I know i didn’t do day 1, but. A lot of my main paracosm has to do with the elements, as you can see.
Alticia is a land favored by the goddess, or so her people believe. But surely it is the truth, surely that marvelous power is not the work of mortal hands–it could be neither the result of infernal contracts, nor the work of heretic alchemy. To possess such great command over nature itself is no mere parlor trick. The High Seeker says the goddess chooses–and they say she’s quite particular–four individuals worthy of her power. One each to command fire and stone, water and ice, flora and healing, wind and storms.
They say Queen Galatea found the stone of Hiricine as a young girl, when she ventured out into a storm against her mother’s pleas and returned to her fretful guardian with her drenched hair shining in the sun, against a clear blue sky.
She was young, but loved her fair country, and as its princess she would travel it often. She would call forth great maelstroms to end miserable droughts or douse raging fires. Every captain would clamor to have her aboard–she would summon mighty winds to fill their sails and calm any storms at sea. And when more pressing matters did not require her attention, she would summon tendrils of lightning and dancing sparks to entertain. Perhaps the goddess hadn’t intended for that last one, but if you don’t tell her, then neither will I.
What of the other stones, then? Where were they?
Often several generations pass with no stone-bearers to be seen. And one can’t blame them for secrecy, as there are all sorts of foul people who’d have that power for themselves. But throughout time’s winding path, it seems there is truly no pattern to the goddess’s choices. Queen Galatea was an oddity, so seldom did the Altician royal family enjoy the goddess’ blessing over the years. The stones found their way to knights, farmers, mercenaries, bandits, all the way to nobles, to peddlers, to dancers and artisans and servants. There are even records that claim people of House Fenrir’s lands, across Alticia’s western border, have received these divine gifts from time to time. Though that sounds ridiculous nowadays.
If Queen Galatea still lived, if we knew where any of the stones were, if Alticia could yet call itself a halidom rather than a pile of rubble and ash, perhaps then I could ask you to believe me. But I watched Fenran soldiers cut down the queen, and her husband too, and I can only imagine what happened to their children and the stones along with them. Perhaps they sit now in prison cells deep in Lord Fenrir’s lands, forced to use their powers to his vile ends. Or perhaps they live, and hide, and hope that no one will know what great powers they hold.
Little Annalise, though she was the oldest at 13, always with the stone of Zurande round her neck, always making little statues of ice of anyone she met, or of the cats that would roam the gardens, or of flowers for her mother on the solstice. She would be Oracle one day, everyone knew–including her–and I daresay she was well-prepared. For all her whimsy, she was attentive in every dull prayer or meeting, and kind as could be. How often she would find a wounded animal and beg her sister to heal it.
Tyresius usually obliged, of course. No one could stand to see Princess Annalise with a frown for very long, not even her siblings, for all their good-natured teasing. The stone of Morosa could heal cuts, bruises, even broken bones–though the 10-year-old princess hadn’t quite developed such skills yet, at least not with human subjects. She could never sit still in lessons, and was by far the most wild of the children, but her royal parents took it in stride. They started combat training early for her, at her ceaseless insistence (Tyresius knew General Metilea was going easy on her; she didn’t care).
Prince Erasthenes, on the other hand, had to be all but dragged to the training grounds. The mere sight of blood upset him, and when the stone of Magnell leapt like a spark from a fire to his feet, he hesitated for awhile before gingerly plucking it from the ground as though it might erupt at any moment. Even after he’d had it awhile, he had to be coaxed and cajoled into using it. His twin sister Annalise was always gentle with him–if the flames grew too high–if, because they never did–she could always put them out.
The royal family only had three children. Perhaps it is selfish of me to commit my daughter to these pages, but the queen and king treated her as kindly as if she were their own, as did their children. I would be remiss to ignore their kindness toward us. Irathabel was only a year younger than Tyresius–the two of them were especially close. As soon as she could read, Irathabel never went without a book, and often the princess was the only one who could tear her from the pages, if only for a moment. I will not dwell on what became of her, and I am grateful that I do not know. But I fear that if I do not mourn her here, she will be forgotten. Perhaps these words are heresy, but I cannot see how these children’s deaths were part of the goddess’ plan. Had she chosen them to be martyrs? I am no clergyman, I cannot say. I am a keeper of histories, and so I can only say what has happened in the past.
Never before had the goddess seen fit to give all four stones to bearers in the same family. There exist few accounts of multiple bearers except in truly dire times, as they would seldom cross paths under normal circumstances. It was said that the bearers were often so unalike as a means to facilitate peace between the goddess’ children. After all, from the mightiest queen to the lowly beggar, every creature on this continent is hers. Even the vile Lord Fenrir who spurns her teachings. Though I fear what he would do with holy power in hand. If they were all meant to perish on the day Alticia fell, why grant them such power? Perhaps it is merely wishful thinking from a grief-addled father, but I hope that they live still, by her divine grace, by some miracle. If not, I wonder if the goddess herself died with them.
It pains me to recall even the most joyous memories. I know that, most likely, they are all long dead. Like the queen and king, and so many guards and servants and commoners and nobles, all cut down for daring to live on the Goddess’ blessed land. But as long as people live and remember, Alticia may yet rise from the ashes.
–From the notes of Keeper Mayven