Vescrutia: Legacy

The village of Grannis is nestled deep within the heart of the Maaluukian Woods. Its tree-like, harty towers have homes etched into them and bridges that connect through the sprawl. Here, the denizens known as the Alondra reside, elven descendants of Moonfang, a village that Inari, in another lifetime, fled to for safety. One, he vowed to protect a vow that he would see fulfilled in his present lifetime and thereafter. It was a village that had seen much strife, having survived a gruesome assault by a legion of Desire, eltrich terror under the control of an evil cult known as the Hand Of The Fell One.

The cult had twisted the soul of an old god that once resided in the woods, shaping her into a blazing incarnation of death and dominance in the name of their derelict lord—Xora, whose true name was Minthara, Goddess Of The Moonflow. Through a grueling battle that nearly cost Inari his very soul, he was able to defeat her as well as the Eldritch deity that inhabited her form. By casting a powerful spell, Minthara's spirit was saved, her domain cleansed of the rot that had claimed it, breathing fresh life into the woods once more. Her spirit, fresh and vulnerable, needed time to restore and thus inhabited the giant Lunarwood in Grannis's center.

Since these events, the Alondra have been rebuilding their lives, their once peaceful place now a place where the stained gaze of the Eye lingered. Yet, their spirits were not crushed, for they believed fervently that the Guardian, Inariel, would let no other tragedy strike their lands. Weeks had passed, and many of their broken structures had been repaired, with some still in process. The water flowed pure once more, and the spirits that danced on the outskirts of the barrier that protected them found no purchase or ability to enter. They slowly but surely were getting back to normal, offering their prayers to their goddess, their maiden who slumbered.

A series of shadows stretched across the sky, several pairs of wings belonging to Inari and his seven companions. He had spent the last few weeks gathering worthy allies capable of defending the Moonflow as well as Vescrutia from the Fell Soverigns and the Cult's aims. Inheritors of his Lunar legacy forged into instruments of protection. They landed gracefully on the barrier of Lunar Light, recognizing the one who forged it and those bonded to him, allowing passage with no protest. The Alondra gathered, bewildered at this sudden visit.

Work stopped. Heads tilted upwards, a collective gasp caught in the humid air. For a terrible second, the memory of the assault returned, a phantom chill that had nothing to do with the forest shade. But then, the shape of the lead figure became clear—the familiar, powerful arch of Inari’s wings. Relief washed over the village like a gentle rain.

The eight figures descended towards the shimmering barrier of Lunar Light that encircled Grannis. The barrier, a gift from Inari himself, recognized its creator and those bonded to his purpose. It rippled like water, allowing the newcomers to pass through without protest before sealing itself once more. They landed on the central platform before the great Lunarwood, and the Alondra gathered, their initial relief turning to wide-eyed bewilderment at the sight of Inari’s companions.

Inari landed first, his wings folding with a soft whisper of displaced air. His presence was a familiar comfort, a beacon of strength and resolve. But it was the seven who followed that held the Alondra’s collective gaze.

Erebus was a void given form. He didn’t seem to land so much as coalesce from the shadows at Inari’s side, his landing utterly silent. Amidst his deep, starless fur, two silver eyes glinted with an unnerving intensity, absorbing the light around them. Some of the younger Alondra instinctively took a step back.

In stark contrast, Cinderwing touched down with a soft rustle of plumage. His fur, the color of warm embers, seemed to radiate a gentle calm. His compassionate gaze swept over the gathered villagers, and the fear Erebus had sparked immediately began to soothe, replaced by a sense of peace that felt like a warm hearth on a cold night.

Stoneflight landed with a solid, reassuring thud. Clad in sturdy, earth-toned armor, he was a mountain given wings. He folded his broad, weathered pinions back like great shields, his posture unbreachable, his eyes steady and watchful. He was the very picture of immovable defense.

Then came Aethel, a vision of grace. Her pale silver fur caught the faint light, making her seem almost luminous. Her descent was a silent ballet, her delicate, ornate wings shimmering like spun moonlight as they folded neatly against her back. She was an ethereal beauty, solidified.

Selene’s arrival was the most dramatic. She descended like a falling star, her pure white fur radiating a soft, internal glow. Her magnificent wings, tipped with an iridescent light that shifted from pearl to amethyst, caught every eye. Her own silver eyes burned with a fierce, barely contained energy, and her grip was white-knuckled on the moonstone staff she carried. She was not the gentle glow of the moon, but its raw, untamed gravitational power, a passionate storm held in check by astral serenity.

Echo landed with the quiet assurance of one who has seen many seasons turn. Her speckled grey and white fur allowed her to blend into the complex tapestry of bark and leaf on the forest floor. There was no fanfare to her arrival, only the quiet competence of long experience.

Cragclaw came next, landing with a restless energy that betrayed a mind never at peace. His weathered, dark grey fur was a map of old battles, and a prominent scar bisected one brow. His sharp emerald-green eyes darted everywhere, assessing angles, judging structures, questioning the shadows. He was not here to be admired; he was here to find the weakness before the enemy did.

Finally, Whisperwind arrived. She was less a landing and more a settling of mist. Her light grey fur seemed to fade into the air, and her delicate wings made no sound at all. Her mystical indigo eyes, partially veiled by a sweep of pale fur, seemed to gaze past the physical forms of the Alondra, seeing into the flow of spirit and life that moved through the woods.

The Alondra stared, a silent, awestruck crowd. Inari stepped forward, his voice calm and clear, carrying across the platform.

“People of Grannis,” he began, his gaze sweeping over them with warmth and respect. “You have endured a horror that should never have befallen these sacred woods. You have fought, and you have begun to heal. My vow to protect this place, to protect the legacy of Moonfang, is unbreakable.”

He gestured to the seven figures at his back. “But a vow is made stronger when it is shared. These are the Inheritors of the Lunar legacy, forged into instruments of protection. They are my companions, my brethren. They are the Guardians of the Moonflow.”

He paused, letting the weight of the title settle. “They have come to stand watch with me. To ensure that the stained gaze of the Eye never again finds purchase here. To guard the Maiden who slumbers and to see Grannis thrive in the peace it has so dearly earned.”

"You've returned..."

The crowd of gathered Alondra parted like a sea. The voice that spoke was soft, yet carried a subtle firmness. It was youthful, and while he half expected the Elder One who ran this village, he instead was face to face with Hellena, the girl whom he had saved from the bloody ritual. They had endeavored to use her sinew to create another Red oracle, an apostle of the Red Eye. Had Inari arrived even a fraction later, they would have succeeded. Xora....or Minthara in her blind fury and grief-stricken vengeance felt as if she was replacing the sister Allen, Inari's name in a previous life, had been taken from her. Hellen moved with a bit of poise that Inari had not experienced before. The light of E'vanorius gleaming brightly upon her proclene features.

"You...have grown..."

Inari said candidly, not sure how to structure all his observations in the common mortal tongue. Even her very heartbeat with a thum of purpose now...as if she now carried the weight of something greater.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that. Though it seems I am not the only one."

Hellena's eye ran over the other Myotis gathered around Inari. Each is a startling vision of something mystic, ethereal, and powerful.

"You have come with...friends. I must say, a very different sight than when I first found you wandering the muck of the swamp alone."

"Heh yes...well. I have learned something of....community since then."

The other guardians nodded toward Inari, each in their own right, solidifying his words. Though their time had been short, the bond they shared through blood, sinew, and spirit was something undefined by time; it was a pledge.

A purpose

"I do not see your grandmother amongst the gathered. Does she sleep?"

Inari inquired. Hellena and her grandmother were practically inseparable, the former barely letting the latter out of her sight. At the mention of her grandmother's absence, Hellena's face fell into a grimace. Her hand was clasped at her side. The other villagers of Grannis' heads sank and lowered. Inari didn't have to be a psychic to glean what had happened.

"When?"

"Shortly after you left. She cared for me day and night, ending to my battered form...and my shattered spirit...then...When I recovered fully, her health rapidly declined."

"I..."

"Don't... there is no need for apologies. My grandmother stood vigil over Grannis for nearly two centuries, caring for the Lunarwood. For her to learn that she had been shepherding the lingering essence of the goddess her people once thought lost, worship brought her no greater peace. Her duty."

Hellena's eyes began to water, as did the villagers gathered.

"Her duty fulfilled....and now."

Hellena's eyes gained strength as she gripped the staff she held tightly. One that seemed to glimmer with the same moonlit, soaked dew of the Lunarwood itself.

"I have been entrusted with protecting that legacy. I am now The Elder One."

Inari was a flux of various emotions. He... tended to overlook natural mortality. Having walked many paths and lived many lives, many scarred and marred with unspeakable horrors, he had forgotten the peace that such a conclusion to one's story could bring. What was it like to entrust the torch to the next generation.

"You have another purpose, do you not? It involves the Lunarwood?"

Inari adjusted his stance, letting the remnants of his emotions simmer and filter themselves out. His gaze lingered on her but a heartbeat longer before shifting to E'vanoriu, as the Lunarwood housing the recovering spirit of Minthara.

"Indeed...introducing the Guardians to the village was but one objective...I have come to speak with Minthara."

The implication itself was heavy. A lifetime of regrets and bad old blood when they last crossed paths. A betrayal unlike anything the world had ever known, that once marred the very land itself. And though the physical wounds of that act had been healed and Minratha purified and severed from her oath to the Red Eye, a goddess reborn. Inari fretted over how she might receive him, knowing the evil he had once committed...how he betrayed her trust, and her power.

"Come... she awaits."

Hellena led the way, her moon-dew staff tapping a soft, rhythmic beat against the mossy stones of the path. The air grew cooler, thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and something else, something ancient and clean, like ozone after a storm. The murmur of the Alondra villagers, a sound of simple, mortal life, faded behind them, replaced by the profound, humming silence that surrounded the E’vanoris tree. For a being like Inariel, who had spent centuries cloaked in the clamour of battle and the whispers of curses, the quiet was a physical weight.

The path opened into a vast, circular clearing. In its center, defying all laws of nature and scale, stood E’vanoris. It was less a tree and more a living cathedral. Its trunk, a weave of silver-grey bark that seemed to drink the starlight, was as wide as a fortress tower, spiraling towards a canopy that blotted out the sky. The leaves were not green, but a translucent, pearlescent white, each one dripping a single, slow bead of liquid light that evaporated before it could touch the ground. This was the Lunarwood, and the collected luminescence of its foliage bathed the clearing in a perpetual, gentle twilight. A low hum vibrated in the very soil, a song of life and healing that resonated in Inariel’s bones, an old lullaby he had long forgotten.

Hellena stopped at the edge of a ring of smooth, white stones that encircled the great tree’s base. She raised her staff, its crystalline head glowing in harmony with the tree’s pulse. "E'vanoris, soul of the moon flow," she intoned, her voice clear and steady, cutting through the sacred hush. "Womb of she who heals, who watches. She who ferries the souls of the departed. He who was lost has returned to seek you. Grant him audience."

She touched the base of her staff to the ground. A ripple of silver light spread from the point of contact, flowing across the moss and over the stones, bathing the area in an even brighter glow. For a moment, nothing happened. Inariel’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, mortal rhythm he hadn’t felt in earnest in centuries. He had faced down abominations that could unmake reality, stood before gods of chaos and ruin, yet the silence of this tree, this wounded sanctuary, terrified him.

Then, the light within the E’vanoris coalesced. It gathered near the massive trunk, weaving itself like thread on a celestial loom. Ethereal strands of silver and white spiralled together, slowly forming a figure. It was tall, spectral, and achingly familiar. Robes of shimmering light draped a form that was both fragile and immensely powerful. Her hair flowed like a river of liquid starlight, and when she opened her eyes, they were pools of pure, tranquil moonlight. She was no longer the raging, crimson-tainted Xora, her divine madness a wildfire across the heavens. Nor was she the grief-maddened goddess he had first known. This was Minratha, reborn in the heart of her own creation.

Her gaze fell upon him, and the hum of the forest seemed to hold its breath.

“Allen…”

The name, his old name, echoed not in the air, but directly in his mind. It bypassed his ears, his new form, and struck the core of the man he once was. It was a voice of impossible softness, yet it carried the weight of shattered constellations.

"No...you bear his features but your soul...it aches a different song now...a more harmonious melody," she amended, her spectral brow furrowing with a curiosity that spanned millennia.

Inariel’s carefully constructed composure crumbled. He took a half-step forward, his voice cracking with the weight of ages. "Minratha…" The name was a painful ghost on his tongue. "Minratha. I…" Words failed him. What could he say that hadn't already been screamed in the throes of their shared damnation?

“You have changed,” she continued, her form wavering slightly, like a reflection on water. “The shadows that clung to you are… different. Not gone, but arranged anew. You wear the mantle of a protector now. It is an unfamiliar light on you...this time it does not feel like a mask.”

"Minratha," he began again, his voice rough but steady this time. "There are no apologies that can unmake the past. No words to mend the trust I shattered." He forced himself to meet her luminous gaze, to let her see the rot that had once consumed him. "As Allen… I was consumed by a grief that made me a monster. I chose to answer pain with pain, and in doing so, I became a tool for the very darkness I sought to defy. In my obsession and jealousy... I took your sister from you. I banished Sophia...”

The name of her sister, Sophia, hung in the air, a wound exposed. The light around Minratha flickered violently, a momentary tremor of the ancient agony. The leaves of the E’vanoris rustled as if in a sudden wind, their light dimming for a heartbeat.

"You did," she replied, her voice losing none of its calm but gaining a chilling edge of truth. "Yet I am not without flaw. In my grief, I let the Red Eye turn my sorrow into a chalice of rage and drank from it until I became Xora. I would have used Hellena’s sinew to birth another horror upon this world. I would have burned this world to ash to avenge her." She drifted closer, a phantom of sorrow and power. "We were mirrors, you and I. Two souls broken by loss, remade into weapons by the same malevolent force. Your betrayal was the key that unlocked my cage of fury. Yet for all my wisdom, I succumbed to blind rage… very mortal behavior from two gods, hm?"

A soft, sad smile touched her lips, a gesture so profoundly human it almost broke him.

“Sorrow is a currency you have paid many times over, Inariel,” she said at last, her voice laced with a profound melancholy. “I see the centuries of it etched into your spirit. I think I've always known, even through the haze of my own pain. It was why the Moonflow chose you as its protector. For like the waters of the afterlife themselves, you carried the life and memory of a thousand different dead, yet the son of the moon rang valiantly within you. Underneath the curse that once haunted you lay the soul of a Moon Blood.”

Her form drifted closer, her feet not touching the ground. She looked past him to the shadowed forms standing in silent vigil at the clearing’s edge—the Myotis. His Myotis. “Yet instead of allowing your past to stifle you, you repurposed the anguish. Instead of fleeing, you embraced that darkness and forged it into new light. I can see it in each of the souls you brought here. You have learned what I am only now re-learning within this wood. The strength of a bond, freely given. You have built something. I… I am still mending what was broken. Though the Moonflow is restored, the land still heals... and I still heal.”

This was more than he had dared hope for. Not forgiveness—that was a mountain too vast to ever surmount—but an understanding. A shared acknowledgement of the ruin they had both escaped. It was enough to let him breathe again.

"Your mending is why I have returned," Inariel said, his voice gaining strength. The time for apologies was past; the time for purpose was now. "Introducing my companions to Hellena and her people was but one reason. The other… it concerns the very thing we both fought to escape."

Minratha's gaze sharpened. “Speak plainly.”

"The Red Eye is not dormant," Inariel stated, the words falling like stones in the quiet clearing. "Far from it. Its apostles stir. They gather relics, perform the old rituals. The bloodlettings that almost claimed Hellena were not an isolated act, but a precursor. A shadow is stretching across the lands, and it wears a familiar, crimson gaze. My victory, my unshackling, no doubt has stoked a new ire within the cult. I will stand against them. We must stand against them."

A pulse of cold energy emanated from Minthara, and the leaves of the E'vanoris shivered, their light flickering like dying embers. Hellena gripped her staff tighter, her knuckles white.

“It seeks to reclaim what it lost,” Minratha whispered, the thought a chilling wave of realization. “It seeks me.”
"And all others who hold a power that could oppose it," Inariel added. "It will not stop until the world is remade in its image, until the universe itself has been burned and remoulded by its singular, hateful vision."

Minthara turned her full attention to the great tree that was her sanctuary and her vessel. The silver light around her intensified, pouring into her spectral form. “My healing is not yet complete,” she said, her voice ringing with newfound resolve. “I am not the force I once was. But the world does not wait for a goddess to mend.”

She turned back to him, her moonlight eyes pinning him in place. “The wound you gave me will never fully close, Inariel. It is part of this wood now. Part of my spirit. But it no longer burns with the Red Eye’s fire. It is a scar. And a scar is a reminder of a lesson learned.”

Her gaze flickered again to the Myotis.

"Show them to me."

Taking a deep breath, Inariel turned and beckoned. From the treeline, eight figures emerged into the spectral light. They were a collection of broken things, just as she had seen. They were the lost, the damned, the forgotten—and they were his. They knelt as one before the spectral goddess, their loyalty to Inariel an almost tangible shield around them.

Minthara drifted towards them, her light soft and inquisitive. She did not speak, but Inariel could feel her presence brushing against their souls, reading their histories of pain, resilience, and fierce devotion.
"They are strong, such vibrant souls...splattered with a thirst for retribution" she finally said, her voice a soft murmur in his mind.

"But they are mortal... Their flames will be consumed by the shadow you speak of."

"That is the final reason I am here," Inariel said, his voice dropping to a plea.

"They have followed me through darkness, they have witnessed the stains of this world, and yet they believe in the world we can protect. They need your blessing, Minratha. Impart your essence. Let the Moonflow strengthen their resolve. Let it anoint them as true guardians."
Minratha looked from the kneeling Myotis to Inariel, and finally, up into the luminous canopy of E’vanoris.

"To do so will slow my own healing. It will cost me centuries."

"I know," Inariel replied, his gaze unwavering. "But what is a century to a goddess, if there is no world left to watch over?"
A long silence settled, filled only by the hum of the great tree. Then, Minthara raised her hands. The light of the Lunarwood answered her call. It drained from the leaves, funnelling down the massive trunk and pouring into her form until she blazed like a newborn star.

"The Red Eye thrives on the singular, the isolated," she declared, her voice now resonating with divine power. "It preys on the belief that one’s pain is the only pain that matters. You have taught them otherwise. Now, let the Moonflow teach them resilience."

She extended her hands, and from her palms, eight streams of pure silver light shot forth, striking each of the Myotis in the chest. They gasped, their bodies arching in agony and ecstasy. The light was not a gentle gift; it was a scouring fire, burning away doubt and fear, cauterizing spiritual wounds, and weaving the strength of the E’vanoris into the very fabric of their beings. Silver light traced patterns across their skin and armour, sinking deep, a celestial tattoo marking them as her chosen.

When it was over, they slumped, breathing heavily, but their eyes, when they looked up, held a new, lunar depth. The shadows that clung to them were still there, but they were now edged in silver, no longer a source of shame, but a part of their strength.

Minthara’s form dimmed, becoming more translucent. She had given much. As the last of the Myotis received their blessing, Minratha turned to Inariel. She placed her hand on his chest, and he felt a profound connection to the goddess he had once betrayed. A wave of silver light washed over him, filling him with strength and purpose.

"You have done well, Moon Blood," she whispered, her voice a soft echo in his mind. "Now, go forth and use this power wisely. Fight against the terror, and protect the light that still burns within this world."

Inariel nodded, his eyes filled with determination. He turned to the Myotis and Hellena, who stood ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. Together, they would stand against the Red Eye and all who sought to bring darkness to the world.

And so, they set forth from the Lunarwood, guided by the light of the E'vanoris tree and the wisdom of Minratha. They knew that the road ahead would be fraught with danger, but they also knew that they were not alone. They carried the legacy of the Moon Flow, and they were ready to use it to protect the world they loved.