Post by Annasiel on Oct 16, 2015 0:52:01 GMT
-The Nameless Queen-
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Wraith Facade
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Auramancy, the Magic of Spirit
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Wraith Facade
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Name: Morgne
Titles: The Nameless Queen, Shepherd of the Elohim
Pseudonyms: Tempest, Morgana, Minerva, Lilith
Positions: Queen of the Estian Empire
Race: Fae-blooded Human
Origin: The Salladar Crescent of the Elohim, now known as Nuria
Gender: Female
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Abilities-Appearance-
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Sera
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Height: 5'5
Weight: 118 lbs
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Physical Facade
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Height: 5'11
Weight: 144 lbs
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~
Sera
~
Height: 5'5
Weight: 118 lbs
~
Physical Facade
~
Height: 5'11
Weight: 144 lbs
~
Wraith Facade: Torn between the mortal plane and limbo, this is the form the queen holds in between mortal vessels. It is nothing more than a shadow on the wall, or a effervescent figure on the night, more ghost than human. To maintain her weak hold on reality. Her figure matches her normal body in height, though the weight is inconsequential as she is akin to a spirit. Her body appears dark, almost black, like a living umbra, flickering and flowing in a breeze unfelt. In power, this dark body turns a brilliant white, illuminating detailed features of her face and dress in ways unseen in the shade. In both light and dark, her body is gauze-like and lacking substance, able to pass through barriers with ease. It cannot interact with the real world beyond voice and ether, and the only powers it can use are the glamour and empathy.
Physical Facade: In her normal body, she strikes an imposing figure at a near six feet of height. She has inky hair and obsidian eyes, and her skin is as white and lustrous as the moon on a cloudless night. Her chin is sharp, almost thick in shape, and could be described as handsome in kind terms. An aquiline nose hooks over her thin, pursed lips, and thick eyebrows are set in a constant furrow. She isn't exactly a large woman, though she isn't slender in the slightest, with broad hips and thick thighs and shoulders strong and sturdy. Her waist, however, is quite slim, and her fingers are long and spiderlike. When she walks, she carries an imposing air of regal confidence, and her very presence in a room has incensed stronger wills into anger. When she speaks, her unconcealed tone is haughty and commanding, though she has excellent mastery over controlling voice, face, and emotion.
Sera: The nameless queen's current physical host. A young and timid palace servant, no older than nineteen, with brown, mousy hair and tired eyes. Sera was ill often as a child, and though her constitution has then improved, it left behind a malnourished frame and skin devoid of flush or color. The infernal body has a slight tinge of neuroses, shivering and quaking in fits whenever anxiety overwhelms it. She speaks in a soft, almost silent voice, one that others have trouble overhearing even in a quiet room. With Morgne's influence, she can speak with more conviction. As it is, Sera is still alive, but trapped and silenced in a far corner of her own being.
Physical Facade: In her normal body, she strikes an imposing figure at a near six feet of height. She has inky hair and obsidian eyes, and her skin is as white and lustrous as the moon on a cloudless night. Her chin is sharp, almost thick in shape, and could be described as handsome in kind terms. An aquiline nose hooks over her thin, pursed lips, and thick eyebrows are set in a constant furrow. She isn't exactly a large woman, though she isn't slender in the slightest, with broad hips and thick thighs and shoulders strong and sturdy. Her waist, however, is quite slim, and her fingers are long and spiderlike. When she walks, she carries an imposing air of regal confidence, and her very presence in a room has incensed stronger wills into anger. When she speaks, her unconcealed tone is haughty and commanding, though she has excellent mastery over controlling voice, face, and emotion.
Sera: The nameless queen's current physical host. A young and timid palace servant, no older than nineteen, with brown, mousy hair and tired eyes. Sera was ill often as a child, and though her constitution has then improved, it left behind a malnourished frame and skin devoid of flush or color. The infernal body has a slight tinge of neuroses, shivering and quaking in fits whenever anxiety overwhelms it. She speaks in a soft, almost silent voice, one that others have trouble overhearing even in a quiet room. With Morgne's influence, she can speak with more conviction. As it is, Sera is still alive, but trapped and silenced in a far corner of her own being.
~
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Auramancy, the Magic of Spirit
~
Auramancy is, first and foremost, a bloodline ability. This does not mean those un-gifted in whatever arcanogentic propensity bestows this skill cannot access its power. Instead, much like elementalism or extra planar magics, the existence of said proclivity merely accentuates the natural talent in that field. First appearing among the eldritch, now-deceased race of the Fae, auramantic prowess gives the user sway over the forces of the soul. First, the soul must be defined in relation to auratic scholarship. A soul is a component of limbo-based psychic energy, essentially an afterlife counterpart to every living creature’s physical form. This is contrasted to the spirit, which is actually a conscious, self-creating focal point present in ethereal energy; in essence, the soul is the otherworldly vessel, and the spirit the otherworldly self. As such, energy can be harnessed and adapted from the souls of living things without directly harming them. Only excessive use of a being’s ethereal potential can cause permanent damage, since ether can be equated to a less-poetic counterpart to fantasy’s beloved ‘life-force’. It is true that things with greater ethereal potential tend to live for longer periods of time, and that ethereal potential rapidly decreases as beings age. It’s speculated said energy is not actually depleting, but merely becoming accustomed to, and thus affixed to, the limbo realm. An apt metaphor would be the body’s use of blood and tissue as uterine lining in anticipation of pregnancy, giving the fetus a cushion of safety; similarly, the lost ether from the reality-based soul into the limbal one is merely creating a nest of familiarity for when the dying being’s spirit passes over and eventually assimilates into the ethereal pool limbo contains. This entire phenomena is collectively referred to as 'perpetual ether erosion effect', or PE3.
In theory, a consistent surplus of ether would lead to eternal youth. Experiments with the removal and reinsertion of ethereal energy have shown it and young appearances are closely related, as are it and physical health. Even though all organisms are leaking containers, doomed to one day empty, a constant replacement of the lost power would mimic never losing it in the first place. Using the energy of others to maintain the levels of your own is at best dangerous. Not only because of the health risk you impose upon others, but also because of a health risk to yourself, as ether is often attuned to a person’s individual signature. The more of a dissonant energy you accrue, the more you damage your sense of self. Too much discord in one’s center leads to a fragmentation of mind, body, and spirit in trinity, spawning a host of dissociation and psychoses hell bent on rending the poor, confused self into a thousand listless fragments. It’s better to use the energy of others for external tasks, saving your own empathized power for the running of your vital parts. The late Fae were praised for their natural beauty and youthful vigor most likely for this peculiar phenomena, as they held ties to the ether of the world itself. Truly one with nature were these beings, resonating with the spiritual energy of all living things, and as such they could easily draw from nature itself to maintain their vitality. More modern auramancers, tainted by mortal flesh, are forced into a form of AURATIC VAMPIRISM to achieve the same effect, stealing aura by force from their fellow mortals. In fact, AURATIC VAMPIRISM has been classified as one of the basic Auramancy abilities, alongside AURAKINESIS, AURASPECTION, AURATIC GLAMOUR, ETHEREAL EMPATHY, and AURALYSIS. Just as auramancy is a measure of one’s effect to manipulate the ether, willpower is a measure of one’s ether’s immutability to change. Directly correlated with the mental willpower often expounded in psychonautic texts, this ethereal willpower is often found in beings with high levels of stubbornness, firm resolution skills, and an innate system of personal values. This connection between mental and aural in observation only strengthens the theory of their complete entanglement, a gestalt view on the theories of consciousness and existence as a whole.
AURATIC VAMPIRISM. One of the six conventional applications of auramancy, and one of the most dangerous, auratic vampirism is the process of garnering one living being's ether for your own use. As stated before, this is a risky procedure for both the actuator and the acted upon, for identity is closely tied to one's ether reserves. However, with a strong enough willpower, a skilled auramancer could successfully drain plants, animals, and sapients alike of all ether, garnering it for their own personal use. Beings drained of ether do not die. As their spirit is comprised of ether itself, they are unable to transcend into a limbal state, so are instead melded with the consciousness of the caster. This provides a moral dilemma for the acting party, considering many would consider a loss of definitive identity as a fate worse than merely passing away. Whatever the case, the harvested energy could then be used for a variety of purposes, such as healing one's self, maintaining/attaining youth, or channeling into other auratic abilities.
AURAKINESIS. The most physical of auratic applications, aurakinesis is the physical control of ether in a grounded state. Prior to the use of this ability, auralysis must have been used to draw ether from an outside source or convert material objects into ethereal energy in some way. Essentially, aurakinesis enables the caster to move, shape, and adapt physical ether to serve differing whims. One may create steps, for example, or bolts of magical energy, or even, with practice and skill, replicate detailed objects. The applications of this skill are limited only by prowess and energy at disposal. Unfortunately, this great potential comes with a drastic trade. Aurakinesis is best suited channeling ether from one's self, and the amount of ether it requires is tremendous. Other skills only call for sprinklings and strands of the power, giving to the illusion that the wells are deeper than truth. Many young auramancers have driven themselves to fatigue, or even death, by harnessing this power wantonly.
AURASPECTION. An extremely common ability, perhaps even the most common out of all six. Auraspection is the ability to see the aura, the external exhaust of ether from a mortal vessel, and ascertain various informations from the data accrued. One may have the ability to learn emotions, or maybe intent, or maybe even the favorite ice cream flavors of the target. It has been argued that this is only a weaker strain of ethereal empathy, though proponents argue the former is a primarily visual skill, while the latter is more of an internal sensation alike to affect, hence the use of '-spection' and 'empathy' to denote. Your humble author agrees with the opinions of the support, if only for the case that auraspection appears in same form among a great multitude of monastic, magical, and spiritual cults. In fact, this may be the only auratic ability able to be attained by those with no natural potential, owing to its relatively low-key style and its passive effect. Anyone may gain auraspection given time dedicated to meditation and internal magical training, as proven in many case studies with randomly chosen participants.
AURATIC GLAMOUR. A favorite of the fae, and a rare skill to find nowadays. In latter years, this ability was used to fully encapsulate the senses and reason in deception, able to alter a victim's perception of reality by altering, in turn, their ethereal components. The horror tales of both seelie and unseelie courts baffling young travelers, stealing young, and manipulating the unwary into devious connivance with their plots may all stem from this frightening illusionism. But long gone are the times of such strong effect, now harbored in by a subtler race of talents: A prowess often called a gift of a 'tongue', whether it be gold or silver. By tying ether in with words spoken and gestures made, the auramancers of today can change the ideals their victims may hold. Not quite as glamorous as full on illusionist diversion, it still has its uses. The perception of the caster's comments can be clandestinely swayed by a careful hand, allowing one to change opinions of honesty and integrity to better influence the decisions of others.
ETHEREAL EMPATHY. This ability is believed to be an archaic precursor, and assumed better, to the solely visual skill of auraspection. It is a much rarer skill, however, and is much less understood. From what has been observed, ethereal empathy is essentially the adaptation of one's qualitative ethereal components to match that of a target. Put simpler, it is resonance. Resonance with emotions, ambitions, thoughts and fears, any of the components considered to give a being 'individuality'. By doing this, the auramancer is able to ascertain qualities about the target that allow them to gain an upper hand. While in auraspection, there is a danger of being overwhelmed by strong stimuli from powerfully magical beings, ethereal empathy has an even greater risk. Strong sensations can cause somatic physiological symptoms such as nausea, hemorrhaging, and even shock-induced death. In addition, any intensely polar states experienced by the caster could overtake even those of stronger will. In this light, targets experiencing depression, euphoria, and other powerful states should be taken with caution.
AURALYSIS. As ether primarily exists in a limbal state, whether this be from the natural energies or from the soul ether lost to the perpetual ether erosion effect, it is necessary to bring this into physical form before practicing corporeal skills like aurakinesis or auratic vampirism. In this case, a special skill set is dedicated to the altering of ether's state. This skill, auralysis, is extremely common in its simplest forms, but full-on mastery of the techniques involved are almost unheard of. In basis, an auralyser, and any self-respecting auramancer for that matter, can pull limbal ether in corporeal existence, and send corporeal ether into limbal existence. But more advanced versions can produce much more complicated effects. For example, a powerful enough auralyser could turn physical objects into ether, or ether into physical objects, both with potentially devastating consequence. This is the mechanic behind particular 'banishment' spells that exile targets, body and all, into limbo, though there is a possible intermediary 'middle-man' involved by tell of divine investigation. The expert auralyser is a terrifying force indeed, vanquishing armies with the wave of a hand and conquering with a seemingly inexhaustible reserve of ether. It is equal parts positive and negative that such mages do not appear to exist, even among the belated Fae, as while such a case would be wonderful to study, it is uncertain if the world as we know it could survive one.
These powers are devastating in their own right, and past auramancers have dedicated themselves to perfecting single facets, but the most utility can be gained by using multiple in tandem. Auramancy is a form of art, and the more learned of its practitioners can gain strength in their elegant dances of ether and will. Some of the better known advanced auratic abilities include ENTHRALLMENT, COVENANT, DARK PUPPETRY, AURATIC POSSESSION, and LIMBAL TRANSCENDENCE.
ENTHRALLMENT. Perhaps the most well known of the advanced forms, and most definitely the most romanticized, enthrallment is the process of overpowering the will of another and making them into a sycophantic follower. The power curve necessary to directly overcome a will is tremendous, leading only the most malleable of spirits actually practical to take in a head to head conflict. The more unsuspecting, stressed/strained, or trusting the victim, however, the less this exponential need takes sway. Willing enthrallment is almost effortless for an experienced auramancer, so many turn to manipulative or deceptive tactics to lessen their own losses and maximize their gains. With a few choice words and some simple glamour, a strong-willed obstacle may become a simple conquest. This ability uses a mix of auratic vampirism to establish a spiritual link and ethereal empathy to maintain synchronicity between the caster and their thrall.
COVENANT. An extremely dangerous form of auramancy. Two parties engage in a pact, one offering a deal with end terms, and the other accepting. They generally establish some form of physical connection, whether that be a handshake, hug, or kiss, and are therefore bonded for as long as the deal is upheld. Whenever one end fails to uphold their deal, they are subject to whatever termination clause was set. In most cases, this means death of the failing party. For this ability to properly work, all words spoken as part of the agreement must be true, though convoluted wording and manipulation are not disallowed. Auratic vampirism and ethereal empathy are used to link the two, as well as a documented application of auralysis. The actual full workings of this ability are unknown even to those practicing it, as their is no visible reason for the pact to be binding. The leading theory is some power in limbo, connected to through auralysis, acts as a hidden arbiter and executor of the deal.
In theory, a consistent surplus of ether would lead to eternal youth. Experiments with the removal and reinsertion of ethereal energy have shown it and young appearances are closely related, as are it and physical health. Even though all organisms are leaking containers, doomed to one day empty, a constant replacement of the lost power would mimic never losing it in the first place. Using the energy of others to maintain the levels of your own is at best dangerous. Not only because of the health risk you impose upon others, but also because of a health risk to yourself, as ether is often attuned to a person’s individual signature. The more of a dissonant energy you accrue, the more you damage your sense of self. Too much discord in one’s center leads to a fragmentation of mind, body, and spirit in trinity, spawning a host of dissociation and psychoses hell bent on rending the poor, confused self into a thousand listless fragments. It’s better to use the energy of others for external tasks, saving your own empathized power for the running of your vital parts. The late Fae were praised for their natural beauty and youthful vigor most likely for this peculiar phenomena, as they held ties to the ether of the world itself. Truly one with nature were these beings, resonating with the spiritual energy of all living things, and as such they could easily draw from nature itself to maintain their vitality. More modern auramancers, tainted by mortal flesh, are forced into a form of AURATIC VAMPIRISM to achieve the same effect, stealing aura by force from their fellow mortals. In fact, AURATIC VAMPIRISM has been classified as one of the basic Auramancy abilities, alongside AURAKINESIS, AURASPECTION, AURATIC GLAMOUR, ETHEREAL EMPATHY, and AURALYSIS. Just as auramancy is a measure of one’s effect to manipulate the ether, willpower is a measure of one’s ether’s immutability to change. Directly correlated with the mental willpower often expounded in psychonautic texts, this ethereal willpower is often found in beings with high levels of stubbornness, firm resolution skills, and an innate system of personal values. This connection between mental and aural in observation only strengthens the theory of their complete entanglement, a gestalt view on the theories of consciousness and existence as a whole.
AURATIC VAMPIRISM. One of the six conventional applications of auramancy, and one of the most dangerous, auratic vampirism is the process of garnering one living being's ether for your own use. As stated before, this is a risky procedure for both the actuator and the acted upon, for identity is closely tied to one's ether reserves. However, with a strong enough willpower, a skilled auramancer could successfully drain plants, animals, and sapients alike of all ether, garnering it for their own personal use. Beings drained of ether do not die. As their spirit is comprised of ether itself, they are unable to transcend into a limbal state, so are instead melded with the consciousness of the caster. This provides a moral dilemma for the acting party, considering many would consider a loss of definitive identity as a fate worse than merely passing away. Whatever the case, the harvested energy could then be used for a variety of purposes, such as healing one's self, maintaining/attaining youth, or channeling into other auratic abilities.
AURAKINESIS. The most physical of auratic applications, aurakinesis is the physical control of ether in a grounded state. Prior to the use of this ability, auralysis must have been used to draw ether from an outside source or convert material objects into ethereal energy in some way. Essentially, aurakinesis enables the caster to move, shape, and adapt physical ether to serve differing whims. One may create steps, for example, or bolts of magical energy, or even, with practice and skill, replicate detailed objects. The applications of this skill are limited only by prowess and energy at disposal. Unfortunately, this great potential comes with a drastic trade. Aurakinesis is best suited channeling ether from one's self, and the amount of ether it requires is tremendous. Other skills only call for sprinklings and strands of the power, giving to the illusion that the wells are deeper than truth. Many young auramancers have driven themselves to fatigue, or even death, by harnessing this power wantonly.
AURASPECTION. An extremely common ability, perhaps even the most common out of all six. Auraspection is the ability to see the aura, the external exhaust of ether from a mortal vessel, and ascertain various informations from the data accrued. One may have the ability to learn emotions, or maybe intent, or maybe even the favorite ice cream flavors of the target. It has been argued that this is only a weaker strain of ethereal empathy, though proponents argue the former is a primarily visual skill, while the latter is more of an internal sensation alike to affect, hence the use of '-spection' and 'empathy' to denote. Your humble author agrees with the opinions of the support, if only for the case that auraspection appears in same form among a great multitude of monastic, magical, and spiritual cults. In fact, this may be the only auratic ability able to be attained by those with no natural potential, owing to its relatively low-key style and its passive effect. Anyone may gain auraspection given time dedicated to meditation and internal magical training, as proven in many case studies with randomly chosen participants.
AURATIC GLAMOUR. A favorite of the fae, and a rare skill to find nowadays. In latter years, this ability was used to fully encapsulate the senses and reason in deception, able to alter a victim's perception of reality by altering, in turn, their ethereal components. The horror tales of both seelie and unseelie courts baffling young travelers, stealing young, and manipulating the unwary into devious connivance with their plots may all stem from this frightening illusionism. But long gone are the times of such strong effect, now harbored in by a subtler race of talents: A prowess often called a gift of a 'tongue', whether it be gold or silver. By tying ether in with words spoken and gestures made, the auramancers of today can change the ideals their victims may hold. Not quite as glamorous as full on illusionist diversion, it still has its uses. The perception of the caster's comments can be clandestinely swayed by a careful hand, allowing one to change opinions of honesty and integrity to better influence the decisions of others.
ETHEREAL EMPATHY. This ability is believed to be an archaic precursor, and assumed better, to the solely visual skill of auraspection. It is a much rarer skill, however, and is much less understood. From what has been observed, ethereal empathy is essentially the adaptation of one's qualitative ethereal components to match that of a target. Put simpler, it is resonance. Resonance with emotions, ambitions, thoughts and fears, any of the components considered to give a being 'individuality'. By doing this, the auramancer is able to ascertain qualities about the target that allow them to gain an upper hand. While in auraspection, there is a danger of being overwhelmed by strong stimuli from powerfully magical beings, ethereal empathy has an even greater risk. Strong sensations can cause somatic physiological symptoms such as nausea, hemorrhaging, and even shock-induced death. In addition, any intensely polar states experienced by the caster could overtake even those of stronger will. In this light, targets experiencing depression, euphoria, and other powerful states should be taken with caution.
AURALYSIS. As ether primarily exists in a limbal state, whether this be from the natural energies or from the soul ether lost to the perpetual ether erosion effect, it is necessary to bring this into physical form before practicing corporeal skills like aurakinesis or auratic vampirism. In this case, a special skill set is dedicated to the altering of ether's state. This skill, auralysis, is extremely common in its simplest forms, but full-on mastery of the techniques involved are almost unheard of. In basis, an auralyser, and any self-respecting auramancer for that matter, can pull limbal ether in corporeal existence, and send corporeal ether into limbal existence. But more advanced versions can produce much more complicated effects. For example, a powerful enough auralyser could turn physical objects into ether, or ether into physical objects, both with potentially devastating consequence. This is the mechanic behind particular 'banishment' spells that exile targets, body and all, into limbo, though there is a possible intermediary 'middle-man' involved by tell of divine investigation. The expert auralyser is a terrifying force indeed, vanquishing armies with the wave of a hand and conquering with a seemingly inexhaustible reserve of ether. It is equal parts positive and negative that such mages do not appear to exist, even among the belated Fae, as while such a case would be wonderful to study, it is uncertain if the world as we know it could survive one.
These powers are devastating in their own right, and past auramancers have dedicated themselves to perfecting single facets, but the most utility can be gained by using multiple in tandem. Auramancy is a form of art, and the more learned of its practitioners can gain strength in their elegant dances of ether and will. Some of the better known advanced auratic abilities include ENTHRALLMENT, COVENANT, DARK PUPPETRY, AURATIC POSSESSION, and LIMBAL TRANSCENDENCE.
ENTHRALLMENT. Perhaps the most well known of the advanced forms, and most definitely the most romanticized, enthrallment is the process of overpowering the will of another and making them into a sycophantic follower. The power curve necessary to directly overcome a will is tremendous, leading only the most malleable of spirits actually practical to take in a head to head conflict. The more unsuspecting, stressed/strained, or trusting the victim, however, the less this exponential need takes sway. Willing enthrallment is almost effortless for an experienced auramancer, so many turn to manipulative or deceptive tactics to lessen their own losses and maximize their gains. With a few choice words and some simple glamour, a strong-willed obstacle may become a simple conquest. This ability uses a mix of auratic vampirism to establish a spiritual link and ethereal empathy to maintain synchronicity between the caster and their thrall.
COVENANT. An extremely dangerous form of auramancy. Two parties engage in a pact, one offering a deal with end terms, and the other accepting. They generally establish some form of physical connection, whether that be a handshake, hug, or kiss, and are therefore bonded for as long as the deal is upheld. Whenever one end fails to uphold their deal, they are subject to whatever termination clause was set. In most cases, this means death of the failing party. For this ability to properly work, all words spoken as part of the agreement must be true, though convoluted wording and manipulation are not disallowed. Auratic vampirism and ethereal empathy are used to link the two, as well as a documented application of auralysis. The actual full workings of this ability are unknown even to those practicing it, as their is no visible reason for the pact to be binding. The leading theory is some power in limbo, connected to through auralysis, acts as a hidden arbiter and executor of the deal.
~
Backstory
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Backstory
~
She remembered being human, once.
Back in the day when tribes roamed the eastern plains, great nomadic groups that worshipped the divines of old. Not the household gods that amaze with parlor tricks and prophecies, but massive, formless powers that moved the earth through the strength of nature. It was in this time that Morgne was born.
Her tribe was feared to be cursed by these ancient deities, cursed to be blighted by luck as black as the chaos in which the spirits reside. Every moon day, in honor of the birth of life, a girl was to be chosen from the clan’s ranks and offered to the spirits. If she was found pure, she would be ascended into the light of the orb above. If not, she was condemned to burn in the fires of the sun. For as long as the priests could remember, scorch marks lined the floors of their temples. Still the Elohim endured, keeping with the laws of old, hoping one day, the curse would be lifted from their tribe.
The night was cool and luna pregnant with the harvest spirit, so the moon day began. The priests deliberated in their tent, looking over the names, seeking out a candidate clean in heart and spirit. At last, they unanimously concurred, and began their solemn march among the makeshift houses of the populace. As they marched, their tattooed hands beat on cowskin drums, sacred drums to foretell the passage of diviners. It was these drums that woke Morgne from her slumber. She peered out from the canvas flap of her family's tent, expecting to see the charred corpse of some poor girl being ferried past. Yet, the sky was still dark. The ritual had not yet concluded. A pang of fear struck at the child's heart, apprehension that this night, the sacrifice was her.
"Go back to sleep, Morgne..." her father muttered in a groggy trance, rolling over on his mat. She shook her head. Not until after the drums passed her by, not until after the beast passed her up for another victim. Here came the somber beat, approaching, approaching, loudening with every resonating boom... and then they stopped. Morgne felt ill. The noise seemed to silence as soon as it reached a crescendo. Maybe it was one of her neighbors, she thought, but before she had a chance to put faith in that idea, the priests entered her tent. They grabbed her roughly by the arms, ignorant of the screams and cries. Her father awoke fully, still apart from reality, murmuring chords of disbelief. The two strings out of tune held no sway on the symphony, however, and so the concert proceeded.
Morgne's bare feet dragged painfully across the rocky soil, desperately trying to gain purchase against the strength of her captors. The curious eyes of those awoken by the noise glittered in the dark. They would not help her, for to go against the priests was to go against the gods. The curse had to be lifted. To think, just a week prior the girl's largest worry was of marriage! Her idea of a terrible life was bondage to a man she did not respect, yet she would trade sacrifice for the lowest urchin in a heartbeat. But that past was gone, and now was the ritual. She had to accept that, no matter how desperately she valued her life.
A cry of dissent awakened her from the reflective stupor. Behind the procession, her father stood, brandishing a pitchfork. He waved it at the priests threateningly. Morgne could only watch in horror as, from the shadows, clan warriors came. She tried to warn him, tried to tell him to flee, but a flash of silver ended that tangent as soon as it had began. To defy the priests was to defy the gods. To defy the gods was death. In a storm of crimson fury, the now lifeless body descended, the dark magic of the moment holding sway on Morgne's tongue. She could only gaze in horror as the priests pulled her further, onward down the camp. Hemp ropes were wrapped around her arms and legs, but a fatigue had settled in her bones. The bonds were not needed. She would comply. Tears washed down her face in a sea of sorrow as she was shoved into the temple tent. The flap closed, and all was silent, save her shuddering breath.
The thick canvas of the structure blotted out all light and sound, stealing the senses from all that entered it. Inside, the ground was soft, silky sand in placement of the sharp gravel. Morgne was in the seat of the priests, and the citadel of the gods. She sat for a moment, still and patient, waiting for her life to be taken in a burst of flame. When it did not come, she was almost disappointed. The climax was meant to be spectacular. Had all this experience been for naught? Was her life ruined for nothing? As she opened her mouth to voice her dissent, a sliver of ice touched her heart.
Immediately, wracking pain consumed Morgne. It felt like fire, it screamed like fire, shrieking with the same volume that came from her straining mouth. No flames touched her, but the agony was there. She lost control of every muscle, twitching and flailing in her bonds, reminiscent of a dying fish washed ashore. The cushioning sand kept her body safe, but her mind was forfeit to the torments born from the thoughts of demons. Scream after scream tore through her throat, crashing on the shore of the dampening tent fabric. The noise, finding it could not escape through the walls, returned into the flaming air, echoing around the chamber in ghostly reverberations. Then the pain stopped.
For a moment, a shadow of the ache remained, the fire burned into her nerves like a cattle brand. Then that too faded, leaving nothing but a memory of what Morgne had just endured. She was still alive. The curse had lifted. The ropes that had bound her lay on the ground, a tangle of snakes trapped beneath her body. She rose, rubbing her sore wrists, and hobbled for the entrance of the tent. The moonlight, though it was pale, felt blinding in her light deprived eyes. She blinked, trying to clear the spots from her vision, and the faces of the priests swam into view. They were astonished.
“She lives,” one of them whispered, turning to his companions. “A moon child lives!”
Immediately, the sages fell down on knee, bowing their heads in deference. Morgne, in their eyes, was the consecrated mouthpiece of the gods. The lifter of the curse. The shepherd of the people. She decided to teach them differently. Hand outstretched, a shifting glow formed in her open palm. She held it towards one of the kneeling priests, and flexed. A bolt of energy flew from her palm, striking the unfortunate man in the chest. He went flying backwards, shuddering on the ground in violent death throes. The other diviners watched in horror, unsure of how to react. Now, that wasn’t the emotion she wanted to see. After fear had ruled over her heart for her life, she sought something more. Something that would humiliate the proud bastards for all of their worth.
“Love me. I am your queen,” she said to them, weaving the moonspun spirit into strands of binding. “Love me!”
They had no choice but to comply.
Thirty years later…
“My queen! My queen!”
Though Morgne’s reign had held these provinces for over two years, now, the language of the inhabitants still sounded awkward to her untrained ears. The frantic advisor burst into her chambers, babbling in his Anglo tongue with wanton care.
“The tower gathers a counteroffensive to your recent conquests!” he yelled, waving around papers in his tiny hands.
The tower. The vile, disgusting, bastardly tower that seemed to critique her every move. She should have known the Pendragons, the old rulers of the lands she now occupied, would not go easily. They were renowned for their stubborn heads, and their dabbling in magics. They would soon see that petty parlor tricks were nothing compared to the power of a goddess.
“Tell my advisors I will travel with my army. Let us meet with the Pendragons.”
For someone so unused to the language, Morgne spoke it well. No signs of her thick, eastern accent remained in her speech.The messenger nodded, and sped from the room. Morgne slipped into her formal dress, common clothes to this region. She found it necessary to adapt at least somewhat to the local customs, in order to gain the people’s trust. The black outfit looked nice, anyway. Regal. It suited the position Morgne now held.
With parasol in hand, the queen strode from her room. Outside, two of her court members huddled, murmuring. As she passed them, they began following her timidly.
"We don't think it is the best for you to meet with the enemy," the short, squeaky one began, his voice quaking.
"We wouldn't want you to be hurt," the tall, rotund one added. Morgne frowned.
"Are you questioning my judgment?" she asked, glancing back at the two advisers. They faltered, quickly backpedaling.
“Of course not, my queen!” the shorter one yelped, his hands flying up to protect his face.
“I understand your concern for my safety, but I can handle myself. Now, leave!”
They whimpered, and fled from her presence. Morgne sighed, massaging her forehead. It unsettled her how brave the advisers had been getting. Perhaps it was time to replace them. She tapped the umbrella on the ground as she walked, preparing herself for what was to come. Obviously, the king would be present, as would his senile wizard. Probably a few attendants… nothing Morgne couldn’t handle. She left her castle, pulling herself into a waiting carriage.
“Where is the meeting?” she asked the driver, closing her eyes.
“The Wiltshire, ma’am,’ the cabby replied in a gruff voice. “Those plains to the north, the place they say giants trod.”
Morgne nodded, her head resting on the carriage window. The warm sun overhead caressed her through the glass, bringing to mind the heavy toll these years of conquest had brought upon the queen. She hadn’t wanted this, before. She was at the whim of the violent voices, so long heard they were know a part of her own thoughts. Mind wandering to the days before her rise to power, Morgne drifted to sleep.
A startling bump brought her back to reality. The sorceress jumped to her feet, only to hit her head on the roof of the cabin. Cursing vehemently, she knocked on the drawboard separating the cab from the driver.
“Are we there?” she asked, still annoyed. No voice responded. While fear was no longer a common emotion, Morgne couldn’t help but feel a twinge of insecurity at this strange scenario. After all, she was in enemy territory. With parasol clasped in hand, the witch stepped out of the carriage.
The first sight she had was a circle of stones, arranged around the spot where the vehicle was parked. The horse was gone, and the tower she was supposed to be visiting was nowhere in sight. Only the stones, gray, tall, and… oddly ominous.
“Hello?” she called out, trying to sense some form of life about her. Her powers found nothing, not even the grass and trees so plainly visible beyond the rocky congregation. Beginning to panic for the first time in decades, Morgne strode for the edge of the circle. With a resounding crack, she was flung back from the boundary, landing on her back next to the carriage. Shaken, she got back up, and walked towards the invisible line yet again, umbrella swinging. Crack, deflection. Neither force nor magic broke the barrier.
“That won’t help, you know. The only way through a fairy circle is the realm of sleep.”
Morgne whirled around, spying the elderly bastard perched on one of the pillars. He was smirking triumphantly, staff held in his liver spotted mitts. Pendragon’s mage.
“You can’t hold me. I am stronger than you,” she spat, preparing to blast him from his sorry rear. Surprisingly, he laughed.
“This isn’t my magic. All I did was whip up the sleeping draught. You can thank a greater power for this trap.”
Morgne screamed in frustration, firing a bolt of energy towards the warlock. The beam dissolved before it could reach him, leaving just a shimmer in the air.
“Now, now, no need to attack me. Save your energy for the main event,” scolded the wizard.
“What do you mean, main event? Let me out, before I destroy you!” she shouted back, firing another bolt. It met the same fate as its predecessor, merely dissipating into a ripple.
“You see, I still have a trick up my sleeve. You’re trapped, but I’m sure you could get out eventually. That’s why I have to stop your terror once and for all.”
This was preposterous. Unexpected. Horrifying. How could she had been so naive, to trust her attendants, to take this chance… and now she was paying the price. Morgne watched feebly as the sage began to chant, rubbing his hands together slowly.
“Accipe in anima, et increpationes meas ad pecuniam accipere. Accipe in anima, et increpationes meas ad pecuniam accipere. Accipe in anima, et increpationes meas ad pecuniam accipere. Accipe in anima, et increpationes meas ad pecuniam accipere.”
The words were unknown to the sorceress’s ears, but the intention was clear. Outside, the vibrant colors of nature began to dull, and a low wuthering swept between the rocks. With an earsplitting screech, the temptress embraced the energy inside of her, shifting form, but it was too late. Morgne could do nothing but feel her body numbing, fading, disappearing, becoming one with the primal cold behind the veil of reality.
Thus began the longest part of her life.
Fitting, to be born in pain and destroyed in the exact opposite. She could still feel, to a degree, but it wasn’t physical. It was more emotional, feeling the anger, the shame, the sadness, all swirling in the darkness. This was limbo. That fated world between worlds, where all sense of identity slowly faded. Consciousness remained, but only that. The spells opening gateways to this plane were considered forbidden, and it was preposterous that the stuck up Pendragon warlock had dared to attempt it. She thought less of him. Well, now she had time to reconsider. All the time in the world. To think. Time. Tick, tock, tick tock, time, time, time.
No. She was not ready to descend into madness, to join the shadows that drifted about her in their babbling ecstasy. She was her own person, and she was a queen. Morgne, by sheer will, forced her flowing consciousness together, and then began to plan. Step by step, she gained more control. The currents here could be manipulated, as anywhere, but it took some time to grasp that. Still, Morgne had time. That was already established. For a thousand years, or a few seconds, the sorceress trained herself to use limbo. And then she found it.
Nothing more than a whisper, but a taste of reality nonetheless. Morgne grabbed it desperately, pulling at the newfound lifeline, and pulled with all the strength her mind could muster. It tasted of sadness, of deep despair, of delicious opportunity. Somewhere in the world, a child was crying.
~
Documentation
~
Documentation
~
“Once she stood, high and pale as the moon goddess she worshipped above her loyal people. Fair of skin, dark of hair, her eyes were like great pools of ink to all who saw them. When touching the power she revered, these obsidian orbs glowed white. She towered above all women, and even above most men, six feet of imposing majesty. Stern and handsome was her face, and her face itself was a servant to the queen. Emotion did her bidding, only going as far as her steely grip would allow. And garbed about her was a dress of flowing silk, one you might see at a funeral worn by a grieving widow. At her side she always carried a sleek parasol, with a handle of ivory and a wicked point at the end…”
(Lament of Dirges, 203. An ancient manuscript written in the glyphs of the Saladar civilizations, describing the figure known in history only as ‘the nameless queen’.)
(Lament of Dirges, 203. An ancient manuscript written in the glyphs of the Saladar civilizations, describing the figure known in history only as ‘the nameless queen’.)
“As I sat down with the twitching, mouse-like father, he recanted the events that led him to seek my help. ‘My boy told me a story today. He said he saw some sort of ghost in the garden. He hasn’t been the same since his dog died, you know, but this was new. I had everyone I told say back it’s his imagination, he’s a child, but I know my boy. He isn’t that type.’ I immediately asked the man if his son described the ghost. “Well sure, he did. He said it looked like some tall lady, all glowing white. Like the moon, he said. She had a weird umbrella… those thingies you use when it’s sunny… and her hair was blowing around, even though there wasn’t a breeze. She walked right up to my boy, and told him she could bring his dog back. He came running back into the house fast as he could, and when I went out, the lady was gone.’ Upon investigation of the scene, I found no anomalies magical or physical, though I did get the odd sensation of being watched. My hair stands up on end just thinking about it.”
(Paranormal Studies: My Quest for the Truth, 54. Written by Ernest Young, an informal history about his research into life after death.)
(Paranormal Studies: My Quest for the Truth, 54. Written by Ernest Young, an informal history about his research into life after death.)
“We found the ruins today! The sun tried to beat us back inside, but it didn’t expect us hardy lot. Some local sheila pointed out the general place, and we dug until we hit marble. The Nurian slaves, strong blokes, helped pull it up. It seems like some sort of statue of the nameless queen herself, face all scrunched up in a ripper expression. Come to think of it, looks like my old teacher come back to haunt me. The statue was missing half its nose, too. On the base of the behemoth was an inscription, saying ‘I am the queen to rule all queens, see my kingdom and tremble in awe!’ We dug around a bit more, and got some portraits of the devil woman. Still no name, though, curse the wankers who scratched it out after she disappeared. Not that I’d want to know it if she were still alive, she’s no long-legged looker. Her eyes are black, not brown, black, and her chin is as sharp as my rifle’s blade. All the images we found, the same expression, looking like she smells some rank scat in her house. A definite find for us and for history. After we get the artifacts shipped back to Sunderland, we’re going to take the next boat to Apithia. I really want to get a good document on their social practices, and get a good taste of their liquor.”
(The Exploratory Notes of Winston Fullerton, 767. Fullerton was a renowned explorer and archeologist in his day, setting a mold many Sunderlannites followed after his death.)
(The Exploratory Notes of Winston Fullerton, 767. Fullerton was a renowned explorer and archeologist in his day, setting a mold many Sunderlannites followed after his death.)
“She glows like a star, that maiden of mine,
She who I hold so dear and near to heart,
She who unravels secrets of my heart,
And brings to me my every want in time.
I look upon her every night she comes,
My feathered quill aquiver in my hands,
My very soul held tightly in her hands,
And we talk until the rising of the sun.
Without her guidance, how could I be free?
She helps me break the shackles of my mind,
She brings forth the primal powers to my mind,
And opens my dark eyes, so I may see.”
(Gulish Sachiel: The Broken Artist, 142. Sachiel hanged himself at the age of 32, claiming in a letter that his muse had demanded too much. Whether the mysterious woman in his poetry and notes was real or a figment of his unstable mind, no one knows.)
“...we came with gifts for [the queen]. ‘Dadar, the queen will love them!’ Milo said, but I am not so sure. She scares me. She is not sunny and kind, like our tropical chieftains. I saw her grab a servant today, a little boy, and he died. Just a touch and death. He knew it would happen, but he wasn’t afraid. He died loving [the queen]. I heard she can give your heart’s desire, and she herself is a goddess. She looks so young but is so old, so it might be true. I also heard she steals souls to live longer. From what I saw of the little boy, that might be true too…”
(A fragment of a letter, dated around the time of the Estian Empire.)
(A fragment of a letter, dated around the time of the Estian Empire.)
“The gods smile on us today, as surely as the ocean is blue! We were entertained in court by our fair sovereign, the rarest of happenings. The courts watched in awe as she pulled light out of the air, made orbs roll down the walkways, even stabbing a servant with a summoned blade! What fortune we have to be under her rule, what glory she will lead us into. All hail [the queen], and may she live forever!”
(A diary excerpt found on the site of the Mirror Palace, believed to be from an advisor to the queen.)
(A diary excerpt found on the site of the Mirror Palace, believed to be from an advisor to the queen.)
“My darling Elise, I found her body the other day. I did not think she was dead, but cruel fate has stabbed me in the chest. A woman came, as well, a wonderful. beautiful woman. She made my pain go away with a whisper and a smile. She told me my daughter could live again, if I chose to take her hand. As soon as I grasped it, it was cold then warm, and my darling Elise came back to me. She gave me a hug, and spoke, but I could not hear her words for the bees in my head. They buzz incessantly, ever since I touched that accursed witch. How much I thank her for my daughter back! I do her whims and bidding, she winds me like the clocks I see at night behind my eyelids. God help me, I’m losing my mind. I can feel her behind me, always behind me, waiting for me to stumble so she can take back my daughter. I can’t let that happen, she won't suspect me of anything, I must do what she demands! Where is my daughter? Where did you take her? I did what you said, spirit, give her back!”
(Part of the confession of Lars Don Scar, who violently stabbed his neighbor to death for no apparent reason. Police apprehended him at his house where he was found cradling the exhumed corpse of his deceased daughter and sobbing hysterically.)
(Part of the confession of Lars Don Scar, who violently stabbed his neighbor to death for no apparent reason. Police apprehended him at his house where he was found cradling the exhumed corpse of his deceased daughter and sobbing hysterically.)