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Ah, traveler. This is not a world you are familiar with, hm? Shall I provide you with some tea while you seat yourself? Or is wine more your fancy? Maybe one of those odd, carbonated beverage things?
Oh, you must be wondering who I am? Well, that's not relevant to this story. I suppose I could be called only a humble Storyteller. It is my job to find travelers like yourself and help them learn a little bit more about this world that we call home.
So, my new friend, are you ready to learn about this place?
I'll pretend you nodded and said yes.
Now where should I start?
Ah yes, with one of my old favorites! The story of the Magarchy and the conflict that undid their brotherly bond.
Long ago, when the mortal races were still young and new like the earth that formed beneath and around them, the Gods granted them a powerful gift: the gift of Divine Magic. With this power, mortals could shape the world around them with the pure power of their will. They could conjure beasts from across the stars or give cosmic energy a brand new form.
However, there was a caveat to this power: to attain Divine Magic, one could only do so by believing in the gods, and pledging their bodies, minds, and souls to their services. Tributes were paid, and often brutal sacrifices had to be made just to gain magic.
The Gods loved this structure, and the mortals knew no other way. Well, that is to say, most of the Gods loved it. A few of them, no more than eight, banded together to master the other forms of magic that the other Gods deemed as 'pathetic' and 'impure'. When they did, they demonstrated these powers to their fellow gods.
However, instead of being amazed, intrigued, and fascinated by it like the eight were, the other Gods found it worthy of ridicule, scorn and apathy.
So, these gods journeyed to the mortal realm. The mortals were still primal and only developing their mental abilities back then. While their magical powers that they gathered from belief were impressive, yes, they were also dependent on sacrifice and tribute, and could be… fickle, in some unfortunate cases.
To these ancient tribes, the eight Gods showed them the beautiful and unique powers that their magic brought. It did not require belief or sacrifice to a God, it only required focus and willpower. And with willpower, you can do amazing things. You can move mountains, tame storms, harness the powers of the universe by command! The distinction between mortal and immortal could only be age and lack thereof.
Over the centuries, mortals began to truly master magic alongside the tools that they had developed to temper the forces of nature in other ways. Flint and steel, or a light pyromancy? The wheel, or the propulsion spell? Forging, or enchantment? Mortals were such wonderful beings, having that power to take what the Gods give them and molding it into their own, however they see fit.
Mortals not only began to alter their world, but also their perception of it as time flew by. Many of the minor gods they began to regard as their own family, others were thought of like heroes of the highest order, and some were often treated like royalty. That royal treatment was how these eight Gods became known by the modern world as the Magarchy, the God-Kings of magic and sorcery.
These gods were a brotherhood, yes, a brotherhood of equals. However, often among equals, some are content to lead in the front while others are quite alright with taking a role more in the middle or background. Among these, the two who had the strongest leadership skills were Hid, Master of Yellow Magic, who had power and wisdom for any situation, and Vao, Master of Green Magic, whose authority and strength stood unrivaled even by some of the greater gods.
There were others who, while not afraid to make their presence known, were more comfortable among the mortals rather than among the gods. Pralga, the Master of Red Magic was once a god of trickery and mischief, who spread chaos wherever he went. However, the mortals saw him as an eclectic entertainer, whose illusions and parlor tricks stunned many. Dalos, the Master of Cyan Magic, was peaceful and brotherly, and his first priority was to keep order and peace among the mortals.
While some disconnected themselves with their godly roots, others stood firm and refused to let their godhood be forgotten. Leyin, Master of Magenta Magic, was a former apprentice of the God of War, and to this day obsessively follows his teachings to the letter. Xatian, Master of Blue Magic, was also rigid and unchanging, perhaps to a dangerous extreme. However, he had a strong moral code, perhaps stronger than anyone
There were two more, however, and these two are often forgotten in discussions of the history of magic. Metiri, Master of White Magic, was a selfless and forgiving sort, who felt that even those who fall the farthest from grace can still find salvation. And lastly, there was Kallen, Master of Black Magic. An enigmatic, mysterious sort, who more often than not let his mind lose itself in the pursuit of knowledge and power.
Each of these Gods pulled their powers from a different realm in the Astral Plane, an ancient place of energy in its purest form. And each of these realms had its own energy, its own powers, and its own secrets, many of which have yet to be discovered, even till this modern day.
The powers of the modern magic that we know today stretch across a beautiful spectrum of colors, from the chaotic power of Red Magic to the ordered strength of Blue, from the mighty bond of Green to the practical utility of Yellow, from the dominating offense of Magenta to the impenetrable defense of Cyan, from the generous giving of White to the opportunistic taking of Black and and everywhere in between.
With this brotherhood of Gods, all was well for over a thousand years during their greatest age. Each of these Gods of sorcery and magic had created their own temples to teach their ways.
Kallen was always zealous with his magic, and those who sought the ways of Black magic were not very different. Especially one, a young and ambitious Elven sorceress named Ivorne, who infamously created a curse called the Drael. The Drael spread through the temple like a plague, bringing everyone and everything in the temple under its vile influence. Kallen had to stop it, if it meant he and his temple were to survive. He had to consume the soul of his own student to gain command of the curse and have it undone.
In the end, the curse was sealed away, and the Black Temple was mostly unscathed. However, the Magarchy was conflicted. Some argued that he did what he could to keep a curse that could have ended the world at bay, while others could only see the abomination of consuming a mortal soul.
Their stronghold was in the great city of Gardran, at the time the wealthiest and most prosperous city in the world. Their brilliant, shining tower was where they trained together, fought together, studied together, and pooled their magic to make the world a better place.
This sanctuary, on this darkest day, was also where the brotherhood deliberated on if and how Kallen would be punished. In all the commotion, Kallen tried to argue his innocence. "I assure you, my brothers, Ivorne was blinded by ambition. She could not have known what she was creating…"
"Ambition YOU fed the flames of!" Xatian shouted with rage. "She was your favorite student, and you doted on her like your own daughter!"
Metiri, a much more patient and forgiving member, spoke against him. "Brother, she was simply a student! Just like any of our own. I am certain if someone like Ivorne was taught at my academy, a tragedy like that would have happened."
"Then perhaps we must reconsider your teaching abilities as well, Metiri?"
"That is NOT what I meant!"
"Xatian, Metiri! If you would stop arguing against each other, this proceeding would not be more painful than it has to be…" Hid said, placing his palm against his head.
"Hid is right. We shouldn't let petty quarrels stand in the way of judgement." Vao added, firmly.
Dalos, often a voice of reason among the brotherhood, offered his thoughts. "We do not approve of your method, Kallen. None of us do. But we have to think, if we were faced with a cataclysmic threat like the Drael, would we have let our world, our home, burn?"
"If it were to be saved by bending the rules, no." Pralga, a surprisingly compassionate soul, answered. "But… consuming the soul of a mortal, that's breaking the rules!"
Leyin, a tragic sort who was far too familiar with the horrors of war, countered. "The hands of a hero are never free of blood. It falls on us to decide whether it's the blood of one or the blood of many."
Metiri, normally calm as a stream, grew as bold and frustrated as a river. "If it was your blood, your life on the line, would you be willing to break the rules?"
Xatian, callous as ever, had an incensed reply. "Not on my life or yours! No life is worth the salvation of this planet!"
"ENOUGH!!!" Vao boomed, slamming her great hammer against the courtroom floor. Even Hid felt a bit of fear from the intensity of her voice.
All of this argument from those that he considered his own family made him sick, to say the least. "All rise." He said, desiring nothing more than to get this over with.
The acting members of the court stood up.
"All in favor of Kallen's exile from the city of Gardran, bring your sigils alight."
Leyin, Pralga, and Xatian tapped their staves, and sigils began to glow behind them.
"All opposed," Vao commanded, "take your seat."
Vao, Dalos, and Metiri took their seats.
"It appears we have a tie…" Hid sighed.
"Brother?" Dalos asked, an uncertainty in his voice. "You did not vote…"
It took several minutes for Hid to make his deliberation. Once he did, he tapped his staff against the ground.
Xatian chuckled smugly under his breath. Dalos and most of the others shared varying looks of disappointment and horror.
"We have reached consensus, brothers." Hid floated down to where Kallen was. "Brother Kallen of the Bellek, Master of Black Magic, you are hereby banished from this city… from this sanctuary… and from this brotherhood."
Kallen looked at the floor. "I accept your judgement…"
"Stay safe, brother, wherever you go." Hid whispered to Kallen, before speaking again to his brethren. "I will be returning to my temple," he said, turning his back and throwing his cloak over his face to hide his tears. "Unless you would like to say a final farewell, I suggest you all do the same."
In a flash of yellow light, Hid disappeared.
The stronghold was deathly silent. Kallen feebly attempted to appeal to the better nature of the other Magarchs. "Leyin…"
"I am sorry, brother, but you have crossed a line you cannot go back from. You have broken the laws of war." She eyed her spear-like staff. "And now, you pay the price."
"P-Pralga… please…"
He inhaled. "I trust you, Kallen. But I trust Leyin and Xatian's judgement more than my own…"
Kallen did not even bother appealing to Xatian, whose mind had been made long before this trial had even begun.
Once the two of them left, Xatian created a series of descending pillars, which he stepped down on one by one, until meeting Kallen eye to eye. "This city will be glad to be rid of you, Kallen."
"Your spite will not bring you a happy end."
"Oh, is that a threat? A prediction of a broken mind, perhaps?"
Kallen tightened the grip on his staff. His anger had begun to boil over. There was just so much he wanted to do. He wanted to blow the smirk off of his smug face. He wanted to… no! Not if he wanted to be the better man than Xatian.
"I thought so." He turned away from Kallen and opened a hexagonal glowing portal. "If I never see you again, it'd be far too soon." Now there were only four.
Kallen wiped a tear away from his eye as he looked upon his remaining brethren. "Don't tell me you are leaving, too…"
"Not without you, no." Dalos replied with a slight smile as he and his fellow objectors floated down to him.
"You may be banished, and you may have committed something horrible that can never be undone, but you are still our brother." Metiri placed a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Come…" Vao led the way out of the stronghold, along with Dalos, Metiri, and Kallen. "I know somewhere you can be safe."
It would be for many days and nights that Kallen was exiled, and the few who stood by him would tend to his needs within a cave deep in the mountains.
As much as legends would have you believe otherwise, Kallen never once felt resentment towards those that turned against him. His mind was far too focused on the brother and sisters he still had by his side, and far too concerned about atoning for what he and Ivorne had done.
On one dark and eerie night, Kallen returned to the stronghold, cloak pulled tight along his body. His stone face, grown thin and pale with degeneration, betrayed what he felt, which was nothing. The only thing he wanted was to make things right, for however long it has been.
Once he arrived in the central chamber, the brotherhood looked on in shock. "Kallen?!"
"You?" Xatian practically spit. "Out of anyone, you have the audacity to return to the city from which you were banished?"
Hid moved his hand in front of Xatian, shaking his head. "I thought we had made it clear, Kallen. You're no longer welcome in our stronghold."
"I know, brother…"
"You have the audacity to call us your brothers?" Xatian seethed.
"Xatian, enough." Vao interrupted.
"I have suffered more than enough, for my crimes and the crimes of Ivorne."
"That may be. But you've already been judged." Pralga nodded. "Much as I'd love it if you could come back to our family, I can't trust myself to make the best decision."
"See? You are alone now…"
"He's not alone!" Vao shouted, before leaping down from the top of her bench. Metiri descended from hers, with an ethereal light surrounding her as if she was heading down from the heavens. Dalos made a point to balance atop his trident-like staff before also jumping off to the ground. "We seek an audience. On EQUAL terms."
"We have already made our decision, Vao." Hid pointed his staff at his sister, the golden jewel beginning to glow. "Leave, before we must use force."
Pralga rode a stream of reddish-looking energy down from his place. Leyin leaped with the grace of a gymnastic phenom. Xatian, again, descended via an improvised staircase of pillars.
Vao made a couple of swinging motions with her hammer-like staff. "Our decision has been made for us."
Those that remained on both sides stood equally ready. Blades drawn, crystals glowing, incantations and commands at the ready…
The standstill was broken by Xatian, who slammed the bottom of his staff into the ground, creating a rolling wave of glowing cyan pillars to knock his foes into the air.
The quartet flew out of the way and into the air. Xatian followed after Kallen with fire in his eyes. He fired glowing blue, geometric blasts at his foe, which Kallen blocked with a shield of dark mist.
Kallen turned his mist shield into a spiked wall that he sent flying towards Xatian. The Master of Blue Magic rolled out of the way and created two glowing pillars from each side that trapped Kallen in place
Xatian laughed arrogantly with his brother trapped. "You know, I've waited a long time for this!"
"You finally admit it? You hate me!" Kallen replied, formulating a plan.
"Every second since we've met." Xatian brought his hands closer together, starting to crush Kallen.
"At least you're honest about it…" Almost… just a little more…
"Shut up and put up a real fight!" Now! Kallen transformed his body into intangible mist, escaping from Xatian's grasp. He reappeared behind him and struck him in the back with his staff.
"Is that real enough for you?"
Xatian grunted in frustration, and traced a large octagon with his staff. Once fully traced, he stuck his staff through its middle to complete his spell. Kallen stuck his hands out, and pulled them in once the blast reached him. The black mist that enveloped him like his cloak took a slight bluish hue.
With an incantation, Kallen commanded the mist to ensnare Xatian. While not binding him physically, he became blinded, and it was much harder from him to move or attack properly. And, on top of that, some of his power began to feel like it was being sucked away.
Kallen and Xatian were not the only ones firmly in battle, although they were fiercely so. Pralga and Vao took it upon themselves to fight one another.
Vao used her bonding powers to her advantage, trying to use green lights to restrain Pralga in place. However, he left around effortlessly.
The crystals on both sides of Pralga's staff began to glow. He drew his hand back as if he were drawing back a bow-and-arrow. On release, several blasts of magical energy fired away at Vao. Vao responded by spinning her hammer, knocking away these blasts.
Pralga scoffed, "You always have to smash through every last problem, don't you, sister?"
Vao deflected more energy with her hammer as she grew closer. "You lack judgement. You direly need confidence."
"Confidence?" He altered his voice, putting on his arrogant, showboating persona he had for the mortals. "You wouldn't call me 'scared', would you?"
"Scared to do what is right."
Pralga grabbed the center of his staff with both hands, twisted them in opposite directions, and split it into two long wands.
"Hm. Never thought you'd actually use that little trick."
"I pick up things here and there." He aimed his wands and created a pair of flaming streams. She countered by concentrating green energy into her first and punching into the ground, creating a wall of rock that blocked the crimson flame.
Pralga had to try a different approach. From his twin wands, he summoned a pair of chains which shot themselves towards Vao. She tried to dodge, but her arms became wrapped in their coils. He pulled her in a direction that would throw her into the stone wall; however, she was by far the physically strongest out of anyone. So, she hardly budged.
Contrasting the mostly magical combat of Pralga and Vao, Dalos and Leyin preferred a more direct approach. "Oh, how I have missed being able to fight with my spear!" Leyin said, meeting blade-to-blade against the wall with Dalos' trident.
"Do you?" Dalos tried to angle the prongs of his staff to trap Leyin's spear. "I never liked combat, but I could see the appeal for you."
Leyin smiled surprisingly joyously, with the adrenaline from battle outweighing the somber pain and anger felt by most everyone else. She thrusted with pride in herself, those old days of glory and power returning to her mind. Training under the gods of war, fighting glorious victories and escaping defeat by thr narrowest margin. Ah, to be a young goddess again…
Her mind faltered, and Dalos, peace-loving, never fighting Dalos, was able to get her blade stuck in his trident
"If you wanted a fight, we could have gotten our old armor out…"
"Skin and our cloaks seem to be just fine, though!"
Mostly by process of elimination, Metiri and Hid were the last to fight. And it was a shame, as neither wanted or liked to fight. But, they both had lost control of the situation long ago. They clashed beams of energy, streams of gold and ivory clashing against one another, with a power unmatched by anyone else in the room.
"We mustn't fight…" Metiri sighed, trying to fight her tears.
"On that I agree. But we cannot stop now…" Hid looked around. His friends, his brothers, they were tearing each other apart. It looked like they were all trying to kill one another. The looks in their eyes, they were all wrong. Pain, hate,everything brothers and sisters were not meant to feel towards one another.
This was wrong. This was not meant to be. Hid had begun to regret his judgement, like much of the others regretted theirs.
Metiri used her power to deflect Hid's energy, finally agreeing with him on one thing. This had to stop, now. "Stop!" She called out to deaf ears. "Please, stop…"
"Brothers! Sisters! I implore you!" Hid called out, equally withdrawing from combat.
Nothing happened.
Metiri gathered her power further. Not into her staff, like she had usually been doing. But into her throat, her voice.
"Please… stop fighting…" Soulfully and tearfully her voice echoed through the room, and into the minds of every Magarch engaged in battle.
Then, pale silence.
It was a simple spell. 'Targeted Blade', it was called. It was a blade formed of magical energy that fired like an arrow at whoever the user focused on. It was meant for Xatian. Xatian was on his mind. Xatian, Xatian, Xatian!
But once her call rang out, Kallen's mind slipped. Metiri? Met… no…
The jet blade struck her stomach, piercing it through in an instant.
The sound of blade meeting flesh was what snapped Kallen out of his trance fully. "No…" He dropped himself out of his flight, and caught himself inches from the ground, before teleporting to her.
"K…" Metiri struggled to speak, now collapsed on the floor, pinned down by that shadowy spike.
"Metiri, please… I'm sorry…" His voice cracked with pain and sorrow. He did this… all of this.
Metiri forced herself to grab Kallen's open hand. She struggled to keep her eyes open. Even in pain, she had a certain beauty about her, that will to keep going.
"No… no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…" He was running out of time. His mind raced for a solution. He couldn't remove the blade, that would hardly do anything. She was the only one out of them that mastered healing magic, so that was off the table. What could he do? Was that even a question? There was nothing he could do.
Metiri did not speak. What was left of her breathing was labored and weak. The last thing she saw was the eyes of Kallen looking into hers. Her skin began to glow a pale white. Her eyes fell closed. Her grip that tried to hold onto Kallen's hand faltered. For someone who should be in pain, with a giant blade impaled through her stomach, she looked so peaceful.
Her body faded away, leaving only her white cloak and her ivory-colored staff.
Kellan's pained tears echoed everywhere. Every last apology was for naught. Every last second of suffering, from the day his student was burned in the flames of her own ambition, was his fault and his alone.
"How many…?" He finally brought himself to say.
"What?" A voice, it didn't matter whose to him, responded.
"How many lives must be taken? How many, before we stop fighting?"
The silence could kill, were it not for the events that preceded it.
"Our hands will never be free of blood." Kallen pulled against his staff to stand up. "The few? The many? In the end every last drop is on our hands. Especially mine. I understand now, why you all made your choices."
"K-Kallen…"
"Because if our brotherhood means lives are lost, then we are no longer brothers."
And so, the union of the Magarchy was no more. With the bonds broken, Gardran crumbled under its own weight, as it's citizens left in fear of not being protected by the gods that gave them, and the world, the power of magic.
Ah, perhaps one day, a new Magarchy might be born. That would be something this humble old Storyteller would love to see. Mortals from all different backgrounds, with their common skill in magic bringing them together to craft something truly great.
But for now, the Magarchy is simply legend.