The Tale of the Ancient
Spirit of the East
Long ago,
before the fall of the Anathema and the rise of the mighty Dragon-Blooded
Shogunate, the East was a place of verdant opulence. Great ivy covered towers
of the Demon Gods rose high above the endless forests, each a monument to the
might of their patrons. It is said that the Anathema slew or subjugated all of
the eastern gods who displeased them, using their demonic powers to manipulate
the terrestrial and celestial bureaucracies at the slightest whim. The
mightiest deities who dared oppose them were utterly annihilated before they
could so much as gather a single follower to their cause. The great expanse of
life in the wondrous East could not flourish under the weight of such
oppression. Nay, like a plant with no light, it began to wither and die, and
the spirits and gods fled their homes in droves. Yet, there was one spirit,
hidden and powerful, that stayed behind while its brethren were forced to the
Wyld.
The ancient
spirit once had a proper name, inscribed proudly on the Roll of the Divine.
Yet, because of the stifling and maniacal rule of the Anathema, even its most
devout worshipers eventually abandoned it. The name, and much of its power,
started to fade from Creation. In its shame, it fled to the darkest cavern in
the East, said to be at the entrance to the bordermarches of the eastern Wyld.
It diminished there, until it became nothing by a dark cloud in an even darker
cave. One day, a party of wood elementals fleeing the wrath of one of the
demon-kings of the East came upon the lonely cave. There they met the ancient
spirit.
“Who is
there?” said the youngest of the elementals. “Who waits in the darkness of this
forgotten place?”
“Leave me
be,” came the response, echoing through the cavern.
“But, you
must be so lonely. How long have you been hiding?” inquired the little
elemental.
Silence
permeated the air. After many long moments, the spirit within answered.
“I do not
know. It feels like an eternity since I have seen my brethren.”
The wood
elementals all spoke with one another. The oldest, a gnarled old oak, scratched
his mossy beard and proclaimed their decision.
“We are
fleeing the evil of the Anathema, just as you have, ancient one.” The old oak
creaked as it leaned to one side. “We too have lost many of our kin to their
wickedness.”
The spirit
within the cave waited, then with a heavy sigh, continued.
“It pains me
to know there are still others suffering as I do.” The spirit exhaled, and a
gust of wind blew out of the mouth of the cave. “I wish to help you. I once
gave council and aid to all of my children under the morning sun. I would give
what little I have left to make your existences better, if I can.”
The wood
elementals all chuckled together, leaves rustling in a melodic, trilling
cadence.
“No, great
one,” spoke the eldest. “It is we who shall be aiding you this day. And through
our power, you shall take back what was stolen from the children of the
forest.”
Suddenly,
out of the great woods surrounding the dark cave, all manner of spirits and
little gods strode into the light. They collected, large and small, old and
young, and bowed low before the ancient spirit in the cave. Their essences began
to mingle, as the strong autumn breeze carried leaves and petals into the cave.
The ancient one felt their power, their passion, fill him with new life and
identity. The darkness that he was gave way to light, casting shadows all about
the cave. The cloud that was his form grew, until it could no longer fit in the
cave with the light. As they split, forever joined by the sacrifice of the
East, the light became the head and heart of the ancient one, and the cloud
became his fury and form. He sent out the cloud to bring the rains of change to
the East, and ushered in the Dragon-Blooded champions of old, guiding them to
the homes and towers of the Anathema. Together, the ancient one's fury and the
Dragon-Blooded's honor banished the demon-kings. They brought down the great
towers, and set up holy bastions to honor and venerate the Eastern spirits.
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