The Witchflame

History of The Witchflame
In the beginning, our world was dying. It’s peoples had knowingly forsaken it for themselves. The oceans turned to mud, the mountains collapsed in on themselves, and all the forests of the world burned and withered.

Embers of The Witchflame
According to the ancient texts, the history of The Witchflame dates further back than we first possibly believed, and it is commonly accepted that the world of Kylorne has had four encounters with the flame.

The First Ember
It was with a stroke of divine luck that a single ember of The Witchflame fell down to our world. In the end, a single ember was all it needed to stoke the fires in all of our hearts. The ember fluttered through a crack in the earth, and ignited a blaze deep underground. On that fateful day, the Witchflame saved our world. It revived the dying peoples and restored the lands to their natural state. The Witchflame gave our world another chance that day, only fools would turn against it. Unfortunately, fools abound in our world, and many turned against the Witchflame. It is said the ember lies somewhere near the City-State of Mora and The Vampiric Union of Carpe Noctem

The Second Ember
For many years the world existed in a state without The Witchflame, but just as a plant dies without water, the world began to wither without The Witchflame. By some miracle, another ember descended from the night sky, setting a tree alight, and renewing the presence of The Witchflame in our world. The tree, referred to as The Charbark, became the new home of The Witchflame. Its current location is unknown. Sang-Nyl searched the lands for the weary and dying and would bring them The Charbark to be blessed by The Witchflame. Once again, for many years, the world prospered.

The Third Ember
The third ember fell far into the frozen wastelands of the north. Sang-Nyl, once again took the form of a moth and traveled the world collecting pious individuals to join him in a grand pilgrimage. On this journey, the pilgrims never ate, they often died of starvation or to the elements, but each and every time they died they were revived by the power of The Witchflame given to Sang-Nyl. When all the pilgrims were gathered and the final journey to The Witchflame was completed, the pilgrims threw themselves into a pit of holy fire and burned alive. After their sacrifice had been completed, a great plague spread through the world of the living.

The plague was devastating. It killed indiscriminately, kings and peasants, young and old, rich and poor. None were spared from the disease. Even livestock died out and starvation set in across the world. The plague wiped out the feuding warlords that had gathered power over the years, it killed many of the soldiers that made up their armies, and it spread amongst the peasants that gathered supplies for the war effort. When the plague finally subsided, the world was once again in order. The endless cycle of warfare ended, and the world could continue as it should. When the world was once again restored to order, the Witchflame went out once again.

The Current Ember
In the time since it had left, many empires and cultures had risen and fallen. Thousands of years had gone by and it seemed as if the world was finally stable once again. In this era of prosperity, the world was once again blessed by the arrival of an ember. Once again, Sang-Nyl led a chosen few to The Witchflame, and once again they set out to spread their faith. The faith of the one true god, The Witchflame.

Ulithor
A prince by the name of Ulithor was a herald of the First Ember. He led his people in search of The Witchflame. Through their perseverance together, they were the first to discover the underground chamber where the ember first landed. Ulithor was the first follower to truly touch The Witchflame and feel its power flow through him. He became captivated by The Witchflame and his body was transformed. He was blessed with immense strength and power as well as wings made of fire. Ulithor renounced his title as prince and became The Hand of the Witchflame, a holy warrior that knew no equal. Those that followed him took up their arms in the name of the Witchflame as well. These followers called themselves The Witchblades and they were the first to challenge those who still practiced worship of idols. Over time, Ulithor’s blessings faded and in a mission to defeat a dangerous cult of idol-worshipers, he was stabbed with a tainted blade and his body perished before it could make it back to The Witchflame.

Kethoz
The second of the First Ember was a priest. The priest was named Kethoz the Broken, and he came to The Witchflame after hearing of its transformation of Ulithor. Kethoz had worshiped idols in the past and he and his pupils now sought forgiveness from The Witchflame. They asked The Witchflame to allow them to profess its wisdom to the people so that the common man might learn. Just as it had with Ulithor, The Witchflame blessed Kethoz and his pupils. Their bodies were transformed into ghostly apparitions and their heads became pure flame. They were gifted with the infinite knowledge of The Witchflame. Kethoz and his pupils became the five Wickwarks and served as advisors to apostles of The Witchflame. Additionally the light of the Wickwarks faded over time. They became less coherent in their speech, and while they were still occasionally useful in discerning the truth of many matters, they were much harder to understand and often resorted to esoteric rambling and metaphors that made little sense to most. In current times, those seeking knowledge consult The Order of Kethoz and attempt to decipher texts left behind for premonition, and wisdom the greatest Maesters can't hope to match.

Sang-Nyl
The final herald of the First Ember was a pauper with no name. He came to the Witchflame seeking answers and hoped that it might be able to ease his suffering. Once again, The Witchflame transformed the pauper. As the pauper stood before The Witchflame, he was not transformed as the others had been. He gazed into the glow of The Witchflame, and he learned his new  name: Sang-Nyl. By staring into the flame, Sang-Nyl grew powerful in different ways. He was given the power to resurrect followers, shapeshift into beasts of flame, to travel at great speeds in order to find followers. More often than not, he began appearing to other followers as a moth, and would help them at The Witchflame’s behest. Sang-Nyl was the only Blessed-One to retain their full power, and when The Witchflame fully faded, Sang-Nyl entered into a hibernation until its return.

Tyrilith
A new champion was blessed by The Second Ember and named its hand, a socereress named Tyrilith. With her gifts, Tyrilith formed a new order of Witchblades. Rather than retain the practice of Witchblades being holy knights, Tyrilith chose for her Witchblades to be spies and assassins. She spread them across the world, placing one in each and every kingdom. As the Witchflame’s power once again began to wane, Tyrilith ordered the assassination of all rulers unaligned with the Witchflame, before bringing about a new era of unprecedented conquest. The conquests and wars caused by Tyrilith seemed endless. When one warlord seemed to gain enough of an upper hand to finally end the war they were killed in one way or another. The end of the war didn’t come until a third ember fell from the sky.

The Plains of Serethir
"The Plains of Serethir is a Scripture based story that details the story of a group of cultists and their endless cycle of conversion. Its entirety can be found in books in most Kylorne libraries. However the start is archived here."The Sun rises over the desolate plain, the landscape is scarred and broken. The light from the sun pierces thr–ough the haze that hangs in the air, its rays reve—al an outca–st yellow on the dark earth below, eerie sounds drift acro–ss the wide plain. In the distance a set of jagged mountains cuts into the skyline, reaching for the feeble light of the sun. A river –snakes through the plain, i-ts waters are- a -gray murky tone, The reeds ha-ve long wilte- away on the banks. A–ny life in this area left long ago. Grim remains of trees scatter the area close to the river, with no life to help them rot, the-y sink slowly back into the earth—-

—--My footste-ps echo in the darkness prod-ucing an uncanny squish as we trod along. The rare gleams of light ha-ve since disap—red under the gaze of the- gray cumulonim-bus. I can feel the shad-e writhe its way from the horizon into my thoughts. It calms me. We are hooded, shielding our faces from the sky above, from those p-ering in. The dark cloth hangs over my forehead obscuring my vision. We don long, black cloaks that stick to th-e skin as a result of the moisture trapped in the ai—-

Southward Bound
"Southward Bound is a Scripture based story that details the story of a mother and her child and their journey to a new home. Its entirety can be found in books in most Kylorne libraries. However the start is archived here."A long time ago, in a faraway place, a mother and her daughter huddled around a fire. The flame blazed merrily yet, but the firewood had run out and soon, it would be time to leave.

It was a shame they had to. The cottage, while small, had been a homely dwelling. But one night, one fateful night, explosions had ripped through the city and their harvest had turned to ash. They had stayed, stubborn to leave, but barely anything could be found to eat and then in the night, they had seen distant, spectral glimmers from the windows and the corners of their eyes.

This was no place for them anymore. They could not stay, and they were hungry. And so, while famine gnawed at their stomachs, the mother had to decide, cradling her child.

South, she thought, for to the north, the rumors said, only lay those who had done this to them. South they must go. For hope might be found there.

The hearth still had a little flame left in it, and the embers would last even longer. But it was best to go now, before nightfall, and the things that came with it. So the mother packed her belongings; the last of their food, clothes, a few dull coins and a hunting knife that had long been passed down through her family. Her child helped out how she could, gathering her most favorite toys for the journey, and then it was time.

On the first day, they were shivering. The taiga surrounding the outskirts of the city was tall and foreboding, more so now that almost everyone had left. Before this, they had lived a simple life. The mother knew not how to set traps, or find good places to sleep in the wilderness, or keep her way. She did know how to farm. But her crops were ash.

On the second day, provisions were running thin and an even darker forest enveloped them. Thick, dense trees of black oak covered the way as they slowly trudged south on desolate roads. Once the daughter spied a column of chimney-smoke rising from the forest. But the smoke was tinged blue and gold, of the Spirits, and the mother pulled her child away from the lure of the house. They continued on.

By the third day, the mother had been prepared to stop and try to gather food for the two of them. But even with the long distance they had traveled, their appetite had been low, and they made it out of the dark oak forest and on to the wide open plains with food to spare. Not much, not much at all, but there was a village on the horizon, and perhaps shelter could be found there.

Slowly, dragging their feet from hunger and the long walk, they approached. The town was small - it didn’t even seem to have a church - but as long as the townspeople were considerate, anything would do. There did appear to be a smeltery, a grain mill and an inn - opportunities plenty to stay awhile, with luck.

A thin palisade surrounded the village, but oddly there wasn’t a guard manning the gate.

“Hello?” The daughter knocked on the gate. Lightly, and without any appreciable force,  yet the wooden doors swung open. They had not been locked. Hesitantly, mother and daughter stepped over the threshold and into the town. They spied a smith carrying new tools to his foundry, men walking about on errands, and the door of a general store closing behind a customer, but nobody to greet or question them. The most they got were scattered glances and disinterested looks. But they did see the inn, tall and reinforced with blue-gray stone at the end of the town.

What was odd was the chill. Their trek hadn’t been large, but they had crossed south of the bay and passed to the east of the central mountains. It shouldn’t have been very cold this far south.