Thread: Grimoire of Myths

So I've been writing these things on request, and after thinking about it, and the fact they've been getting more and more entwined with one another, I've decided to post them all up in sequence. As more of them get written, if more of them get written, I'll update the list of what order they should be read in if you want them chronologically. So, the list so far, in order, and where they fall in the 'Ages of the World'. Dusk Spirit - Dawn of First Age Scarlet Grave - First Age Lily Lullaby - First Age Raven Witch - First Age Raven Stalker - First Age Shadows - End of First Age Willow Spirit - Dawn of Second Age Scarlet Stalker - Second Age Velvet Lullaby - Second Age Belladonna Stalker - Second Age Lily Storm - Second Age Destiny Dark One - End of Second Age Destiny Lullaby - Dawn of Third Age Moon Nightshade - Third Age Destiny Storm - Third Age Velvet Phanton - Third Age Autumn Storm - Third Age All of these except Shadows were written for on request. My signature has a link to the thread. If anyone would like to have a myth woven into this series, just follow the link! Dusk Spirit And so we gather once more to hear the tales of long ago. And this night we shall hear of the Spirt of Dusk. The spirit was gifted with power, and tasked with the guardianship of lands far and wide. She would oversee and guide the peoples, but was never to interfere with their affairs directly. Their lives and fates must be their own to govern. The spirit took well to task, and her lands and people prospered, drawing the eye and envy of many from around them. And it was this very prosperity and peace that brought about the ruination of all. From the South came legions of jealous rivals, intent on looting and slaughter. The spirit rallied her people, inspiring the to rise up in defence of their homes, for if they would not fight for their homes, who should be expected to? And so they rose in a defiant wave, standing before the oncoming invaders to keep them from what they sought. They fought valiantly. They died the same way. Her people shattered, but not yet lost, the spirit looked on with grief, and raised her hands to smite the attackers, but knew then that should she embark on this path, there would be no going back. She would change, and she could never again regain her form or position. But her people died around her, and she struck her first, and hardest blow. Fire from the skies scorched the lands, scouring legions from teh earth, and she strode the ground amidst the ashes, a vengeful spirit that took from those who had slain her people, everything. Their lives, even their very souls, denying them rest after their deaths. In a trail behind her, the souls of the fallen followed, raising ghostly arms to war once more, and fell upon their living kinsmen. Saved from death, her people looked on, but not in awe, but in horror of what their great spirit had become. Though alight with fire, she no longer represented what they had come to worship. She belonged to the night now, to the darkness. And so it did come to pass that the Dusk Spirit did come to pass, and her wrath and hatred was too terrible for any mortal to behold. But her deeds did not go unnoticed. The Great Powers beyond her, that had set her to task, had noted what she had done, and sent seekers to find her adn bring her to stand before them. Knowing that to do so would be her death, and her people would be once again unguarded, she fled them, retreating into the darkest portions of the world, unknowing of the damage she wrought with such an act. For her very power and presence made the Dark grow strong. It has been three ages of the world, and none have seen nor heard of the Dusk Spirit since. Some believe her long dead, but a spirit such as her knows nothing of the weight of time. Many believe she waits once more, for her people to need her aid again, and she will return in her fire and power to sear the lands of the foe. So it is we keep our worships of her quiet, lest we rouse her before she is needed. And so it is we pray that we need not summon her once again. Scarlet Grave Gather once more friends and kinsmen, for though the night grows deep, the fire is yet warm, and there are tales yet to be spun this night. We turn to another tale of elder times, And one with a tragedy and heroism all its own. The lands had been riven by war, power unleashed upon it the like of which none had seen before, and none have seen since. The lands were barren, and the dead no longer rest easily in the earth. From the noblest of intentions, and the greatest of sacrifices did further hardship and fear come upon the very people that had been meant to be saved. The waves of the dead had risen high, and more than one enclave of people had been overturned by their seemingly numberless hordes. The remnants of the people gathered together in a single large enclave, pooling what they could to mount a defence. Those who could not be trusted, or could not contribute were left out of the enclave, the better to fend for themselves. Cast away from any signs of help, one such soul strove to stay alive, in any way they could. Scraping a living from the bare forests, they tried to move ahead of the dead hordes. But with so many dead about, contact was inevitable. With nought but bough from a stout ashwood tree, they fought for all they had left. Their lives, and ultimately, their very soul, for to die before the dead who walked was to join them. Their struggle was beyond mortal reckoning, as each of the dead who fell before them seemed to attract the attention of three more. Beyond endurance, and with nought but fear and stubborn determination, the battle raged. But mere mortals have limits, and once reached, there is no exception, no matter the heroism, or how deserving one might be for more. Falling before the dead was the one fear they possessed, and it was the one fear that was realized. As they dead who walked were wont to do, they buried them beneath the tainted soil, and come the following night, they would rise to join them. And so it came to pass. But on that night, when they rose once more from the soil, a truth was shown. The dead that walked were not possessed of hunger, nor of rage. They were possessed of despair at their state, and tried to salve this despair by having others join them. Fresh from the grave, and still covered in the blood of themselves, and their foes, the newly risen set back for the enclave. Sure enough, the dead had found it, and had begun to assail the walls. Their numbers were vast, and they would overtake it, snuffing the last vestige of their people. But this was not to be. Finding a fallen blade, relic from an age past now, and set about not the living, but the dead themselves. Hewing through the packed hordes, they climbed upon a mound of destroyed dead, and stood before the bright lights of the enclave, who saw one of their exiles, Scarlet from the blood of the dead who walked, and still bearing the earth of the Grave, but holding to their defence. We stand for ourselves, as no one else shall do so. Stand with me now Brothers, until the last fading of the night, and we shall see our people delivered. They called over the walls. Frightened, yet heartened all the same, the people threw themselves back into the defence, and despite losses beyond the count of grief, the walls did hold. As the sun did rise high, overpowering the gloom of the dead that walked, these purging rays began to burn them from the lands. Nearly as one, they fell to their knees as they flaked to ashes and dust before the purifying force. When the people threw up a cheer for victory, they all froze as they saw but one dead still remained. Their saviour who had rallied them in their darkest time remained, refused his rest, for forsaking the purpose that he had been given, to stand with the other fallen. Into the world he walked, despair his companion, and he too did enter the realms of darkness, seeking a release from his existence, and believing that he might find one within that could grant him such. But we still sing his song, that his memory may never fade, and may we never forget that honour is won by deeds, and nought else.