Crestholder Lore 1
A divine beast was encountered in the woods - an old and dying elk, massive, far beyond any natural being, tired, alone. Who would become the first Crestholder and the elk rested together, the great beast barely able to move, and, thinking it a kindness, the Crestholder spoke to it as though to comfort it through its dying breaths. The creature spoke back. I am dying. No souls come to these woods anymore, nor pays me any heed. I was once a being of great power when these woods were full and lively. Any magic, I could strengthen. Any efforts were blessed. Talents could grow like vines in the spring.
The first Crestholder asked what could be done, if their family were to move to the woods, would the Elk be saved by devotion?
It heaved a breath, and answered no, that its form was spent past the point of saving and would return to the earth, and the essence would be lost.
Hours passed of the two talking, the Elk growing no weaker for it. They came to an idea. The Elk didn't have the energy to move to another body, but, its essence could be consumed by another being. That being could carry what was left of that essence, foster it, and then pass it on as well, strengthening both parties. In that way, the essence could be slowly rebuilt and spread.
How, though? The Elk explained that its essence was stored in its still-beating heart. Whoever consumed the last beat would receive its essence.
The task was arduous, but the being was not beholden to pain, and the Crestholder held the heart, pulsing and huge, in hand and consumed it until the last beat echoed through both of their bodies, and then the Elk’s body grew lifeless.
A sigil lit up the night, the darkness of the forest, and the deal was done.
The family was not known by any true name, but they became emissaries of the Elk and began to slowly spread the essence - through blood, through association.
The holders of the sigil clustered, concentrated their power, until there grew to be so many of them that magic grew wild and unable to be controlled. Skin glowed and bodies began to merge. Foliage bloomed out of season, and every impulse began to manifest in the temporal plane. The Elk, empowered, rose from the night and spoke, scattering those bearing the sigils with directives:
The first was to share the sigil with only those who could be trusted to bear it.
The second was to never gather many together in one place.
The third was to enchant one’s place of residence as a beacon to others with the sigil.
Starting from there it became the tradition that only the closest of kin - the truest of friends, partners, lovers, and every parent to their child - would be passed the essence. Every child would be sent off to a new land when they were of age to continue the line through their bonds. Every home would be marked, where aid would be given freely, but also, as a caution to not linger.
The origins have largely been lost to time, but the three directives are passed on to everyone who receives the essence.