So, more on the lore. The gods and the fae might actually be the same thing. We already know Tirnoch was a fae but also that she was very likely Lyria who held dominion over the tapestry of fate. The ancient Alfar even sealed her away, and they have the most prominent connection to Lyria. Who was their primary goddess of worship. However, with Alyin Shir it's also revealed that there was a massive cover up done by some shadow organization she works for thousands of years ago. Which is Alfar in origin. In order to hide the existence of dragons like Tirnoch. It could very well be that all gods are just cosmic dragons, and the secretive group that Alyin Shir works for went out of their way to hide Lyria's true nature. And the fact they had to seal her away.
The Rise of Mourning Suns where The Carver, The Architect, and The Shaper appeared from Esharra. The realm of the fae.
Its icon shows a valley, implied to be the Cradle of Summer. Even though the description mentions all three Majestics, the Lorestones' text emphasizes the Shaper instead of The Carver or The Architect. From the naked dirt sprang the Majestics, the firstborn of the wilds of Esharra. Around them...
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The Birth of Beauty
From the naked dirt sprang the Majestics, the firstborn of the wilds of
Esharra.
Around them, they heard the song of splendor of a once and future summer.
And they responded. And the earth moved.
The Carver shaped,
The Architect built, and the Shaper composed.
Crossing the Veil
Departing their home beyond the veil,
the firstborn were torn asunder with a cry that still lingers in the heart of every godtree and mountain.
Then, emptiness, followed by a darkening sky, and the frost wept with the first winter.
The Shaping of Erathell
The Shaper bequeathed her music to the countryside of marbled ruin.
The plains birthed the gentle grass.
Listless streams meandered through the verdant hills and babbled of their gentle travel to the face of the windswept cliffs.
Thus the symphony of
Erathell began.
A Passionate Work
Look to these open plains nestled where mire and rocky desert cease; where the hungry forests end.
In the bosom of the Faelands, these fields are home to the languid sky.
This work, shaped by the delicate artistry of an inspired painter, is for all the peoples of all lands.
Cradle of Creation
The summer begins here, oh mortals.
And when the final winter leaves its chill breath on the stones of your fathers and mothers, you will witness the end of days.
And it will happen here, where it began, a peaceful death in the cradle.
"The Carver" is a poem from the Menetyre set of Lorestones The Lord of the Desert: He only needed one name, the Carver,like the Wind or the Lightning or the Dawn.With his presence, a new age began.The Kings of the South stood.They were the Lords of the Desert Sea. The Labors Begin: First, he...
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The Lord of the Desert: He only needed one name, the Carver,
like the Wind or the Lightning or the Dawn.
With his presence, a new age began.
The Kings of the South stood.
They were the Lords of the Desert Sea. The Labors Begin: First, he made the river in the arc of the great Snaketail.
When that grew tedious, he turned his attention to the cliffs, the dunes, the depths. A Careful Hand: The Carver made by the morning what takes the Cycle centuries to shape.
He bored holes in the Red Marches and chiseled the spine in the Alserund.
Echoes rang through the canyons of Menetyre.
He gouged the Hollowlands and then left it barren. A Rest: Finally, the Carver rested.
He grew a mountain crowned with clouds by the river,
and leaned against its side to sleep.
Ages passed and the sand settled into his work, and all the land was still. The Whispers of Dust: That day, the Carver woke to find his touch run dry,
the wellspring of his power dead as dust at the source.
He heard then the first whisper, the first mention, "Mortals." Its icon depicts a fire, implying Aodh. While the Shaper brushed the plains with hills and wheat, and the Carver molded the deserts with a careful, measured hand, the third of the Majestics stood from the earthen Cradle and beheld the glories of their work. He was the Architect, and carried in...
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The Vision
While the Shaper brushed the plains with hills and wheat,
and the Carver molded the deserts with a careful, measured hand,
the third of the Majestics stood from the earthen Cradle and beheld the glories of their work.
He was the Architect, and carried in his mind a dream: the form of growth.
A design shaped in nature, a place of wild abundance in harmony.
Tools of Creation
The Architect readied himself.
He construed the gods of earth and sky as tools,
and weighted plans of origins, built two piece planks for wood and stone.
He began creating.
Waters trickled through the Sidhe and life sprung from the ground:
the wolf and its antelope, the bear and its fish, all the work of the Architect.
The Inferno
As the Architect labored, he found an inferno.
There, in the heart of the Fae wood, the fire raged.
It consumed all life uncontrollably.
He faced the inferno, but could not quell its hunger.
In despair, he looked upon the Sidhe.
Aodh
He saw the saplings nourished by the gentlest of touches.
He went to the river and said,
"Follow this path, and you will never run dry."
The river changed its course and fell unto the blaze.
A tired sigh escaped the water;
It remains as an azured mist upon the land, ringing with Fate's song.
Its brumey brow left a sheen of rich dew on every leaf and blade of grass.
The Sidhe
The fires abated; the rock cloven by time and cascades sauntering through this vale.
The Architect finished crafting the Sidhe.
This haunting beauty: a mystic requiem for the fading of Esharra's other children.
It will forever remain the body of the forest,
built from an ordered wilderness, constructed by a natural chaos.
The sun itself is a god, and sentient.
Its icon depicts a skull, presumably Saina's skull. A massive skeleton matching this skull (presumably Saina's) can be found in the Hollowlands. In ancient times, the desert had no shade. The sun burned the land to ruin. The rivers disappeared, and the animals hid underground. The people cried...
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The Jealous Sun
Helius heard the call and, looking down upon the desert, grew irritated.
His mighty works were undone and his brilliance spurned.
He called
Vraekor to his side and implored the fiery god to strike Saina from the skies.
Vraekor agreed, but, as Saina was too strong, he asked Helius to lend him some of his fire as well.
So Helius gave Vraekor the flames of the sun.
From the Ashes
A fire from the heavens struck Saina and her plumage burst into flames.
She flew high to cool her feathers, and dove to extinguish the fires.
Still, nothing would cease the burning, and she knew that she was doomed,
so she absorbed as much of the heat of the sun and the spirit of fire as she could,
and fell dead to the earth. Now only her bones remain,
but she will rise again if life is threatened in the Hollowlands.
Ysa, the First Summer King of the fae, is the very embodiment of summer itself. Whereas Ohn embodies winter.
Its icon shows lightning. In the country of Nyralim's embrace, the summer manifests as an immortal Fae. You know her, him, it, as the resplendent warrior or the ardent conqueror. You mortals named him King Ysa. In the youth of your people's memory, you bore witness to Ysa's exploits. He is your...
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Summer's Manifestation
In the country of
Nyralim's embrace, the summer manifests as an immortal Fae.
You know her, him, it, as the resplendent warrior or the ardent conqueror.
You mortals named him King Ysa. In the youth of your people's memory, you bore witness to Ysa's exploits.
He is your legend of might and eminence.
Come listen to a tale of Ysa and Ohn, the Godstorm, the Withering War.
Dalentarth
The forest you call
Dalentarth was ruled by Ysa. The god-king fostered communion, a sharing.
The mortals heeded his wisdom, the Fae followed his spirit.
He linked the natural with the divine, and became a nature unto himself.
He knew the lives of elf, human, gnome, and all people.
He showed the Fae these words and ways. He united the oath clans.
As the meadow grows into woodland, so did Ysa grow the
Court of Summer.
The Herald of Winter
There was another, named Ohn. This name was to be feared.
The name is death, decay, and violence; a cold and fading moment;
a mind not of misery in the few leaves of winter; a suit of armor, beneath which there lay a void.
Where Ysa's vision was of cultured landscapes, his was of the choking weeds.
Ohn's reach devoured the land. The Winter approached.
The Onset of War
The
Great Cycle brought powerful magic to Amalur.
The Arcane Veil begat King Ysa's reign, and, all things in balance, also its destruction.
The seasons passed, the summer wilted into autumn and Lord Ohn culled his strength.
King Ysa's sway receded as does the shade at noon.
The Faelands rested from their sprouting, and a haze of indolence silenced the woods.
When the winter moon waned, it began. A terrible thunder rolled across the darkened
Plains of Erathell.
Interlude
It is from this tale that you mortals create myths.
There were many battles, many losses, many victories. The tempest spared no one.
Your ancestors hid as the ground trembled under the gathered armies of Lord Ohn.
They whispered tales of the radiant Ysa, striking the Winter Fae like lightning tearing the looming clouds.
It was everything you know of war.
A Blizzard
The
Summer Fae suffered the
Winter's onslaught.
They collided amidst lightning and fire, and a God Storm gathered up the land in its embrace, crushing it.
Do you remember the steady rain, the hail of bodies both wintry and warm?
It was a sword carving the plains with death.
The Talisman of Fate
It was then that Ysa brought forth the Talisman of Fate and entered the marsh.
This craven arena, a place of life and death. The winds carried the songs of the dying.
The mire sucked the bones of armies below the sea-loam.
The mist shielded the eyes of your ancestors from the horror as the two armies clashed.
Something or Nothing
Ysa met Ohn. They embraced each other, and, in stillness, enveloped the darkened land.
Where one sang, the other danced. And they sang thus:
'We are Ysa!' and Ohn danced.
'We are Ohn!' and Ysa danced.
'I am the summer's dawn,' and Ohn bowed.
'I am the mourning winter,' and Ysa bowed.
'This thing is something,' and Ohn wept.
'Naught of naught,' and Ysa wept.
Behind the Veil
The Prince of Spring raised his sword toward the breaking dawn, and he called down the glory of the newborn morning.
Ysa bequeathed to the land the Talisman of Fate.
With its power, the earth rose to defend the birthplace of light, our cradle of summer.
So the Great Cycle swathed Ohn of the Thulian Dusk in the Arcane Veil,
and Ysa planted the Gardens after the storm, and nurtured the Court of Summer by the ruins of fire.
The Great Cycle Turns
The buds bloomed and all the willows wept.
Hear us, firstborn. Hear us, fleshones. Ohn forsakes his throne for a bed of crows.
Your people still search for Ohn's body, lost in the Marsh.
You scour the sand for the Talisman of Fate, although it is already yours.
The
Gardens of Ysa are Summer; the
Tuatha Deohn the entropic legacy.
Learn well the ways of both Ysa and Ohn, lest the Withering return.
