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Four kingdoms, four corners of the world, fey, men, blessed lines, and spirit kin alike all locked by the same god-bound promise - that there never be war between the four kingdoms. The gods are dead now, lost to time and strife and the vastness beyond, but the promise remains, and in the shadow of it new trouble brews. One way or another, everything will change.
Four stories of life in a fractured and divided world, four children of the kingdoms trying to find a place for themselves as the world around them slowly pushes itself to the brink of ruin.
gods bound
original writing
updates friday weekly
The next weeks pass in a haze. The preparations for the upcoming diplomatic visit are in full swing, the various maid casts of the upper city being worked to the bone to ensure everything is prepared in time, every tower and corner of the halls pristine and resplendent to welcome their guests. The Towercast gets worked just as hard as the rest of them, starting early and working through until the late hours of the evening.
gods-bound
half-light
Elreith
original writing
dark fantasy
Every eight days, the servants of Ai'Vaerin are allocated one day of rest, to tend to their own affairs or take their leisure, their work for the moment forgotten. There are no duties, no early morning wake up call, no questioning presence calling attendance - so long as the maids are back in the evening at final curfew, they are free to spend the day as they please.
gods-bound
half-light
Elreith
original writing
dark fiction
A harsh rap on the door is what wakes her. The first stirrings of dawn light are pressing against the curtains, Syella making her round, giving the last wake up call for the maids. Elreith hears her footsteps walk on, stride crisp and clean, knocking sharply on the next door down the line.
gods-bound
half-light
original writing
dark fantasy
Elreith
The bells of the great towers ring every hour, and the sound of it is loud, and echoing and melodic, humming through the air and singing with the voices of a dozen different tones. The entirety of Ai'Vaerin rings with the noise of it, from the high towers of the palatial temples to the deepest recesses of the dark fall streets, those unknown places that stretch deep beneath the foundations of the twisting levels of the city.
The sound of it, those gentle chiming bells, the deep thrum of them, it sings through every hall, in through the wide stone arches of the reaching walkways, and between the rising columns of the tall shadowed halls. Even in daylight, the city has an air of somberness to it, its halls so tall, so shadowed, so solemn, pale flames burning at every torch hold and brazier, sunlight streaming silvered and soft through the high windows and into the hallowed halls.
Elreith pauses, the long stem of her candle in hand, going still with the rest of the maids, a glance down the hall sending them all quickly sweeping to the sides, heads bowed and eyes dropped to the floor. Her veil hangs over her face, sweeping low, black detailing stitched with lines of fine silver, the world for a moment obscured by the curl of dark flowers. Through the gaps the pale marble of the floor gleams, and Elreith bows even deeper as the first of the procession approaches, rounding the final corner into the great hall.
It is the incense bearers that come first, censers swinging before them and emitting pale clouds of smoke, tinged almost in purple, which swirls around them in a shroud as they approach. The candles are only half lit, the silver of the torch bears only half polished, but Elreith kneels as the first incense bearers reach them, sinking down and lowering her head, Yerael and Fayenna doing the same on either side of her, twin columns of maids in their black veils bowing in supplication on each side of the long hall.
gods-bound
half-light
original writing
dark fantasy
Elreith
minor edit made on 13.5.2021
Half-Light, Half-Life - Snippet, Songs of the Night
When Elreith was young, her mother used to tell her the stories of their people. She would sit by her bedside, her head in her mother’s lap as her mother sat there, propped back against the cushions. Her mother’s hand would card through her hair softly, and she would speak.
A Nightdaughter, she would say. Skin like the dark of the night sky, black as the void, and hair so pale and silver that it shines like starlight. Eyes like the pinprick of a distant sun, yellow in a veil of black, and ears that were long and sharp, fey-born, of spirit blood. All the things the Nightfather gave us, when he stepped upon the earth and chosen to bless its children, bearing sons who could carry his own image.
“In the Dusklands,” her mother would say, voice so soft, so warm, a nostalgia there that was faded and sad. Her mother had had good reason to leave the Dusklands, fleeing when Elreith was a child, but she still missed home. She always would, right until the day she died. “They still tell his stories. The gods here, they’re different and strange, not family at all, but the Nightfather- He cares. He loves his children, protects us still even now, and in turn we sing songs of his name.”
She would hum them then, the songs, the old, murmured melodies of their people, each a story in their own right, and stroke Elreith’s hair until she fell asleep. It was the songs she would sing, when Elreith woke in the middle of the night, shivering from clinging nightmares, or lay in bed those days she was sick. The song of comfort, of love, of a god who was their father, so far removed that you could almost forget he even existed, if the memory of it weren’t written in the skin of every single one of his children.
The Nightfather was gone, and wouldn’t walk in the lands of the Vaelthran even if he did still yet live, as lost to them now as their homeland. When Elreith’s mother left the Dusklands, she gave up everything - her home, her family, everything. Lost everything, in exchange for the chance to live in a land where no one would know her name. She never told Elreith why they left, not even as Elreith grew, but Elreith knows enough to guess. There are always enough wars in the Dusklands that there is always reason for people to want to disappear.
Elreith sang those songs to her in turn, when her mother was on her deathbed. Held her hand, like her mother used to hold hers, and sang her through the last hours, until she finally fell asleep, and her eyes closed and her breath stilled in her chest. Sang, until her voice went hoarse and the sobs became chocking, and she couldn’t breath enough to continue.
Sang, until the silence broke through the room and she was just crying instead, because her mother is gone and she would never be back again. The last and only of Elreith’s family, of her people, now gone, and Elreith now alone. That her mother died at night, so that her spirit might return to the night sky and rejoin the Nightfather, is a small and solitary comfort in the face of it.
But Elreith lived, and she was alive, and she would continue living, and while she did she would continue singing the songs of her people - of her mother’s people, and remember her through them. Sing her name, alongside that of the Nightfather, and never be alone so long as the stars watched over her.
That is what it is, to be a Nightdaughter, even one so far lost from the lands of her people.
gods-bound
half-light
original writing
dark fiction
snippet
Elreith
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