Short Stories & Sagas

The Polis of Lenes thrives off the storm songs of the Siren Sea. Living in the island nation are many Sunwalkers and Triton who have cohabitated the island for many years. However due to the constant storms, Keranos worship is prominent in this area, and many have adopted an epiphany-driven view of rain, with art and culture exploding on work-breaks and days off.

The origin of this culture is as such.

A month-long storm had been ravaging Lenes, which survived off of the maritime trade and seafood to feed their people. This unexpected storm, to many, was seen as an unconquerable struggle. With many resigning themselves to the booming rains and crackling thunder. When the desperation of the people of Lenes had reached its peak, they decided upon sacrificing a young woman. Her last wish was to sing one final song so that it's whails may eternally live upon the Siren Sea.

A Triton man in the water below, captivated by this woman's cerulean eyes and celestial voice, rescued the woman and returned her to shore. Upon seeing the suffering of the people of Lenes the Triton man understood what he needed to do. The storm ravaged on and the waves crashed along the shore, their white waters threatening any that got near.

So the man sung her song in his language. He spoke and plead with the abundant fish, who had not been hunted for a month, and sent them to crash on the white-water shores. The people of Lenes followed suit. Song, dance, and art was made during the endless storm, and as the blue eye passed over Lenes: there was finally peace and food, if even for but a moment during the storm.

The names of the lovers are long forgotten, but their song is still sung on the shores of Lenes during even the lightest rain.

"I wish not for the end of rain, I pray not for a broken wind, I love not for bridled lightning; Rain on the crops within Lenes' plain, Wind in the sails that have not sinned, Lightning from gods: enlightening"

You walk through a field, one you could have sworn you have walked through hundreds of times but this time something is...Different.

A large hill, larger than anything you have ever seen. On one side a great forest seems to grow on it. Tree’s growing higher than any you have seen before.

As you walk on it you feel something strange, the hard ground under you clinks and clanks against the floor as if it was metal. As you reach the top, you are met with what looks like a giant helmet, a faint glow coming from it, as you come forward a voice emerges from the head.

"Come Closer, Child. I wish to speak to you..."

In a rustic broken and faint voice, the voice of one fallen but not defeated

“I have done wrong to many, and thus I am stuck here, Broken…. All I wish is for my Power to be used for action.. Please reach into me and take some of my Power, Ichor.”

you reach in the eye socket of its head and take a handful of a glistening almost gold like liquid pooled in it, a flame still glowing on its surface,

“Please, Child. Drink from the liquid. You will gain great power that will only grow along with you, All that I ask of you is that you use this power to change the world…”

You take a sip, and feel a pulse of magical power greater than you have ever felt or seen before, it makes its way into every vein of your body and it fills it with a determination not felt before, from just a sip. You keep taking sips, then gulps, then it is finished. you feel the pure raw magic of Ichor, said to be the blood of gods themselves, flowing though you

"I Am Grateful..."

the now familiar voice said, sounding the slightest bit more quiet.

then it hits you. One day this great being will give and give until there is no more left for it to give, its flame glowing slightly more and more quiet as the essence that once fueled it is given to those who can take action for it. You get a feeling that this being you have encountered knows this as well, and just hopes the few actions it can take in its broken and bound state will be for good. You leave the metal giant in good faith, fresh godly magic still flowing through your veins, as the flickering of flames slowly gets more and more quiet.

All that you can hope for it is that one day, A god might bleed again, and that blood will be used to fuel the giant once more... but you do not know if the gods will ever bleed again.

Long ago, deep within the mountainous forests of Theros, lay a wild orchard dedicated to the revelry of the satyrs, where the could bask in the shade from the harsh rays of Heliod’s light. Here they laughed, danced, and were merry. This joy radiated among the lands as their laughter carried all the way to Nyx itself. This attracted the attention of many of the gods, where they looked upon the orchards and could not help but feel joy themselves. It also attracted the ire of others, namely the cyclops, Argeos, for he, the largest of is kin, could not come to the orchard and bask in the delight. Bitter from his constant time within the sun and the natural anger of his kind, he stared endlessly at the orchards in rage. But all knew, a cyclops’s rage was never silent for long. One day, in retaliation for the joy he could not feel, he strode towards the beloved trees and laid waste to it. Stomping, flinging, and bellowing his frustrations, Argeos decimated all that was held in joy and merriment. Little did the colossus know that he would draw the endless contempt of the deities that held the joy and abandon so dear. Many would punish the behemoth, but he drew the pity of one god. The lady of the harvest saw not the destruction of the orchard, but a miserable soul just wishing to be a part of something it could not. She came to the cyclops and gave him a choice, either feel the wrath of the gods or finally feel for himself the merriment that he had yearned for so long. As a simple creature he chose the latter. The curse took effect immediately. His limbs became branches, his feet became roots, and his ever-watching eye finally found the shade beneath a crown of leaves. Argeos had become the orchard regrown, with his massive structure being the canopy and protection for the lesser trees that would soon bloom again within the forest. Those who now came to the orchard could now feast upon Argeos’s fruit. These eye-like fruit allowed its consumer to relish in the joy the giant now felt, yet also gaining the everlasting, vigilant watch that the cyclops once had.

After the Cyclops's rampage in the old forest of the gods, Purphoros was one of the many to be filled with sorrow. Looking over the decimated forest, at the flattened trunks and ironed-out branches and leaves, Purphoros decided to bring new life to the old trees. The god of fire and forge cleared out the damaged and old forest and decided to create an armor for the newfound protectors of the forest that Karametra would create. As strong as Akrosian Adamantine and as lighter than Skophosian Mithril, it's said the original Emberwood Armor could not be burned or broken. However, even more powerful than the legendary armor Purphoros created, was the precedent he set. That armor made of wood could be as strong and potent as various forms of metal armor. Druids of all the lands would learn the trade of woodsmithing in order to bolster their defensive capabilities, while also respecting the nature around them by not tarnishing it with fabricated metals. These emberwood smiths would always think of the sorrow of the decimated gods forest when creating their respective medium and heavy armors.

Long long ago, Purphuros had just created his first pair of anvilwrought creatures by molding and breathing life into metal to make assistants, dwarves and gnomes, humanoids that were smaller than the other mortal races so that they wouldn't crowd his forge. Purphuros was so pleased with his assistants that he began to make as many as he could. Phenax had heard tales of Purphuros' new creations and saw that he was engrossed in his project, and mixed clay and dust into the pile of metal before Purphuros used it all up. Once the anvilwrought had cooled though, what Purphuros saw was creatures made of flesh and he smashed his hammer onto them in anger. The blow tossed the two new races throughout the Katachthon Mountains where they began to craft Bragn to appease his wrath. Upon seeing the capital city, Purphuros' anger subsided and he decided to bless them with different methods to improve their craft. Since then, no other race has been able to best them in metalworking and Bragn continues to be a craftsman's paradise.

Gnomes hold their origin to a strange rock known simply as the Mirror. Hidden deep within Bragn lies the Mirror, which holds strange properties to it and it’s reflective surface. Discovered long ago by a pair of humans deep within the bowels that one day would form Bragn, this stone has the ability to change whoever looks upon it. These changes are all physical and what happened to the pair of humans were that they saw their reflection bent and warped, and looking down noticed that the strange fey magic had changed their own appearance to that of the mirrored reflection. This left them aghast in horror and morbid curiosity. Their cries of help were even warped, so as others came to aid the weeping pair all they could hear was “Oh, Gnome!”. Or at least this is the tale shared by the gnomes of the Bragn around the strange mirror stone that they hold so sacred.

Hundreds of years ago, Nylea ruled supreme. Before the apex of Purphoros giving man bronze or Karametra, destroying her beautiful forests for agriculture. Before Atropos and Erebos folly allowed Phenax to unleash the Returned upon the world. Then Heliod and the other decided to advance man beyond his raw primal, hunter gatherer state. This angered Nylea. Angrily, she brooded plotting her revenge against this affront to nature when she finally reached a solution. She created a magical acorn and called upon her followers who like her were angered at man's folly. As they approached, they also noticed a swarm of red and blue dragons had gathered as well. Nylea spoke,

"For too long now, the populace of this world have betrayed there roots and started living like herds, in small contained pens, with the blasphemy of domesticated beasts, the weapons they use to carve the forest, where the dryads scream out to me in agony as there home and the tree there mortal souls are bound to are cleaved down. Beasts are being hunted, no longer out of necessity, but for sport. Enough is enough, you will be working with the dragons to bring low man. As we care not for the riches of civilization that was the bargain, they take whatever they may like for there hordes, as long as they help us lay these disgraces low. In addition they have offered to gift us with some of there lesser drake children. Some of you will be chosen to become part of the Order of the Drake, a new religious order who pays heed to me for brokering this deal. Ehlonna, you my demigod child, you have been chosen to lead this charge and thus as such I gift you this sacred quiver, crafted by my hands as a coming of age present from divine mother, to nigh divine child. Go forth and spread my wrath."

]

And with those utterances Nylea cast down an acorn that embedded in the ground and given life through divine means, started to sprout, growing rapidly. Now civilization was forced to deal with this threat on more than one front. The tree as it grew the roots grew too and shattered the foundations of cities spreading new greenery behind it.. Along with the rapidly encroaching forests being spread by the Mother Tree, as it came to be known, they had to deal with the Order of the Drake, and wild beasts attacking them and there herds. Humanity was desperate and called unto the Gods to save them from Nylea. Purphoros was the only one who listened. He was annoyed at his sister's attack against some of his sacred temples and thus when the Mother Tree had spread to Mt. Vesois it became a battle of epic proportions. Purphoros ultimately came out victorious, the Order of the Drake was crushed and scattered (though rumors indicate there are a few splinter cells formed from the survivors continue in secrecy to this day, though nothing concrete has been discovered yet), and remnants of the Mother Tree blew across the world, scattered on the wind. Legends told by the Temple Forges of Purphoros indicate if the necessary resources and components can be brought to Purphoros forge, by one of his most devout followers, he could forge a weapon that would be spoken about as mythological for eons.

These peculiar magical items are said to be the creation of the master illusionist, Sarcari, and his seven apprentices. Bestowed with the power to amplify the showmanship and prowess of the illusionary arts, these items and their wielders became subject of many wizards and other magical practitioners. They, however, like so many things meant for the good of the world, fell to the tempting whispers of damnation. A pair was stolen by a mischievous warlock who wanted to enhance her eldritch lances that she would use to intimidate and destroy those who opposed her. So, Sarcari and his disciples decided that their craft was not meant for the world as they could easily once again fall to evil ways. Using the masterful illusions that they perfected, they hid the items throughout Theros where only the most whimsical and good-hearted would find them and if they too were brought towards the path of that hazardous warlock, they would fade for eternity. That being said, many of these items are now dust and memory, with only a few left in the world to be claimed

Legend tells of a poor soul named Yronimus. In life he was gifted with the brushwork that could retell any scene that the mortal witnessed. So sought after by scholars and nobles alike for his skill, Yronimus found wealth and fame with ease. With this gift however, so came jealousy. A particular jealous sort was the fervent type and a follower of Phenax. He was gifted a wish that would see the ruin of Yronimus at the cost of his own creativity, which he took gladly. That day Yronimus came home to carnage. All his wealth was in ruin, his family lay dead and strewn about in pieces, and his life’s work, those paintings he held most dear were aflame. He withered into a mortal shell that day, tearing his eyes from the flesh, and now cursed with his immortal gift, he continues to paint in his very blood the scenes of his destruction. It is said that any who possess these accursed paintings, known as the Throes of Yronimus, gains a dream spell, but at the cost of a terrible nightmare. Those who possess the now golden eyes of Yronimus gain true sight and an eidetic memory.

As the blood of Peaelophos dripped into the ravine by Alitheia, the iron thickened and coalesced. The river fed into a shallow marshland, where a long-forgotten village lie. In that marshland, there was a farmer named Yasei, who grew the simplest of pale-white lotus flowers. Yasei was a simple dragonborn woman, who was in love with the King of Akros.

One day, the King of Akros made a declaration.

"I seek a mighty wife. If there are any who believed themselves capable to handle my Iroan will and my Iron fist, while still standing beside me as a woman of dedication and valor, I shall see you."

Thousands of women flocked to the capital, and for many years Yasei's admiration grew from afar. A year later, the King of Akros made another declaration.

There are no mighty women who reach me, so I will search my land for them, for the Polis of Akros must have the mightiest among them.

Learning that the King of Akros would be coming to every village until he found a wife, the women of Akros tried a thousand ways to impress him. Yasei, praying to overcome her destiny, checked on her pale lotuses only to find that the iron from Paelophos' blood had been absorbed by the flowers, creating a sleek and metal flower. Yasei brought the iron lotus to the King when he came to visit, and became one of the many rulers of Akros, a long time ago.

Once upon a time, there once was a hunter, Paelophos, who had sought out the aid of Alitheia, the Sphinx. He wanted her aid to seek vengeance on the one who slaughtered his husband. So he climbed deep into the sprawling river ravines to the cliffside retreat of Alitheia. There he knelt before the Sphinx and begged for her aid in his goals. She would then give him three tests. The first was a test to see if he had the steadiness of arm to aim the arrow. He was required to travel to lowest point of the ravine and retrieve one of the fish there in the raging rivers by spear. This he did unwavering. The second test was of strength of will.
Deep within that raging river he stood as the tides forced him to stand line a strong cypress. This he did unmoving. The third was the hardest of the trials, as it was the test of the heart and a test Paelophos did not know was in front of him. It was the strength of heart. As he drew back the bow, the man thought only of his husband’s body, mangled before him. This test he passed, undoing. The arrow shot into the skies, disappearing into the clouds above.
Paelophos has only a moment with the tear escaping his weary eyes before the target found true. The arrow hand found home with the heart of the wicked and Paelophos now lay dead in the cliffs, having avenged the deed he had committed in his fit of rage. To honor the commitment of Paelophos, Alitheia crafted three more arrows to commemorate the man’s will. There, within her hidden sanctum, she guards them for any who wish.

There is a tale in legend and lore of a group of Atea’s worshippers known as Rainwalkers. These individuals are selected from the best of the best when it comes to stealth and subterfuge as they are tasked with an elusive task none shall know of.

They have only been seen once in the short time of Atean worship, where they were seen exiting a lich’s sanctum with his phylactery in tow. None knows how they made it through the magical defenses and monsters the lich held as his bastion, but these few vanished moments later never to be seen again.

It is said that Atea gave them a gift for their recovery of the artifact. The ability to become as their namesake and turn into the very mist they travelled in. They now serve as one of Atea’s tools against the cruel and stoic. For all shall feel pain, as she has decreed.

In the time of the ancestors of our ancestors our people were greater than they are now, they stood much taller and they wielded power with the very words they carved into the stones. They served only Nylea and considered all other gods and their servants as intruders to be dealt with harshly. In their power they were prideful and they did not heed the words of the gods, so the gods punished them for their hubris. The mountains themselves shook with the anger of the gods and the people knew that their end was near, the most proud among them stood their ground at the top of the mountains and defied even this wrath but the more humble fled down from the peaks.

The wrath of the gods followed them, there were great avalanches and rockfalls which even these great folk could not survive. Desperate the survivors moved further down seeking any sort of safety. As they descended from the rocky slopes into the highest meadows they came across flocks of sheep grazing and a shepherd of the lowland people, in these days they were larger than we are today and he hardly came up to their knees. Some of the desperate giants said they should eat the shepherd for they were starving. Those who had begun to learn the lesson of humility said they should only eat the sheep. One old woman, who had seen a spark of pity in the eyes of the goddess Karametra stood before the sheep and the shepherd and said they should instead ask for hospitality and shelter. Although the most mighty among them felt this was an insult to their strength they would not harm one of their own to get at the sheep so they had no choice but to stand as she asked for hospitality from the man of the lowlands.

Seeing their humility the shepherd spoke hidden words of power and the sheep became clouds that rose up and hid our ancestors from the wrathful eyes of the gods. The chieftains of our ancestors saw this and were amazed. They sat with the shepherd and spoke with him as an equal and made rules of hospitality and peace between themselves and the weak lowland people. And that is why even to this day we guard the high mountains and why each spring we permit the shepherds of the low valleys bring their flocks up to our fine meadows to graze.

If you are to travel through the Croton Forest you should know of the bear that lives there, for it is dangerous in its fury and your weapons will be useless against it. There was once a great athlete who trained every day to make himself stronger, strong enough for the Iroan games. One day when he was walking through the forest he saw a tree that had been split by Keranos' bolt. He tested his strength against the tree to split it in half, telling himself that he would prove his strength greater than the thunder god. But his hubris angered Keranos who made the trunk snap back together trapping the wrestler. He prayed to Iroas but the gods are reluctant to undo the work of their fellow gods against those who are impious against them. For a day and a night he was trapped.

Then when wolves came to eat the helpless man he prayed in desperation to wild Nylea. She did not care for the opinion of Keranos and she answered his prayer in her own way, she turned him into a wild bear of great might which clawed its way free and scared the wolves away. Mindless with rage and sorrow he prayed to Iroas again and this time his god could answer him in part without defying another; when he faced an honorable challenge of strength he could become a man again until the test was complete. So if you meet the Great Bear you must lay down your weapons and offer to wrestle with it, no man has ever won this match but he will defeat you with honor and not eat you. It is said that if you show great courage and honor he may even warn you of dangers or tell you of hidden things in the forest before Nylea takes him again and he becomes a bear once more.