A full-length mirror in an ornate silver frame stood next to a dressing table, and in it, Ori caught the reflection of an unfamiliar man. He stood six feet tall, his skin a brown far darker than he remembered, dusted with silver freckles he knew hadn’t been there before. His muscles, though modest, were well defined in a body that seemed emaciated, wiry, but strong. Black tangled hair rose in an afro that was less matted than it should have been. Beneath it sat a broad nose and generous lips on a face that seemed older, harder and sharper than he remembered.
The biggest departure from expectation was his eyes. In the setting sun, eyes that seemed smoky grey in daylight would likely shimmer at night. He remembered Sera’s words. ‘Glowing flecks ringed by a burning halo.’ He could see the flecks now, except as he peered closer, those lights resolved into stars.
Something else had changed. It was more subtle, almost imperceptible, until he shifted slightly and caught it. It was in the way he moved, head lowered and tilted as if instinctively protecting his chin. Though his shoulders seemed to curl in on themselves, the way he stood, arms and feet set wider apart, made him take up more space. He slipped into tiger stance, hips dropping, feet spreading wider still as his arms formed a guard in front of his face.
“Man, Taekwondo feels like a long time ago, innit,” Ori said to his reflection.
He remembered that moment in the void against Eltitus, when that new aspect of his ever-evolving self had been revealed. A self gradually adapting to the harsh realities of Fate. And while he appreciated his progress, the lack of scars, the clean, unblemished skin, it felt like a lie. Where was his broken nose from the undead knight that had kneed him in the face? Where was the mud or blood on his hands, or the chips of skull and chunks of Eltitus’s brain stuck in his hair? Where was all the evidence of the pain and nastiness he’d paid to reach this point?
His mind drifted beyond his reflection, back to those eyes of black pitch. Those eyes felt honest. Eyes full of malevolent purpose, yes, but honest eyes nonetheless, hiding nothing from the world. There was power in that honesty, something that seemed to challenge Fate and calmly declare, ‘Yes, in fact, I do indeed dare.’ Meanwhile, Ori’s eyes seemed to sparkle, an immature reflection of a beautiful reality that was as out of reach and out of touch, now, as it had ever been.
His mind returned to the void between wills, and Ori flexed his fist in memory of that sensation of resolve and iron intent. While what he was seeking was beyond his reach, knowing the direction he needed to travel in was a gift he wouldn’t squander.
He sat on the bed and exhaled. He could feel them with his Soulcraft affinity, the fragments of Eltitus’s soul sitting in his gut like pebbles of lead. Inert. Cold. Dead. He didn’t really know what to do with them, but he felt an instinctive drive to absorb them in a deeper, more fundamental way, a way that would make them part of himself. For long moments as the sun set, Ori contemplated going down this path.
Would this be a one-off, or did he truly want to become someone who consumed souls? What were the consequences? The risks? Would someone be able to tell? Could the Queen, or some other individual powerful enough with the right magic, see what he’d done? And what would they think? Would they even care?
Countless questions, and almost no answers. In the end, all that was certain was the silent promise he’d carved into his being within the howling void of the sixth trial. That he’d never be its kin, but he had no issue using the void as fuel.
“You imbecile. You ARE my subject. You belong to me. All of it. Your talents, even your life. Guards, to the stones with him until he learns the folly of his defiance!”
An armoured boot kicked Eltitus in the face, chin snapping up to bite his tongue. Blood ran down his chin. His soul didn’t remember the context, but it remembered the burning fury.
“Sir, I brought you something for the pain.”
His soul remembered her kindness. It also remembered its retreat into indifference after killing her during his revenge.
The soul remembered that child begging for mercy.
The soul remembered how knowledge freed it from the cycle of Fate’s abuses, and imparted knowledge to the child in return.
The soul remembered the child’s betrayal, his death at its hand, and the eradication of everyone the child knew.
The soul no longer remembered every abuse, every betrayal, every killing, every soul used or consumed. In its shattered state, only the brightest feelings remained. Furies assuaged. Righteous paranoia. Methods vindicated. Hollow victories. The void left by a career of unquenchable hatred and revenge.
Ori was frozen on the bed, his mind unable to sense his body even though he knew it was still there. And yet, just like before in the battle of wills, he knew he was still in control, that with a flex of will he’d reconnect his soul and regain command.
Still, he waited.
‘Fool, did you really think it would be so simple? That you could defeat me and consume MY soul, me, a Lich? Foolish child. I have been under the heel of greater men than—’
Ori laughed. It was a lighter version of that involuntary, full-bellied laugh he’d laughed during the battle of wills. The laugh of someone watching an old man earnestly shouting at the clouds, full of condescension and schadenfreude. Gaining a modicum of self-control, Ori flexed his will just enough to demonstrate his supremacy. Feeling and sensation returned to his limbs, and sight and hearing returned him to his seat on the bed in an ornately furnished guest suite.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Yeah, it’s me.” Ori chuckled.
“So, what is this, one final humiliation?” the ghost hissed.
“Wasteman, neither of us has time for your tantrums. Either tell me how to make use of your soul bits or fuck off,” Ori demanded.
After witnessing even fragments of the horrors Eltitus had committed, he was in a less than charitable mood and just as likely to delete the remnants as use them.
“So you wish to be a Lich?” it said, dripping condescension.
“Man, I honestly couldn’t give a shit about the class. Just give me your soulcrafting knowledge so I can make the end quick,” Ori said with as much give-a-fuck energy as he could muster.
While a kernel of caution forced him to stay vigilant against the four-hundred-year-old lich that had proven its mastery and deviousness time and time and again, Ori’s primary focus remained on restoring Sera’s soul. That meant taking risks and salvaging whatever he could about souls from the only expert he had access to. “I’m not here to play games or follow in your footsteps. I just need what you know about souls and soulcrafting. Nothing more.”
Silence stretched in the room. The remnants of the lich seemed to radiate emotions oscillating between incredulity and defeat.
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“Little shit,” it muttered, a trace of respect, or perhaps resignation, in its voice. “Very well. If it’s my knowledge of soulcrafting you seek, then I hope you choke on it. Centuries of knowledge all at once, take it, take it! More than any soul, let alone a mortal one, can fathom.”
It was an overwhelming torrent of soul energies, knowledge, bindings, and shapings. Secrets that had cost countless lives over centuries.
Despite the lich’s ominous final words, Ori absorbed the knowledge with singular focus. Whether it was due to his prodigious will or the modifications the Maker of Saint Donna had made to his soul, instead of cracking under the weight of fragments equal to his entire existence being forcibly incorporated into itself, it stretched. With it came pain and weariness that built as the process continued. In the end, however, it was a far sight from the challenges Ori had suffered to date. And without suspense, the transfer concluded, and the remnants of Eltitus began to fade, dissipating like mist in the morning sun.
Ori didn’t realise he’d passed out until he woke with a start, the unfamiliar setting adding to his sense of dislocation. It took a long while for the events of the day before to return to him. Meanwhile, the faintest signs of dawn could be seen through the windows on the other side of the room.
He could no longer feel the fragments of Eltitus’s soul within, just a formless, monolithic chunk of instinct and knowledge. It felt incompatible, inaccessible, and he almost groaned in disappointment. Ori sighed, rubbed his eyes, and focused. After minutes, it felt as if the knowledge sat just out of reach, as if it required a small amount of context or experience before reconfiguring itself into something he could comprehend.
Pushing aside his immediate concerns, Ori was grateful for the early start to his day. He used the time to freshen up and plan, unsurprised to find a selection of dressing gowns and fresh robes in one of the large wardrobes.
Sitting at the dressing table, Ori contemplated his situation. He was in a foreign land surrounded by unfamiliar customs, and he realised he needed to understand more about his surroundings. Thankfully, his familiar bond proved invaluable once again. Through it, he absorbed all the knowledge about elves that Freya had memorised. After an intense hour that left him with a buzzing headache and a nosebleed, Ori felt he’d gained an understanding comparable to what any mortal human might know about these ‘Middlelander’ cousins of humanity.
He learned that mankind, elves, dwarves, and various halfling races like gnomes were believed to have emerged from the clash of paracausal forces on the Material Demiplane. Humans arose from a confluence of the sea, ground, and sky, while elves were born from a union of wild fae of Aether and Chaos with the druid spirits of the Elemental Demiplane.
Ori discovered that elves were deeply connected to both elemental and fae realms. They were divided into groups, from the mostly mortal Wild, or Lesser, elves who were at the same evolutionary rank as humanity, to the High Elves who were an evolutionary rank higher, and whose society also included the rare and powerful Arch Elves and Prime Spirits. This explained the significance of Harriet’s correction during their first meeting.
Elves were also stratified into subraces. Silvan Elves aligned with natural affinities, Sun and Moon Elves with Celestial and Astral energies, and Var’drow with the Void. These elemental alignments influenced their classes, culture, and societal roles.
Ori learned about the peculiar tendencies arising from the unique blend of elemental order and fae impulsivity, such as elven song, Hlēotor, and dance, Andúthallon, guest rights, and thrice-made promises, common in both fae and elven cultures.
The Song Law, Hlēo’torbēon, served dual purposes: maintaining High Elven traditions and protecting other races from the unintended consequences of their spiritual songs. These songs, integral to High Elven spirituality, held immense power and could harm those of the ‘unevolved’.
Meanwhile, little was known about Andúthallon beyond the formidable Blade Dancers, but tales of the prowess of Sun elven Spell Singers, Silvan Druids, and Drow Shadesidhe were legendary, and struck fear and respect into the hearts of many. Between the ever-expansionist human kingdoms and the diplomatic void cast by elven isolationism, wars were common in realms shared by both races.
Split across dozens of realms after mass migration to the Elemental Demiplane aeons ago, most High Elven societies were matriarchal, governed by hereditary monarchies usually led by queens. High Elves also had the racial ability to birth offspring at the same evolutionary rank, contributing to their complex social hierarchy and supremacist attitudes. Given their ordered, conservative outlook, complex social structure, the strength of their Divine-ranked ancestor Guardian Spirits, individual strength, and the Song Law, it was no surprise that High Elves were known as prideful, isolationist, and potentially dangerous across Fate.
As Ori’s understanding of the elves grew, so did his realisation of the precarious situation he’d stumbled into. He was a guest in a realm where every action and word could carry significant implications, especially amid the politics and mores of the High Elves. As he delved deeper, searching for information on Harriet, he noticed something peculiar.
Seeking specific knowledge on House Luinilthar, Harriet the First, elven queens, and Lunaesidhe, it was like the knowledge glitched. In one instance, most of the textbooks Ori had access to suggested Harriet the First still reigned in Lunaesidhe, but then details of her reign would blur and jumble before disappearing at random, or changing to state end dates that would also blur and shift. At first, Ori feared it was an issue with memory loss or imperfect copying during the familiar ritual, but it was too specific. He tried several ways around it until he found a rather chilling clue. The hairs on his arms stood on end as he compared and cross-checked the dates of every prior queen’s reign, Harriet’s inauguration, and the publication date of the textbooks.
While there were various calendars, most of the textbooks Ori had access to were from a period spanning six to seven hundred years after Harriet’s inauguration. Meanwhile, dates for the end of her reign either didn’t exist at all or flickered between ten and eleven years after.
As a Sovereign-rank Awakened, a lifespan of a thousand years wasn’t out of the question for even humanity, let alone naturally long-lived elves. But was she really seven hundred years old? Or had his trial sent him across space and back through time, and the ripples of causality caused by his actions could rewrite his knowledge?
Caught off guard by the realisation, Ori searched for Astoria, Eltitus, and anything about the Ravager. He struggled to find any mention until he found an off-hand comment on a historic White Lich who had managed Breath and Vitality Corruption before their defeat outside a city called Orinth. Ori had almost written it off before deciding to confirm the city wasn’t just somewhere adjacent to Astor. His eyes nearly bugged out of his skull at what he read next.
The city now known as Orinth was formerly named Astor, a key urban centre in Astoria. Its renaming was a direct consequence of the conflict with Eltitus the Ravager, a Sovereign-ranked lich, and the critical involvement of Ori Suba, a summoned mortal.
Eltitus’s necromantic threat led to a prolonged conflict culminating in a decisive battle a day’s march outside of the then-named Astor. Ori Suba, summoned by Lady Seraphine of House Serilian, played a pivotal role in this conflict. Tragically, Lady Seraphine sacrificed her life in the summoning process, a fact memorialised within the city alongside the contributions of many others.
A significant legacy left behind by Ori Suba is the Everlight, a Light Orb spell cast in the keep on the eve of the final battle. Remaining active for over a millennium, the Everlight has become a pilgrimage site, drawing visitors across the realm seeking connection to the city’s historic events.
Today, Orinth’s landmarks, including a statue of Ori Suba in the central square and memorials to Lady Seraphine and others, reflect its historical significance.
The transition from Astor to Orinth and the enduring presence of the Everlight represent the impact of individual and collective actions on historical events. Orinth stands as a testament to resilience and recovery, a city shaped by its turbulent past and the sacrifices made for its future…
“Rah, fam. This is mad,” Ori muttered under his breath, his mind reeling from the revelations.
A city had been renamed in his honour. The knowledge that his actions had such far-reaching consequences should have brought vindication and satisfaction. Instead, it was all ashes in his mouth as he weighed the price Sera had paid against the worth of such accolades and recognition. Moreover, the knowledge that his actions would leave ripples in Fate carried a weight Ori now needed to keep in the back of his mind.
It was becoming clearer that, through his actions, he somehow held Queen Harriet’s life and death in his hands. His natural inclination to save the striking elven queen was undeniable, but now tempered by caution and loss. Between the workshops and Eltitus’s inheritance, he likely had everything he could have sought from this trial, and involving himself further would almost certainly have serious consequences that could follow him well beyond the end of the trial and Crucible’s machinations. In addition, Ori strongly suspected Harriet’s dissembling, that she likely knew what she needed from him, and it most likely had something to do with either his inherent affinity or his will.
Ori released a pent-up breath upon coming to a decision. He’d play everything by ear. Ultimately, if she couldn’t ask him for what she wanted, he wouldn’t go out of his way to help her, even if he knew his help was worth her life.
He was about to delve deeper into his familiar-gifted knowledge in search of more information about summoning and Lunaesidhe when he heard a knock on his door.