Chapter 2: Vale,
over 1,000 years ago.
A Venus Adept, green-eyed and golden haired, stood on the foothills of Mt. Aleph, watching the fireworks of the Festival. He sifted some of Aleph's golden earth through his fingers, savouring the silky touch of psynergy-imbued soil. The Festival of Weyard, or Vale, as some named it, had started, and it was considered to be by far the most important holiday in the world. Every Adept from every village, town, and city came to Vale to celebrate Alchemy and its blessings. The Elders of each elemental capital, Imil, Lilyvera, Prox, and Anemos, gathered with the Elders of Vale to discuss the future, and political matters, such as trading, relations, and weather. The children gathered and participated in fun and games, squealing with delight as they consumed various candies and sweets. They were always sport competitions, and rivalries have developed between the capitals, Prox and Imil, especially. The greatest sports champions were awarded the title of Magnus Olympius and were revered as the peak of physical capability.
The Adept stood, and began walking towards the sound of music at the Festival of Weyard. He passed a group of practicing swordsman, and gave a curt nod of acknowledgment, which they returned with a swift sword salute. He smiled, and continued on his walk. He passed the Elder of his hometown, Lilyvera, hurrying to the Council, looking harried and tired. The Elder, noting his presence, bowed and said his name. The Adept, Orior, bowed deeply in return.
Meanwhile, the daughter of the Anemosian King stood in a battle position in a forest, far removed from the hustle and bustle of the Fair. She held a long rapier in her hand, the pommel resting easily on her inside wrist, so that her palm was facing the sky. With a deep look of concentration, she casted Whirlwind and blew the fallen limb of a nearby tree off its perch. As the branch descended, she exploded into action. In one motion, she lunged forward and cast Destruct Ray, imbuing her blade with all the crackling power of a magnetic storm. Said blade impaled the branch, which promptly blackened and burst. As charred and smoking pieces of bark fell around her, Shamira lowered the blade and turned to leave, a satisfied smile accenting her elfish features. She paced back to the fair with long, steady strides.
The resident magician and enchantress of Imil, highborn and proud, wandered beside the stream that meandered through Vale. Its path eventually led her into a sunlight forest, and she took her time, enjoying the way the light dappled the earthen floor. But the peace she so loved was suddenly shattered by a resounding explosion. Curious, and a bit apprehensive, she stealthy stole closer to investigate, passing from bush to bush without a sound. In a clearing she found a Proxian, well-built and covered by the expected draconic s4cales, apparently training. He first cast Blast into the air, which was the explosion she heard, she decided. This caused Vermin and other small creatures to dart from they're hiding places and run for more cover. The Proxian then would track them, and then, at the proper moment, cast Heat Wave and roast them. Thinking it quite barbaric, but morbidly fascinated nonetheless, the Imilian rested behind a nearby tree to watch the proceedings. Again, the Proxian repeated the process, scaring and roasting until the Vermin became scarce as they grew wary to his ploys. He grew frustrated as repeated Blasts drew nothing, and in his frustration cast Nova. A gargantuan explosion rocked the forest, deafening and blinding the poor blue-haired woman, and startling the largest group of Vermin yet. As the Imilian regained her sight, she noticed with growing horror that the pack of Vermin had darted directly in front of her hiding place. As the expected Heat Wave was fired and launched towards her, she knew she had to defend herself. Casting Deluge, she unleashed a torrent of water in front of her, colliding with the Heat Wave in a hissing roar, as steam rapidly rose and enveloped the forest. Startled, the Proxian stopped his attack and went to investigate, unwittingly following the same action that had placed the Imilian in her present predicament. The Imilian, too, let up her psynergy and approached.
"Hello?" The Proxian said cautiously as he walked. He had a deep, rough voice that echoed inside of his chest, and at 6'6'', he dwarfed the relatively smallish 5'7'' Imilian, who was feeling very apprehensive.
"Hello…" The Imilian responded tentatively. "I heard the commotion and wandered down to see what it was… one of your Heat Wave attacks was heading towards me, so I countered with Deluge. I'm sorry if I interrupted your training." She added quickly.
"Not at all, Imilian. I can't call you that can I? Would you allow me the pleasure of your name?" He extended his hand. "I'm Cinaed."
"Maris." She said, and they shook, forging the first bonds of a friendship that would last hundreds of years.
"Magnus Olympius." Shamira thought to herself as she polished her blade, "Most coveted title for the common person." She snarled. "Common person! I shall win at least one title, perhaps swordsmanship. Or womanship, in this case." She smiled to herself. "Well, let's see how I do." She walked into the Colossus for her first match.
Shamira leapt in the air with the help of her Jupiter Psynergy, and came crashing down, tip first, into her scrambling opponent. He just managed to escape it, and thrust his blade forward, aiming for Shamira's face. She leapt along the length of his blade, and knocked it out of his hand with her hilt. Disarmed and defenceless, the Adept yielded to Shamira's sword. "Hah," She thought triumphantly, "This is all too easy."
During the next round, Shamira just as easily defeated her opponent. And the next. And the next. Soon enough, she was in the final round, facing a tall and proud Lilyveran, who brandished the standard sword, two-sided, long and vicious. "Its slower than my blade," Shamira thought, "Yet stronger and stouter. No matter. I'll win." They saluted, and a Blast psynergy from the Mars Adept judge signalled the start of the round. Immediately, her opponent cast Gaia to launch himself in the air, mimicking her standard start of a flying attack. With utter surprise, Shamira met her rival in midair, where they exchanged a furious barrage of slashes, their blades barely visible as the force of their fury formed a spinning cyclone of air around them. In her element, Shamira reinforced the wind and allowed it to sweep her behind her opponent for an unexpected attack. He swept his blade against his back, parrying her blade and forcing it aside. Their dance resumed as they slowly sank to the ground, a dust cloud beginning to form below them. Shamira realized a dust cloud would obscure her sight and help her Earth-element enemy. She hastily cast Whirlwind to blow away the sand, but that was the opening the other had been waiting for. A sharp thrust of his blade nearly caught her, but she snapped her head back and swept his blade and her own to the sky. With the speed only belonging to Anemosians, she readied herself, and cast Impact, strengthening her power. As they began their furious tirade once more, Shamira was startled to hear her opponent speak. "You're good, Shamira of Anemos. But can you defeat Orior of Lilyvera?"
"I think so." Shamira responded, and they resumed their battle in earnest.
---
Exhausted, Orior's wanderings eventually brought him to the Archives, the gathering place for the scholars of Weyard. Orior entered, and a hush immediately fell upon his ears. It was a musty silence, of tales and stories rotted by time, forgotten by the world yet held preserved here. The silence in the vast courtyard seemed to absorb all sound, and the few torches barely penetrated the darkness within. Eyes peered at Orior as he proceeded through the Archives; eyes concealed by heavy books many pages thick, books drawn from shelves that stretched over one hundred feet high. It was a humbling place, where one felt small and insignificant in the presence of such knowledge and immensity. Seeking a place to converse with a scholar about matters at hand, he walked to the back of the Archives, a walk that took a full two-hundred breathes, or ten minutes. Finally, he found a secluded alcove between the wall and two shelves, where a scholar slightly older than him sat. He had metallic hair that wreathed his head and neck in a silvery fog, a strange hair only surpassed by his grey eyes, which had a prismatic quality to them, meaning they caught and reflected the light of their surroundings. The figure was cloaked in a thick mantle, deepest black melting to the same silver of his hair on the inside. His hand lay upon an open book, its writing Orior deemed to be ancient runes, runes that are different to each Clan. He sat across from the figure and asked him what he was reading.
"Texts of the Anemosians," he replied, "It details the history of the city of Anemos, of course. But this is what I am interested in," he lifted another book from the ground beside him, "it is a chronicle of Argyros the Great, queller of war, immortal champion, founder of Vale, Adept of the Void, the Unaligned, and wielder of Sol Aurarius. He lived of two thousand years ago, and conquered Weyard, ending the War of Alchemy." He considered what he had said. "Nay, conquered is an ill-sounding word. He united Weyard, and proved to be a good and just ruler."
Orior sat thinking about what this odd scholar had just said. The legendary Argyros, founder of Vale and uniter of the land. He had been quite charismatic, and the people flocked to him, or so the stories tell. After years of warfare he had defeated his enemy, Gazimonus, in a fierce duel on top of Mt. Aleph. Stories say that their blows smashed as thunder and their blood flowed into the earth. Gazimonus was bested, and he yielded to the tip of Argyros' blade. But in mercy, Argyros spared him, and even helped him to his feet. His gesture of mercy was mocked and betrayed by Gazimonus, who drew his sword and attempted to slay Argyros, but slipped, perhaps at the will of the earth itself, and fell through the peak of mount Aleph. Tales say that there was a black abyss, from which Gazimonus' dying scream could be heard, as he attempted to grasp the earth for purchase, but he failed:
"CURSE YOU! Curse you, Argyros! I will one day return to wreck havoc upon your descendents and any pathetic remnants of your kingdom! CURSE YYYOOOOUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuu……"
The scholar went on. "To commemorate his unification of Weyard, Argyros built a Temple to the Sun in Mt. Aleph, called Sol Sanctum, and founded Vale around it. It's very well known now, and many go there to make offerings and pray. Hoping to reflect the power and goodness of Argyros, the Council, unbeknownst to the people, have rebuilt the other shrines that were destroyed in the Great War. They are hidden by a large-scale Cloak psynergy, and this is the year that they are to be revealed. Work on the structures was underway over one hundred years ago, and with the aid of massive Psynergy spells, they have slowly, but surely, rebuilt the giant towers. They will serve their original purpose: focal points for Alchemy's power and a testament to its might. As a scholar, I have helped oversee the final construction. Each has been laid outside its respective capital. "
He paused, closed his book, and continued. "A deep burden has been laid upon me. According to the Elders, I am the first Adept of the Void to be born since Argyros himself. I have quite the legacy to live up to." He chuckled softly. "But I forget my manners. Pray tell, what is your name?"
"Orior, royal of Lilyvera. Yours?" Orior indicated he should give his name.
"Aleos, the first Adept of the Void in two thousand years." They shook hands, cementing a friendship that would prove to survive all tragedies.
Vale was abound with rabid rumours. The Council had finished, yet the Elders were calling every Adept into a meeting in the central courtyard, oriented around a raised platform. Most rumours said that they were announcing something big, something to dwarf all accomplishments, or journeys, mayhap, ever seen or done before. As the crowd gathered and spoke in excited whispers, a violet-haired, stormy eyed figure hung in the back, watching with vague curiosity. A rapier was held loosely in her hand, its tip just grazing the cobbled ground. Her gaze scanned the crowd, deeming it a myriad confusion of people. A Proxian stood beside an Imilian and her rival beside a grey-haired, yet youthful, Valen. She, a royal of Anemos, decided to discover the cause of so much interest. She stepped into hearing range of the stage just as the Elder of Vale clambered up.
"It is with great pleasure," He began, "That I make this announcement. Secretly, for over a century, we have rebuilt the legendary great towers as a tribute to the Elements. As high and as majestic as mountains, as mystical and shining as the stars, honouring the Elements and those who serve them. So, I ask you, that when you return to your homes, to gaze with wonder on things passed from myth into reality, the Elemental Lighthouses!" A cheer rose in response, applause and cries of joy from eager souls who now only wanted to return home more. "And with the conclusion of the Festival of Weyard, I will announce the winners of Magnus Olympius." The crowd grew silent in anticipation. "Firstly, for the prize of fencing and swordsmanship, I award the traditional wreath crown to Shamira, of Anemos!" The purple-haired figure stepped forth and graciously accepted her prize, and bowed to the Elders, both her own and Vale's. "Second, for marksmanship and offensive Psynergy, I award the flaming crown to Cinaed, of Prox!" Cinaed, with a sly wink at his Imilian friend, stepped up and followed the same ritual as Shamira. Many more were named after, and cries and tears of joy were shed and heard. After the Crowning was complete, the Elder called for silence. "And now, I bid you all a gracious farewell, and ask you to enjoy the fireworks our Proxians have prepared." Cries of 'Fireball! Eruption! Nova! Flare Storm! Cycle Beam!' rose to the heavens, soon followed by dazzling displays of colour and energy that lit the night sky, forming a fitting conclusion to the Festival of Weyard.