Tales of Elandria

Prologue

In this life, we are faced with a number of challenges. We, as humans, are often thrown into situations well outside of our control; and it is our reactions to these circumstances that are the truest reflection of our character. There are many who allow the pain and devastation that befalls them to define the limits of their potential-- but when tragedy is met with grace and acceptance the soul within grows a little wiser, a little more resilient.

It is said that when a tree encounters tempestuous weather its nature is to lean into the storm. Whatever winds rage around this solid figure only succeed in making it stronger. Its roots reach further into the soil, anchoring deeper into the earth.

After each period of unrest, when the skies clear and the earth calms, the resilient soul within this mighty tree becomes stronger and more confident in its position; continuing to move through the cycles of change that this life inevitably brings with it.

It is up to us to define our purpose and our potential -- we must not allow the shadows of our past to darken the remainder of our journey. Somewhere between making it and giving up, the deepest and truest forms of ourselves bursts forth to illuminate a better way. Just as the sun does not dwell on the inevitability that the night will come to steal away the attentions of the earth, we must not dwell on the knowledge that darkness and malcontent will fall into our lives.

These lessons and many others have been passed down through generations by the people of Elandria – a special place on Earth that was touched by celestial magic eons ago.

Tales that speak of a great love affair between Mother Moon and Father Sun; celestial beings that met during an eclipse long ago. Having fallen so deeply in love, it seemed impossible for them to part. They knew, however, that if they did not continue their fated rotations chaos would inevitably ensue. Their union was so powerful, when their bodies touched a surge of energy pulsed from their entangled figures; creating a place on Earth that was saturated with magic. In this special place magic could thrive; it was in that moment, Elandria was born.

Children of the Moon and Sun were created as tokens of their devotion to one another. The children of Mother Moon were Gypsies who instinctively traveled the land in sync with the cycles of the moon. They watched over the seasons on Earth, giving each period its rightful time. Children of Father Sun were Elves, they were a powerful people with nearly incorruptible spirits, they did not roam as the Gypsy did, instead they set up long-term homes and villages. They would use their magic to assist the creatures of the Earth as they went through the cycles of life and death.

The Gypsies and the Elves quickly learned that their abilities were not celebrated by their non-magical peers. Some thought them to be evil, others wanted to extract their powers and take it for themselves. Though they were the most loved of all creation by the celestial deities above, Elandria was a harsh place. Driven from society, the Elves mastered the art of concealment and opted to practice their magic in secret. Gypsies, however, preferred a more hands-on approach, and instead mastered the art of stealth.

For generations there was peace across the land. However, as with the seasons of the Earth and the cycles of life, this peace could not remain.

Deep in the mountains, south of the Royal City, a boy was born into a life of torment. Unloved by his parents, who were monstrous at the best of times, the boy's very existence enraged them. He was named Gorgahl; a name that meant "abomination" in the dead language of his ancestors. Throughout his youth he had many siblings; only three by birth, but hundreds would come into his home: they would stay for a short while and then leave, never to be heard from again.

The only time Gorgahl was acknowledged was when he was beaten for the sins of his siblings. His purpose was to "be an example" as his parents would say. For years he endured his life, bearing his pain in silent torment as he was humiliated repeatedly in ways that painted his soul a little darker each time.

It was not until he was seventeen years old, that his patience for this treatment finally reached its end. Late one night, Gorgahl left his pile of filthy rags -- meant to serve as his "bed" -- and silently crept into the room where his parents slept. As he stood over their bodies a smile crept onto his face.

He wore his smile wider as he grabbed his mother’s face with both hands, waking her. After a moment of confusion, she attempted to cry out, but failed, as her son twisted her neck around until it snapped. He looked at his father, still sleeping and unaware that his wife was no longer alive. I will let you live, long enough to feel this loss. But I will return and finish this... one day... Gorgahl thought to himself.

Quietly he left the room, walking down the narrow hallway and through the weathered cedar door, into the mountainous landscape. Gorgahl stood there in the stillness of the night and raised his hands above his head in silent celebration. In that moment, he embraced his darkness. Allowing the shame, anger, and betrayal of his youth to fill him, welcoming it like an old friend. Looking into the wilderness around him, his heart raced with exhilaration and he started toward the thick of the trees.

As he walked, he whistled a tune, his spirit feeling satisfied for the first time in his life. For a week he roamed the woods outside his home; enjoying the sounds of mourning that could be heard on the breeze back at his childhood home. He maintained himself by catching what wildlife he could find and reveling in the kill. One night, as he laid under the branches of a large cedar tree, he was stirred awake by a subtle rustling in the distance.

He sat up slowly, casting an upward glance through the branches of his sheltering tree at the full blood moon above. The glowing deity in the night sky illuminated the forest in an eerie light. Through the dense foliage around, Gorgahl saw a figure floating from the thicket and into the open area. He rubbed his eyes a bit and shook the sleep from his bones, then looked once more toward the strange sight. He could see clearer now that the figure was a woman: one unlike any he had ever seen.

She was beautiful and had a glow around her form which allowed Gorgahl to steal a better glance at her appearance. This woman had long surpassed ageless; her cool ice-blue skin glowed independent of the moon above. Carrying herself with divinity and grace, Gorgahl’s eyes were transfixed on her approaching figure. He considered the woman as she advanced on him, watching her with intrigue and trepidation.

As she closed the distance between them her features were illuminated by the open sky. Her body shimmered with what appeared to be constellations trapped in her celestial skin. The stranger introduced herself to him as Ophorenia, a mortal witch who transcended into the divine by embracing a dark practice. Gorgahl was lost in the magic around her, his thoughts suspended in a foggy ecstasy. Then, her voice rang out through the clouded moment and she presented him with an offer.

“Embrace my divinity,” she said, her voice echoing around inside his head, “choose me, and ignore your own will. Allow me to permeate your being with my essence and you shall become a powerful warlock.”

He stared into her eyes and felt warmth inside. Wherever she is; I want to be. Gorgahl thought. As he did so he noticed her light flooding into him. It saturated his skin; its glow illuminated his flesh for a moment, before sinking below the surface and returning to normal.

He chose the witch Ophorenia.

In their time together she taught him the ways of blood magic; a dark and powerful craft that required the utmost sacrifice. Soon, children began to disappear from surrounding villages. The disappearances were few and far between; at first. After twenty-five summers, however, they became such a threat that entire cities were abandoned as people: magical and non; left everything and fled, far from those cursed woods.

Tribes of Gypsies began to fall victim to the mysterious disappearances next. They slowly started happening farther and farther from the woods. Nearly an entire generation of Gypsy people was decimated in a matter of two seasons because of the rampant kidnappings. In response, the frightened Gypsy people chose to break from tradition and consolidate the tribes to live together as one people.

During this time; the darkest period of loss these gentle people had ever known, an unexpected gift was given to the tribe: a little girl who -- from the moment she opened her eyes -- was prophesied to bring about a universal shift in the acceptance of their kind.

She was born at the first break of dawn; those who witnessed the birth spoke of a presence near that glowed brighter than the sun which steadily climbed the horizon. Her eyes were a striking shade of vivid violet and her essence radiated an aura of light and hope which shimmered near her infant form, hanging in the air around her fragile body like mist. Before her story could truly begin, however, the light of the tribe dimmed.

Stolen from them in the dead of night after only knowing the Earth for eleven summers, the one destined to save her people was ripped away. She was taken to a dark and desolate hovel, away from even the faintest light, and tortured relentlessly -- but like the tree leaning into the storm, it was in this place she found her strength and resilience, aligning herself with her destiny.

Her name is Shiloh.