The Splitting

‘So you want to know the lore of our people, the secret knowledge that only we possess about the events which lead to the splitting?’ The old elf grinned, his pasty teeth showing nearly ground down to the gums.

‘Yes, I need you to reveal your truth to me, so that I can pass it on to others.’

‘I shall tell you what I know, what was, is, and will be again.’ He paused to take a breath, and broke down in a fit of coughing before taking a drink of strong cider.

‘The Age of the Ancients ended in fire and suffering. They had meddled in powers beyond their own control, and the suffering of thousands twisted the magic of the great spell casters. The magic released had gained a malicious life of its own. Everything that the magic touched faded and died, drained of life and hope, and feeding that great evil, making it ever stronger.

‘Even as it consumed those who had surived the failed sorcery, it spread a new enemy across Phantera. The unliving. Such a thing was a corruption of all that had been before, and struck fear into all the ancient peoples, even the Ga’Vin, who betrayed all, feared the undead. Some of those who survived fought back, they used the great magicks which had been raised in peace before to wage war, and all of Phantera fought against the darkness, and the evil which they named The Master of Death.’ His voice dropped to a whisper, as he continued, ‘They called him Shri’Illi Aingun in the ancient language of Naming.’

‘Such things should not be spoken of though, even now, long after these dark days there are forces which ally themselves with it.’

He turned and took another sip his cider, and waited for me to record what he had said. When He saw my quill stil upon the page, he took a deep breath and continued.

‘The war dragged on, but it was a loosing battle for the living, all of Phantera suffered under the tyranny of the evil force. Some of the members of all the races had allied themselves with the darkness, even some of the elves, much to our shame. It would take many years after this for us to purge ourselves of the guilt we felt as a whole over this treachery. In the course of the great war many of the bravest and truest warriors, scholars, singers, and artists came together in a plot for the survival of all.

‘Using their cunning arts they created a trap designed to feed on the very greed and hunger of the evil one, who the Gnomes began to call Regis Mortem. These warriors, scholars, and poets spread themselves across the battlefield, their timing exquisite, as they baited portions of the evil, which had split itself to guide its armies. Somehow, these seven managed to trap portions of that creature, sacrificing themselves to its hatred in the process.

‘When the creature was distracted and weakened it fled into the bowels of the earth. Deep below the ground and beneath the waves, it fled and hid. It could still draw the life from the living creatures around it, and slowly rebuild itself. Even without the senses which had been stripped by the heroes above, it was still a danger, and would surely have consumed all Phantera if given enough time, were it not for five great wizards from among the ranks of elvenkind. Well actually four great wizards and one of their apprentices.

‘While the other races celebrated the end of the war, and purged the world of the many unliving still in existence, and their allies, we of elvenkind looked to the future. We realized that Regis Mortem was not beaten. We knew that if we did not finish what the others had begun, it would rise again to destroy us all before we could rebuild the glory of our world. So with the future in mind, the four greatest remaining wizards formed a plan to counter this evil once and for all. With a single apprentice to record their deed, they entered the catacombs under the earth by means of a great maelstom, and found their way into the fiery core of the earth, and passed even through that until they came at last to a pulsing sphere of metal and stone, somewhere at the heart of Phantera. It was here that they found Regis Mortem.

‘The evil creature was feeding on the very magical fibre of Phantera. It was using the energy and life which powered the planet to fuel itself. Knowing that magic was the fabric of creation, and that life could not exist in the absence of magic, they understood that when this creature was done feeding, there would be no magic left in phantera, and the world would be dead forever.

‘Using his powerful arts, the eldest of them erected a powerful barrier to preserve them. Then the four of them joined their powers together and raised a focus of great force. They turned that force between themselves against the very nature of reality, bending it to their will as their ancestors had done in the time before the age of ancients, before memory and records become dim and fade. The time of the first races. With their great shaping they pulled at the very fibre of magic, because up to that time there had been only one magic.

‘First the youngest of them strained out the threads that traced through the earth, that provided life, the fabric which tied structure and order into a physical body. He reworked each and every living object on the planet, and all of the unliving ones as well. Into each and every stone, grain of sand, each tree and flower, he awoke a consciousness. His mind struggled to grasp the complexities of all existence, and in the end, to complete his working he poured his own life energy into his crafting.

‘Even as his own life’s candle burned out, his work was taken up by the next sorceress, who grasped at the fabric of the seas and the rain, the water within each living thing answered to her call. She strained from the whole the energies which define intellect and differentiate those motive creatures from the more stolid deep intellects of trees and stone. Her working touched each creature, and through her craft she protected all those on the surface from the ravaging destruction of Regis Mortem. As her work was nearing completion, Regis Mortem grew aware of their presence, he could feel their life near him, as all things were near him, and feel the source of his power growing fainter, weaker. Howling with a rage which shook the world it hurled through the darkness to strike at their barriers. The force of its blow shook the world, and their bubble of reality began to crack.

‘Straining with effort they held on to their faith in their purpose, and redoubled their efforts, even as it raised power against them again. On the surface the world was beginning to feel the strain of the massive forces being released beneath it. Chasms opened, rivers flowed uphill, and mountains sank or rose as seas shifted. The winds swirled and the sky was darkened with storms that seemed without end. Even as she struggled to complete her work, the last of her energy gave out, and Illuminia Corazona too sank into the slumber of death.

‘Her work was not for naught though, and where she had left off, another took up the strands of mastery and worked great conjury. Again the chords of reality vibrated, as from within their pocket of reality the world was changed. Alljina MosDariia reached into the great airs, and the currents that are the breath of life. Her mind touched the consciousness of the sky, where before the Valkin’Vi had been sole masters and reworked the permissions of the sky. From the whole of reality she singled out the air, the force of change and motivation. Even as she worked, so too did Regis Mortem. With the energy it had gathered in plundering the world, it reached out in pain and suffering and battered at the minds of those inside the wards. Under the strain of her conjuring Alljina was in no shape to resist and her mind collapsed into a whirling wind of despair, and she was destroyed. The beast rejoiced smelling victory at hand.

‘But it had not counted on the mastery of the eldest. He was a wily old elf, nearly two millennia had passed in the time he had lived, and in that time he had learned more than any other still living. He grasped the last strands, those of natural consumption, the fires of creation gave ear to him. With his powers he sealed the cycle, bringing an end to all things, as must be done to preserve the natural order. Magic was sundered with his will, from one made into four. Even as the fires raged through his body he stepped through the crumbling wards, which could no longer exist in the new reality, and embraced the darkness, bringing light. As he flared in brilliance Regis Mortem retreated from his death flash, but not before it knew despair.

‘At last only the apprentice was left, standing alone in the darkness at the center of all things. And yet he knew deep inside himself that all was not done. Something was lacking. He knew, that all things had a consciousness, one that was outside of and beyond the elements, there was something more, something intangible in all creation. The dreams of reality and the harmonies which fueled Phantera had not been accounted for in the conjuring by either the old wizards or the evil creature.

‘After pondering for a long time in the darkness, finding his old skills and powers exhausted in the changing world, he grasped at the fibres of the dreams within, and begging the permission and forgiveness of the four elements he beseeched their aid. And aid him they did. A prison of the elements bathed the core, and was sealed with wards of the most complicated mathematics, theories, and dreams that the apprentice could construct when calling upon the knowledge of the ages. Thus was Regis Mortem sealed away, and the time of prophecy begun.

‘One year after they had journeyed beneath the surface the apprentice emerged, gaunt and tired. He traveled the changing world, and was wracked with sorrow and dispair at the changed that had been wrought. Never again would Phantera know the glories of the ancients. In sorrow he traveled the world, trying to make up for the destruction which he had been part of. He taught others, for a time, and then disappeared in solitude into the wastelands, which had taken over much of Phantera’s surface.

‘It was never known if the creatures created by the splitting of magic were the end of him. If they were, perhaps in his death at the hands of misdirected creation he attoned. Such is life, we all pay in the end.’

And with those words the old man closed his speech to me, and walked from my study. I never found out who he was, or where he had come from, but I will be forever thankful for his story.