The stars shine brightly, searing their brilliance into your eyes. For a moment all goes white, but as the light fades, you’re faced with an amorphous, iridescent cloud. You’re floating in a dark space - only you and the formless figure seem to exist on this plane.

“Greetings.”

You respond, hailing the figure. It chuckles lowly. “You look confused. I am a Titan, one of the 8 that created your world. In the passing millennia, the other Titans have grown weak, and now, together, we will set the world free from their ignorance and complacency. You shall be my champion, and we shall rule Earth together!”

You look down and see brightness swirl into your arms. It courses through your veins and pulses powerfully. A warmth takes over you - you’re being Blessed.

The cloud shrinks away, as suddenly the warmth fades from your body. You’re returning back to consciousness. A million more questions swirl in your mind, but you hear the voice calling. “Do not fret. I shall see you when you slumber. For now, fight, my champion! Bring us glory!”

You’re jolted awake. Looking around you’re still where you were when you fell asleep. Despite the vision, nothing seems out of the ordinary. Your dream has ended; your journey has begun.

===============================================================================================================

You walk across the water. The ocean swells around you, and as you take another step towards the horizon, your stomach lurches as you’re sent cascading into the depths below. Submerged, you are greeted with nothingness.

Your eyes open. There is blackness all around--you close your eyes again but there’s no difference. A deep laugh pervades the shroud of darkness. You feel a twinge of fear, but it instantly dissipates. For some reason, the entity does not seem hostile.

“Youngling,” It begins. You can’t tell whether it’s male or female, but you know for a fact that it’s powerful. “You’ve amused us. To defy the power of the Titans is no easy feat--they selected you themselves from the millions that exist in your world. And yet, the path you walk is so firm and you remain steadfast, even with their influence. For that, we commend you.

“Thus! We have decided to give you a mark. You shall become Branded, excluded from the afterlife your short mortal coil would inevitably succumb to, and you will remain forevermore on earth. We desire entertainment, and you have provided us with a new source.”

The entity cackles again and you feel confused. Entertainment? You feel you will not have any say in the matter. From the darkness, pain sears into the back of your neck. You try to scream--but are stifled by an unseen force. The burning escalates; the voice sounds again. “You have been tethered to the mortal realm--no matter what happens, your soul shall prevail. Reborn and reborn again. Entertain us well, youngling. Or you’ll find yourself living to regret it.”

Abruptly, you find yourself awake. You’re still as you were when you fell asleep--a tentative hand to your neck reveals no discernible injury. Nothing around you seems to have changed. However, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched.

Maris bolted up from her sleeping mat and gasped. A single lamplight flickered. She looked wildly around at her sleeping family. Her mother and father were across the tent behind a large curtain. She could hear her father snoring. Her brothers were all spread out around her on their own mats. Adam, the eldest, lay flat on his back with one arm by his side and one across his chest. Rylan lay at his feet, perpendicular to him. He was splayed on his stomach, arms and legs peeking out from underneath his blankets. And closest to Maris on her left, Lance, the youngest brother, was laying on his side facing away from her.

On her right, the slit in the tent that served as the door swayed gently in the cool night breeze and she could see twinkles of moonlight each time it opened. Maris threw off her blankets and stepped outside. Still in her night dress, she shivered at the chill desert night as she stole away from the tent. She felt a pull on her soul. Something was calling to her from the desert, and she intended to answer it. She found herself being drawn south toward the Rotten River’s bank; the Sandmire Nomads had been following it from desert to desert for some time now and were nearly always camped beside it. The dark peaks of the Ziri Mountains, most often called the Spears, pierced the sky above her as she walked to the river at its feet.

Upon reaching the water, Maris didn’t break her stride, instead splashing right into the river until she was submerged up to her neck. Then she dipped her head under and swam to the bottom. She felt the pull even more strongly now--it was like a chain tethered to her chest. She needed to go deeper to follow it, but wasn’t sure if she could hold her breath that long. You don’t need to, said a voice inside. Breathe. She slowed in her strokes and obeyed, and to her great shock, was rewarded with oxygen. She still felt the water enter her lungs, unmistakably wet and heavy, but it brought no pain--only the same relief of a gulpful of air. Amazed, she breathed in again as she resumed her swim to the bottom.

Deeper and deeper she went until at last she saw it gleaming on the riverbed. Locke’s trident. Her trident. She grabbed its staff in both hands and, holding it out above her head, kicked her way back to the surface. When she broke the surface, she smoothly expelled the water from her lungs--not a painful process, but natural, as if she’d been doing it all her life. She felt dazed as she pulled herself to the riverbank and lay on the sand for a moment to catch her breath, the trident at her side. As soon as she felt her breathing become even again she sat up and held the trident in her lap to get a closer look.

It was only a few inches shorter than she was, she reckoned, and a beautiful, brilliant gold. The prongs were barbed and wickedly sharp, and the middle prong rose taller than those on either side. The bottom of the staff was also sharp, though not barbed, and her immediate thought was that it would make a great hiking staff. But then she remembered her dream. Maris was a champion now, and she had a duty to fulfill. This was to be her weapon.

Fully awake now, the implications of her dream hit her for the first time since she awoke. The Sandmire had never been a religious group, thieving, conniving grifters as they were, but their general agnosticism did nothing to deter Maris from accepting her dream as reality immediately. She stood using her trident and strode quickly to her tent, her nightdress sopping wet and probably see-through by now. Luckily, no one in her part of the camp had stirred, and she took care to not wake her family either when she entered her tent. She moved behind the tall dressing panel, stripped out of her drenched nightdress, and dressed quickly in the day clothes she removed from her trunk, a red undershirt with tan pants and a long yellow tunic. She draped her long red scarf across her shoulders and stepped out from behind the panel. She grabbed her leather knapsack and slipped her leather shoes on as she left the tent. Now she needed supplies. Her knapsack already carried her needle and thread, flint and steel, and canteen, but for the rest she was going to need to raid the supplies tent. And for that, she’d need to overcome the two guards that sat at its entrance.

The girl sneaked in between the many tents, taking a roundabout way to the supplies tent in the center of the camp until she was nearly right behind it. She could sense the two guards at the front of the tent. She didn’t know if they were asleep or not, but she could feel them moving--ripples in the air emanated from them with every slight movement they made, even just the rise and fall of their chests. She grinned at this newfound power. Being a champion is going to have some great perks, she thought. But then her face fell. I know they’re there, but how am I going to get past them? I can’t kill them! They’ve done nothing wrong. She gripped her trident tightly to her chest, thinking. If only I could get in there without even using the entrance.

As suddenly as she thought it, she felt a cool liquid pool at her feet and she was slipping down into it. She at least had the presence of mind not to scream, but she was so startled that when she popped back up out of the puddle and found herself in the middle of the supplies tent, she dropped her trident on the rug-covered floor and fell over on her back. Sitting up, she looked at her feet with wide eyes and saw a small pool of water on the rug, rapidly receding into nothing. She felt the spot when it was gone. It was bone-dry, as if the water had never been there at all. She wanted to giggle with excitement, but now that her newfound powers had brought her here, she needed to get packing.

Maris ended up taking three two-inch spools of thread, several yards of off-white scrap cloth, a long length of sturdy rope, a shortbow and quiver with twenty arrows, a pouch of salt to dry her own meat, and as much food as she could stuff into the remaining space of the knapsack. She used her puddle to pop back out of the tent and snuck her way back down to the riverbank. She filled her canteen and took several generous handfuls of the water before standing back up and swinging her knapsack over her shoulders. She wouldn’t say goodbye to her family. She had fought with them for long enough--they’d be glad to wake up and see her bedroll empty. One less troublesome mouth to feed. She’d only never left before because she couldn’t come up with a concrete reason why. Now she had one. She was Locke’s Champion, and she would win her Titan the war.

The wind would have flown through his hair--if he had any at all. Ursu had of course become used to being bald, but the elements spared him no expense as he rode on horseback. The sky was murky, the landscape more so, and he Ursu suddenly felt tired. How long has it been? he asked himself as the putrid stink of the Rotten River wafted from ahead of him. To leave the mountainous Crags he had lived in for the last several years, he travelled eastward; to go directly north would have faced him with ranges that not even the Cizero monks had traversed. It wasn't the terrain itself, but rather a stronghold of legend, that was speculated to have been carved out of the mountain-faces themselves. The monks, as curious as ever, wished to investigate, but after the 4th exploration party didn't return, they resolved to leaving the area miles north of their monastery left unexplored.

Ursu was lost in his reverie; he almost didn't notice that his horse how ran along a small footpath leading to the Rotten River. Unfortunately being dubbed so due to the amount of Ecaptre that lived around the riverbanks--though moderately intelligent for an animal species, they were brutish. For a young buck to become the Captrassar, leader, of their tribe, they had to challenge the existing one to a battle. They fought to the death, and the defeated one's body was drowned in the river. With the amount of unfortunate usurpers there were every year, this meant a very horrid smell, and a very unpleasant ride for Ursu. He sighed, worried that breathing through his mouth would make his breath smell, a small worry of his. Does it matter? After being here for so long, I'll need to shower for a week anyway. He soldiered on, watching the grey surface of the river pace northwest sluggishly. The rapidly decomposing bodies of the ecaptre reduced the river to sludge. It was tragic to see.

He directed his horse to continue northward. He planned to travel to Lamoor, the Twilight city--it was said that the kingdom was so large and bustling, at night it shined brighter than the moons in the sky. He wished to see it himself. Three years in a monastery makes you a little slow on social interaction. After Lamoor, he intended to travel back to the village that started his journey--to hopefully inspire some peace to quell their chaotic hearts. It'd been so long...he was quite excited to see how they'd gotten on. His mother, his old friends, even those at the Ocean's Mist...Ursu's countenance darkened slightly. He didn't know how he felt about facing them again. Would they laugh? Heed his words? Perhaps even follow him? Ursu dreamed momentarily of being a leader, with thousands rallying to follow his teachings and ideals. He felt humbled--surely his destiny wasn't as grand as that.

Yet the dream...the dream he'd had a few nights ago was fresh in his mind once again. Entertain me well, youngling. Or you’ll find yourself living to regret it. Ursu almost shivered. It seemed like a premonition to him. How was he to entertain a force that could communicate--and even cause him pain--in his dreams? He felt uneasy. The message was one thing, the powers were another.

He'd spent the first week after he'd had the dream trying to get a basic grip on his abilities. He quickly realised they revolved around absorbing the life force of other organisms, after a young passing monk, Ebba, aged 10 years right before their eyes. It was a sight to behold; normally a person would be dismayed at ageing within seconds. Ebba was simply glad he was too old for chores from then on. Ursu almost chuckled to himself. He would miss the monks at the monastery dearly. He'd made many friends in his comparatively short time there--some had been up there their entire lives. And yet, he had a feeling he would meet them all again. The sun stepped boldly out from behind a passing cloud. Hope! The young man looked towards the mountains he had left behind, as he spurred the horse on. We shall meet again!

After a few more hours of riding, and no escape from the rancid smell, which he'd now gotten used to, Ursu decided to break camp in a relatively close cave. Ecaptre weren't a threat there--they rarely left the riverbank for more than a few hundred feet. A small fire crackled, casting strange shadows on the walls, even as the sun blazed along the horizon. Sunset. He'd been riding all day--the inside of his thighs chaffed from the long journey. He wondered how many days he'd need to travel before reaching Lamoor. He'd reached the Rotten River in about a week, almost halfway there. With the flat land and sure path, it couldn't take him more than another seven days to reach the kingdom. He tried to relax his shoulders. In the time he had, Ursu saw no point in worrying about the future. For now, he wanted to hone his abilities.

While the initial loss of life had been a shock to him, he'd manage to transfer the energy he had absorbed over his time at the mountain and channel it into his malas beads. Each was about the size of his fist, and made of solid metal. They sat around his neck quite comfortably, when he'd gotten used to them. Now, he could move them around using only his mind. To some degree, at least, he said to himself as he removed the oversized necklace. Each ball thudded in the floor around him--as Ursu wore them, they flowed like a necklace; as soon as they came off, they became dead balls of metal. Not for much longer! Ursu grinned confidently. He would master the secrets of his magic. He just needed time. He'd already learned to stop the flow of life absorption from others, and could lift one ball with concentrated effort. He wasn't too sure why he choose to control his prayer beads, it simply seemed...apt to him. He had mastered the emotions that drove him through his past life. He wanted to master something in his current life too.

Ursu was nervous. Enough talk--do you train, or babble? He felt the familiar warmth of a link connecting him to the sphere, almost as if he held it in his arm. Focussing his entire mind on the ball, he tried to raise it up. A slight rumble, a movement! The sphere was lifted slightly, removing itself from the rock and dust around it. Spinning delicately, it seemed almost content to stay frozen in the air. Ursu flared with excitement. There! It held for the next few seconds, before it started shaking violently--not a moment later it threw itself back onto the gravel. Ursu was tempted to curse--his own excitement had gotten the better of him, and because of it he lost his most controlled attempt yet. Despite his frustration, Ursu grinned--it was possible. He was getting somewhere! After attempting for hours each day, when he woke and when he slept...his progress was finally being relieved. Like a seed in a fertile garden... he recalled his mentor, Beak, mentioning one summer eve. You can give it the most perfect conditions...and yet it never emerges from the soil until it is ready. All you can do is cultivate your garden, and be patient--that is when the best harvest is reaped!

Ursu chewed on these words. He didn’t feel like being a farmer today. Almost in a change of heart, he stacked the spheres neatly. Using the magic always tired him after. Perhaps my stamina would grow as my power does, Ursu pondered as he pulled out a small woolen pillow. He checked once again to confirm that his horse was tethered just inside the cave. It looked safe, and sound. Undoing his robes sleepily, the sky descended to purples and browns behind him. Ursu wondered about Lamoon, and its glowing city. He couldn’t wait to reach there, so he could shine a new light on it all.

Nalashira

Several Months Earlier



The words from the dream still rang through the young Maiden’s head as she looked into the glass circle which sat on her bed, a present from her Mother the night before. Elir Nazik had been her home for a decade and eight years and her thoughts of it had only ever reinforced her feelings. Never once had she felt herself to be an outcast. Not once did she feel as if her pale skin, so stark in contrast of that which all of those around her possessed, was that of an outsiders. She was always treated kindly by everybody around her, knowing nothing but love from her friends and family. Yet, those very words had come to Nala’s mind the night before she was to leave Elir Nazik. Was she truly never meant to return to this city, to see her Mother again? Her future had always been tied to this very place and her dream had shattered that future as if it were a glass mirror.

Her thoughts were interrupted as her mother walked into the small room, clad in the green and brown ceremonial wear that was required of her. ”Nalashira, daughter of mine, I can’t express how happy I am nor the fear I have for you in words alone. For eighteen years now I have raised you, watching your progress in the Academy closely even if you didn’t realize it. Today is a momentous occasion for you, the day when you set out to begin your Journey of ten years. I have faith that you will return to us, my only daughter,” She said as she approached, wrapping Nala in her arms once she was in range. Nala’s mother, Veneria, had done more than just comfort the tumultuous feelings which raged inside Nala for weeks. Veneria, the ever absent mother though she was, had calmed the storm of thoughts of the dream which Nala had the night before. Nala knew, no matter what, that she must come back to this woman who stood before her, the woman who she had called Mother for so long. No God or Spirit would stop her from coming back to Elir Nazik, to her Mother.

Veneria left Nala in her room, knowing full well that she would not see her daughter for ten years, and went down to the gates of Elir Nazik where the crowd of War Maidens waited for the daughters of Elir Nazik whose Journey would begin that day. Nala donned the cloth armor and leather armor which she had been provided by her Mother and took one final look at herself in the glass. This is me. I am Nalashira, daughter of Veneria and War Maiden of Elir Nazik. Her thoughts bolstered her confidence as she strode out of the house of her childhood, walking well now the path of maturity which had been set out before her. Her legs guided her down the streets of the oasis city, her destination being that of the Gates into the great desert. Nala arrived at the Gates and stood before the Elders of the War Maidens.

”Nalashira, daughter of Veneria,” croaked the old woman who stood in the center, ” we’ve gathered here to see you off on your Journey. It may well be the greatest ordeal you must endure, daughter of Veneria. As such, it is our greatest honor to present to you these items which have been prepared especially for you. Let you, dearest daughter of Elir Nazik, War Maiden, and Comrade of all her gathered, treat these well and return with them in your hands. May the Spirits guide you and lead you home when the time comes.”

Nalashira bowed, as she had been taught long ago and glanced over the items. Most of what was set before her were simply rations or camping gear. Yet, five items which sat on the ground before her. Two were swords, bearing the signs of the fine crafting that Elir Nazik was known for. The remaining three items were a bow and arrows, made from the palms which grew in Elir Nazik, as well as a leather quiver to hold them. The young Maiden gather up her gear and slid them into place as if they were nothing new. ”Elders, Maidens,” Nala said with a brief pause as she turned towards her Mother, ” my revered Mother, I thank you all for this gifts which you have bestowed upon me. I shall be sure to think of Elir Nazik whenever I fight. I vow on the Spirits that I shall return in ten years time. May the Spirits protect you all while I am gone.”

The War Maidens parted the path for Nala to walk out of the gates. Before her stood the desert which surrounded her home of eighteen years, a tribe native to them waiting to lead her on her way out. The sun stared down at her as if it were an eye watching her. Long had she looked up at it in her years before that day, a constant view in the expansive desert that was her home. Nala knew not what it would be like beyond the desert but knew that this day had been one long in the making. She would meet new people and encounter creatures she had never before seen. Her heart hammered in her chest as she took the final step beyond the gates of Elir Nazik, knowing full well that she would not see them for ten years.

Present Time



Nala shook in her bedroll at the thought of those words from the night before, the ones which echoed about her head as she dreamed. Surely they were not words which implied that she would die, that was not the Fate meant for her. At least, she hoped that her Fate was not to die again and again for the amusement of these so called Titans. She would fight her Fate a thousand times over even if it meant waging war on the very beings who sought to kill her only for amusement. They were no Gods or Spirits, Nala knew not what they truly were, and thus she had no intent on letting them lead her life. She rose from her spot on the cold ground, stretching as she stood, and walked over to the clear water of the lake nearby. Her hair had grown longer since she left Elir Nazik, falling nearly down to her shoulder blades.

The lake water was cold but felt nice as Nala bathed in it, letting the cold water cleanse her mind of the horrid dream she had earlier. Her mind instead turned towards the tower in the distance. She had traveled many miles from the town of Lebury to find this tower, Andale they called it. She knew not what she had hoped to find there but had wished to see what it was on her way to the city of Thrayheath that she had heard about in Lebury. Nala walked out of the lake’s water, letting the cool, morning air dry her off before she slipped on her armor. Outside of her homeland, she looked vastly different from the men and women around her who wore metal armor. She felt like an outsider and had taken to only entering villages and towns when she needed supplies.

But, Nala felt freer than she had ever been in Elir Nazik. Long had she been forced to live by the rules of the Elders, the women who had determined that war against the Tribes of the desert was better than peace. She no longer had to fear killing people who had done no wrong. Nala was free to spend her time doing whatever she wish, which often meant singing while she traveled from place to place or practicing her archery. There was no pressure to wake up early, to start her training, nor to patrol the walls and watch for hostile Tribes. She was finally free and could go anywhere she wished. Thus, she turned her eyes towards Andale Tower and packed up her supplies, slinging her wooden backpack on as she started to walk towards the tower. She knew not what she’d find there but she was certain that she’d be there after the sun was fully up.

Night had fallen once more upon Galorand, the moon parting the clouds with a gentle red glow, a sight not quite befitting the peaceful kingdom. The only entities still roaming the streets below were late-working dockhands and the odd stray animal; all others had scurried inside, wishing to remain covered from the rain that smacked the brick walkways with considerable force. Porch sconces were extinguished, and lantern-carrying guards were far and few between at that hour; the only light came from the heavens above. Suddenly, a third-story window in the west wing of what could be called a small manor lit up with a sparking rainbow of colors as smoke billowed out steadily. The sounds of thunder punctuated the explosions echoing out of the vine-covered home, and a crazed cackle followed by a booming yell of triumph rang out...

"Ahahahaaa! Alive! It's ALIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! HAHAHAHA!"

With a satisfied smile, Merasmus spun around and put his precious potted springleaf stalk back on its shelf next to its blooming brothers and sisters, fully recovered from its formerly-withered state. He was absolutely delighted: His revival serum actually worked, and only with minor-severe damage to his equipment! Take THAT, Professor Garmesworth! One CAN fully restore withered vegetation without the use of coal dust! No more shall the good people of Galorand be forced to cure their vegetables that they grew with that quack, Machosky's, coal-based growth injections! Grabbing his journal, Merasmus hastily recorded the success of his experiment, and the alchemical composition of his serum. This was a most happy day indeed! He would need to celebrate...TO THE BRANDY CABINET!

After grabbing the best-aged bottle in his reserves, Merasmus strode with pride to his parlor, stoked the fires until they roared excellently, and sat down with his latest book in hand. Merasmus liked this one quite a bit. It was about a large group of mercenaries traveling all around a snowy land, battling it out with witchmen, hulking frost giants, and of course, their own hearts. "Such a lovely tale..." thought Merasmus. "...and such adventure! Perhaps one day I, too, shall find myself exploring frozen landscapes and encountering strange, new creatures!" Merasmus wondered about the lands outside of Galorand. Not that he didn't know what land was where, of course, he read all about the surrounding kingdoms, but he had never been to any of them himself. One cannot experience a thing by just reading about it, even Merasmus realized this. A book does not let you hear the accents of the native people, or taste of their cuisine, or explore their architecture. But Merasmus was so busy with his university work, how would he ever find the time to get out and travel? Perhaps he would just have to take a temporary leave. His colleagues would understand, surely, and besides, he has definitely earned some time off! But he would need to leave such thoughts for another time, as the hours grew later and later as he read...or perhaps it was the brandy. Either way, it was off to bed with Merasmus.

In his sleep, Merasmus dreamed of a figure. They spoke to Merasmus, calling him their champion. Ah yes, Rennigan, of course. Yes yes, ruling the earth, bring glory and such other things. Merasmus also felt a strange power coursing through him. An all too familiar presence, the same that he felt during that debate all those years ago. He already knew how to use his powers of suggestion; perhaps now that he was an "official" champion, they were being amplified by Rennigan? Yes, of course, that was the only logical conclusion. What? Dream? No, this is no dream! Merasmus does not DREAM, for he is beyond such childish happenings! No, this was obviously a once-thought-long-dead supernatural entity speaking to Merasmus. What!? CRAZY!? Do you know of whom you speak to!? I am MERASMUS, scholar and man of science! Quit multiplying, you are loud enough as it is!

Merasmus jolted upright, eyes half-open, and still rambling drearily at the quintuplets that were making fun of his nose. Rubbing his eyes clear so he could get a better look at the scoundrels, Merasmus was met only with the silence of his bedroom, being broken infrequently by the faint laughter of small children and the inaudible words of the local gossips drifting in from the open window to his right. Looking up at his Chill clock, Merasmus deciphered that it was nearly noon! Good thing the next Committee meeting wasn't until tomorrow! That would have been embarrassing indeed, for an academic heavy such as himself to be late for a Committee meeting. "Hm, perhaps it would be good to get some fresh air after spending all of last night experimenting." thought Merasmus out loud. "Yes, definitely, staying cooped up for so long gives me headaches! I am no tower-dwelling wizard!" With that, Merasmus grabbed his bag of books, alchemical satchel, general goods bag, and his weathered but trusty staff and headed out the door of his home into the misty streets of Galorand, with no objective on his mind other than strolling about the city.