to disable their fleet if our entire army is to make it across the sea.

Heron- Opening a campaign that far north would be most difficult for logistical reasons and their average martial skill could make the empress worry. Not to mention the fact that, while their culture is not as similar to ours as Galeon's, their respect for magic makes them among the least troubling force on the continent. An alliance with Raven Hills would make such a prospect even more unattractive for the same reason I wouldn't ask our own people to attack Galeon. If there was any reason to recommend an attack against Heron it would be the cabal of flame casters that seem to be leading a push to accept magic in the same perverted way the rest of the realm has.

Finally, I would recommend caution around those the north realm folk call Avatars. Their renown is high throughout the entire realm and they are spoken of in the same tones as our own Heroes. But since all of them were involved in this otherworldly campaign, any report I could give on them would be inconclusive. They are said to have been given incredible powers by the Judges, who they have dared to assign names to. It is claimed that each wields the power of a Judge, but the truth of that cannot be determined until they return to the realm. My investigation will continue with these individuals. However the Emperor and Senate choose to act on this information, I reaffirm my commitment to expand the reach of our light.

Dead in Daylight Part Two

Ash

As I left my bus behind and began the last leg of my trek to Lake Whitetree, I thought about how this would be my first time doing field work alone. As an apprentice, I spent most of my early months working with veteran experts and other recently certified archaeologists. It was on one of these group expeditions that I met my love, offering his usual services as an escort to the scholars. But how I could ever have done this before him seemed to escape me just then.

The lake was silent but for the morning bird songs coming from the trees to the west. I had beaten the weekend tourists who tore up the lake during the day and could not have expected anyone else to be there. But for the beacon that researchers had given up on ages ago, the lake was just a lake. It provided water for Blackstone Farm--and possibly some elven settlements on the other side of the border-- as well as the perfect climate for an afternoon playing in the water. In happier times, I would already be dressed down for a swim because Nathan would never have let me get any work done otherwise. But on this still morning alongside the great lake, I was free to focus as much as I possibly could.

The beacon had fallen back to its original place at the bottom of the lake due to years of neglect, but that was of little concern to me. Using a spell scroll I purchased abroad, I was able to part the water long enough to drag the ancient construct back to shore.  There was little to examine in this object-- a massive yellow crystal sealed in a tarnished cylindrical casing made from brass with spindly legs attached to it--that hadn't already been exhaustively covered in my studies, but with fresh eyes, I located a symbol in the etchings that I had been interested in revisiting. When translated from this arcane language that predates modern scripts, this particular symbol was believed to mean "blood"-- a misunderstanding that has led to many researchers cutting themselves open for the sake of knowledge. But looking more closely at it, I realized that the word could also translate to "ash".

Ash was never mentioned in any source that referred to the beacon, so I knew I had to be on to something. But this only led to more questions. Was I supposed to burn something to activate it? Was this a warning of what could happen to those who did? There were many possible ways to interpret the full line as it was translated now.

"Lost in ash, hope is found"

As I pondered this puzzling clue, I would hear a rustling in the tall grass to the east. My heart jumped as I scanned the landscape. Most people who visited the lake did so with the most peaceful of intentions, but I couldn't discount the possibility of an encounter with a wild animal or mischievous fey; no one is more vulnerable to ridgewolf attacks than the traveling scholar. The source of the noise did turn out to be a person, but he still turned out to be a more frightening sight than a hungry beast.

The man had a somewhat average build, but that was about all I could tell you about him because his entire body was covered in various gloves, shrouds, and bandages. The only physical feature of his that remained visible was his cold, lifeless eyes. My mentor, a sai'mul, told me about how her people would always soaked their body in medicinal bandages to keep their skin from rotting but this was different. The cloth that covered this man's body was completely dry and gave off no scent. Apart from that, he walked in lively strides that most sai'mul could never hope to mimic.

He walked right past me toward the beacon I uncovered. He stared at it lying there on the shoreline for a few seconds before looking right at me. The man's eyes seemed to be searching for something in my own, but he soon began to walk away. Clearly, he knew something I needed to about the subject of my studies, and Nathan would never have allowed me to let him get away. Swallowing the fear I felt at his unnerving appearance, I rushed up to him and begged his pardon while I asked him some questions. But his response left me so chilled that I hadn't even noticed him leaving.

"The dead ones cannot speak."

Dead in Daylight Part 1

Grief

The day I completed the education I needed to become an archaeologist was the second happiest day in my life, just barely edged out by the day I met Nathan. As an adventurer, it was only natural for him to cross my path as I exploring an underground temple outside of Beldor. The ruins were said to have been abandoned since the mythical Age Zero, before the gods gave mortals our independence, but that didn't matter to him. I explained that there was likely no treasure to be found, but still he remained, saying that he was there for the thrill of doing something no one else had done before then. I delighted in the irony behind our respective reasons for being there. I went to that temple to learn what people did there in the past while he seemed to have his hopes on setting a standard for future thrill-seekers.

And there were plenty of thrills to be found. These decrepit halls may have predated the technology behind even the most rudimentary of traps, but they also seemed to predate the age-old techniques of competent builders. After roughly have a millennium, there were more holes in the cobblestone floor than there were unbroken stones. We kept each other alive in this crumbling site and developed what modest people would call a deep appreciation for each other and our work. And at the end of it all, I found a treasure trove of previously unknown information about our tightly-controlled ancestors. That was how we became partners, both professionally and intimately.

This was over three years ago now, which left us two years and five months of excitement and discovery. Nathan, the one with the eye for danger, looked out for me and I possessed the knowledge to make sense of all of the places we have been. It was an ideal relationship for someone who struggled to come out of her shell like me and I like to think the context I could place our adventures in kept him alive.

Until it didn't.

Last fall was our last adventure together, across the southern sea atop the legendary Dragon Pillar. After deciphering one of the ancient glyphs that the windlords had recently uncovered, a tornado formed just above us, threatening to throw all of us into the unforgiving blue. I was the first to be picked up by the wind, but Nathan was quick to grab me. It took all of his strength to pull me to safety in the lower chambers, leaving none left for him to save himself when he too lost his footing.

The search party took a week to reach the Pillar and only two more days to give up their mission. Nathan's last act had been to save me from the inherent dangers of my work once again, but it wasn't long before even I was forced to conclude that there was no hope of finding him. I wanted to throw myself into the sea when they broke the news that they were calling off the search, but even then I could hear his voice in my head, assuring me that would be a pointless and disappointing way to die.

One thing was certain, though: after losing the love of my life to such a random calamity, I couldn't keep exposing myself to danger. What if I were to die on my next outing? Wouldn't I only be wasting the life that Nathan gave his own to save? I returned home for the first time in five years and withdrew into myself, leaving the house only to buy provisions once a week. But I could never settle into such an uneventful life for good. To do so would only tarnish the memories we made together. Last month, I decided to get back to work as I had before Nathan came along but with no clue where to begin anew.

So I returned to my old university to reconnect with my colleagues. The well-wishers and sympathetic ears were abound from the moment I set foot in the halls of my former place of learning, which was the last thing I wanted. I went back with the hope of getting back to normal, but everyone insisted on treating me as a fragile thing, just one odd recollection or insensitive statement from a complete breakdown. In hindsight, I wonder if they were right to worry about me, but since I made it through the next few weeks with nothing but a few spots of irritation I suppose we'll never know.

But still, there was only so much I could take. With no one offering me anything to latch on to besides my own misery, I withdrew my original thesis on the broken beacon discovered under Lake Whitetree over thirty years ago and began to examine my own conclusions. After so many years in the field, what I had to say about the beacon and its hypothetical function seemed rather naive. For that reason, I decided that my next project would be to dive further into this unsolved mystery. With my research already completed, I decided that my first step would be to get a closer look at the beacon to see if there was anything I or the many sources I cited in my work had missed.

But what I saw there, rather than illuminating this mystery of the decades, only exposed me to yet another.

The Legend of Prismix

Following the birth of Nidarys, word has begun to spread of yet another god. His existence was previously known exclusively to the second order of the Mages of Destiny and Resta's current royal family, the Baldus family. But in the wake of a great miracle, such news could hardly be contained for much longer. Initially ncovered by the Second Archknight, Lord Prismix has come to be known by the Mages of Destiny as an amalgam of heroes from four separate worlds who share a unique bond. Together they discovered that the four worlds which comprise what would come to be known as the Plane of Doran shared a spiritual link, which allow a person to reincarnate on any world within the plane.

This connection was first discovered by a woman known only as The Scholar. Her first incarnation, who died on a world called Dresnuk, would reincarnate on another world called Sarosed in which she sailed the seas as a mercenary witch. Upon dying once again, she discovered a way to retain her past knowledge. Taking her secret into her next life, she was reincarnated as a seeress on the world of Porvia who traveled the stars only to end her short life on Earth. When she finally came to Comalan she took the form of a spellwarrior who is well known for her longevity, madness, and the legendary bloodline that followed her.

As she began to shape her own reincarnation cycle, the Scholar's grip on her sanity loosened even as she grew in power. As the site of the scholar's most recent life, it fell onto the gods of Comalan to sanction her complete destruction for the good of the sacred realm of Doran in its entirety. But in the weakened state that Geos' rebellion had left the gods in and the wisdom she possessed of worlds that were unfamiliar to them, they were unable to subdue the Scholar. So they turned to an even higher power; the former king of their race. With eyes on each of Doran's four cities-- Fadal, Heaven, The Moonstone Expanse, and Plaisnu-- this unrecognized deity was uniquely suited to oversee the Scholar's movements. With the tiniest hope of unveiling any sentimentality he could take advantage of, he entrusted the footwork that would lead to her downfall to the Scholar's own children.

From Dresnuk, he called upon its greatest mind; a scientist who sought hope for their broken world by reaching past the world's dimensional boundaries. From Sarosed, he called a humble bounty hunter who altered time to steal her brother's greatest achievement out of necessity and, in doing so, saved her world twice. From Earth, he summoned a space captain who bridged a peace between two planets by intertwining his heritage from both. From Comalan, he summoned the legendary Champion of Chaos himself. It was from him that the Mages of Destiny-- his descendants all-- learned what was happening beyond their world.

While nothing is known about their otherworldly journey, the reward that awaited them at the end of it was an ascension the gods never counted on. These four siblings would join together and, with the blessing of Doran's king became a new god-- Prismix.

Nothing is currently known about Prismix's capabilities or proclivities except for one thing: as a being borne of four different dimensions, his presence is not limited to Fadal in the way the other deities' are. He is also a denizen of Heaven, Plaisnu, and the Moonstone Expanse. This fact is why he is hailed as Lord Prismix, the God of Four Worlds. The descendants of Prismix believe, however, that he represents the coming together of four disparate souls and that the power that comes from their unity is a testament to the gifts of diversity.

The Vermilion Collective

The many uncharted lands of  Comalan's southeastern hemisphere have long been speculated to be occupied by uncivilized peoples whose development was suppressed by their perpetual struggle against the elements. These ideas are said to be enforced by the cultural exhibitions of the region's few emigrants, which have proven to be far more alien than even the differences between Mortanis and Midania could compare to. It wasn't until the end of the Second Age when this myth would be dispelled by the unexpected appearance of a naval vessel whose technology was significantly advanced even by Galean standards of the time. The ship flew a red flag and carried a hostile crew, who claimed to be from a nation referred to only as the Vermilion collective upon their capture by the Holy Key Knights. This battle resulted in many casualties on both sides, but their technology was only barely eclipsed by the templars' power.

Following the Archknight Rebellion, Kyle Baldus--the newly crowned king of Resta--received a message that was printed on a red scroll. This letter from the Vermilion Collective explained that their emperor, Julius Hartwell, had led his people in conquest of the vast majority of the southeastern hemisphere. With most of Hydrospace conquered, they had sent out exploratory vessels to establish a foothold out in the wider world. It was one of these vessels that had tested its might against the Restans and lost. After acknowledging the strength of the chosen land, Emperor Hartwell declared war on Resta.

Recently crippled by the bloody civil war they fought to restore the Gods to their seats of honor in Mortanis, the new court of Resta appealed to augurs, bishops, and tacticians alike to assess this threat. The clergy said nothing except that their actions against the templars, devoid as it was of the ritual that the Akisian Empire and Blackstone Order were known for, suggested a godless culture. The seers revealed that any attempts to scry into their future have yielded no visions of the Vermilion Collective. The military speculated that with the vast distance between the two countries, Resta's natural superiority at producing resources, and their long list of allies, the kingdom would be perfectly safe if the Collective decided to invade. So, with no clear idea of the threat they faced, Royal Army Intelligence dispatched spies to the region and focused on rebuilding.

Although they remain fully aware of a hostile presence in the world with technology beyond their understanding, the tentative unease over this declared conflict would fade with the ongoing years of the third age. Scholars and news media have taken to jocularly referring to this as the Empty War. But what information the spies have brought back regularly puts the court on edge. Their technology has been reported to be beyond anything ever witnessed on Mortanis. The mixture of fear and loyalty instilled into the various communities under their rule has slowly turned into hatred against the people of what they disparagingly call the "Gentle North." Finally, a spy who was thought to have been dead when she stopped reporting to the kingdom was revealed by another to have defected to the Collective, giving them access to many of Resta's secrets.

The Vermilion Collective continues to lack any presence in the north to this day, but Resta remains on notice--for when the empire finally makes its move, it will bring with it power that has no discernible counter.