Day after day, ██████’s father committed atrocities across neighboring kingdoms and the lands of Igris as a whole. While the common man struggled to feed their families, the King lived lavishly, surrounded by the riches of his many conquests. Queen Vivianne, ever by his side, did everything in her power to help see Edwyn claim his birthright; the birthright he had earned by slaying his father and taking The Onyx Crown for himself.

One day, in ██████’s youth, their parents had left in search of a prophecy for the King. Of the two, only Edwyn returned, accompanied by something new. Not his wife, but a strange entity. A corpse of a woman, decorated in an exquisite white gown, with disheveled obsidian hair that fell nearly to the hem of her floor length dress. Inky, black hair that always obscured the visage beneath.  Their father had called… her, “The Lady of the Black Lagoon”, though there was nothing human about the wraith as far as any could tell.

Upon their return, it seemed a fanatical energy, one the likes of which ██████ had never seen, possessed The Onyx King. Gone was their stern yet fair father. The man that returned only thirsted for his next conquest, with that creature always whispering in his ear. Never satisfied. Never relenting. Always hungry for more. 

With this dark turn their father had taken, ██████ knew they had to act to keep all of Igris from being razed to the ground. 

The Onyx Crown, an artifact obtained by killing his father and predecessor, was the ultimate symbol of Edwyn’s leadership. The Crown was rough-hewn, carved entirely of void-black stone and topped with sharp, jagged protrusions. It represented rulership over the preeminent kingdom of Igris for generations.

If they were to have a chance to start a rebellion and take back their land, ██████ would have to rob The King of THE symbol of his rule. With The Crown, they’d gain the political clout needed to challenge The King for rulership of Tir Tywyll, a challenge that Edwyn feared most. The penalty for stealing the crown was death, regardless of their station. If they escaped the palace alive, ██████ would have to disappear to where The Onyx Legion could not find them.

As thoughts of leaving this place and playing with fate ran through their head, ██████ thought back to their mother. 

There had been times when they would sneak into Vivianne’s room, only to find her surrounded by arcane sigils from floor to ceiling. The times that ██████ was able to linger, the energy seemed to affect them as well. They were gifted with glimpses into things that would happen days, sometimes weeks, later. Once, ██████ had ‘awoken’ from one of these visions to the sight of their mother beaming down at them.

“My dear child,” Vivianne said. “You have the gift of my homeland. The gift of an oracle.” Her face glowed with pride. “When you are older, I will teach you how to harness this power and see the things unseen.”

With crown in hand, ██████ would flee to their mother’s homeland, Avalyn. There, they would seek out the practitioners of foresight and try to understand the gift that their mother never had the opportunity to teach them. And with their mother gone, it was likely their best chance to help dethrone The Onyx King.

Approaching the outer vault, they motioned for the guards to open the doors. There was nothing unusual about The King’s bloodline entering to admire their father’s conquests. Only the inner vault was off limits to all but The King. Stepping past the guards, ██████ turned to look at the closing door and thought they glimpsed a wisp of pale fabric retreating around a corner and out of view.

The layout of this vault made it clear that the former rulers had once hosted banquets to flaunt their wealth to foreign dignitaries. Evenly distributed on either side of the central walkway was row upon row of pedestals. And atop each of those pedestals were clear, glass displays housing priceless artifacts. The ambience was ruined by messy piles of stolen treasure that choked the spaces between each pedestal; physical proof of The Legion’s continued abuse of power. 

██████ hesitated as they turned towards the inner vault. It was the sort of instinctive hesitation one had when cauterizing a wound: fear and pain in exchange for continued survival. In this case, it was Igris’s survival on the line. 

To enter the inner vault, one would have to have The Onyx King’s blood in their veins. The doorway separating the outer vault from the inner one differed substantially from the door protected by the guards outside. There was no physical ‘door’ to open. Only an opaque, rectangular pane of black onyx stone stretched twenty-five feet from floor to ceiling. During their only previous visit, The Onyx King had brought a prisoner with them to the vault. The demonstration ██████’s father had given them to illustrate his point still haunted them, especially now.

“Watch closely, ██████,” the King began. “For this is what befalls any who try to take what is mine.” Punctuating his pronouncement, The King pushed the man’s head into the black pane. Instead of being crushed on a solid surface, it was as if his head was being pushed beneath a placid lake. ██████ was no longer sure of the portal’s makeup, as a purple hue rippled out from the point of contact.

When the king pulled his hand and the man’s now-limp body back from the stone, Edwyn turned the corpse to ██████. All that remained of the man’s head was a blackened stump of a neck. No blood. No bone. Just charred, smoldering flesh, as if the thief had been pressed headfirst into an impossibly hot flame. The King’s manic glee had seared itself into their memory almost as much as the image of that burnt, headless stump.
██████ steeled themselves, knowing that there was no other option but forward. With much apprehension, they stepped into the pane of black stone and hoped it would not char them into ash. Walking into a solid surface went against everything they knew. As ██████ stepped into the surface, their body was hit with an intense freeze. Yet, as they moved through the space, the biting cold turned into a raging, blistering heat. They thought of their father’s ebonflames and how they destroyed everything they touched. And then-

Darkness. ██████’s eyes caught the only source of light in the room. Set in front of them in this unknowable space was an onyx pedestal that was lit delicately from somewhere above. The Onyx Crown - one of the most powerful artifacts in Igris, if only for the authority it carried - rested almost unassumingly upon the pedestal. ██████ took a deep breath and reached towards the crown, still far too big for their head. This was their only chance of saving Tir Tywyll from their father’s wrath.

Fear and pain in exchange for their people’s continued survival.

There was no going back now. ██████ took the crown off the pedestal, almost shocked by the weight of it; a weight they would carry from now until death, however soon that might be. With the Onyx Crown hidden on their person, ██████ fled, knowing that they had forfeited their own life for the sake of their people.

Avalyn’s roads were well-paved and well-guarded, bisecting the land between the two kingdoms. Having a stranglehold on all trade that passed the road from north to south, Edwyn assured a constant flow of gold from travelers while sharing none with his own people.

Stowing away on the back of a hay wagon bound for the border, ██████ gained a much greater understanding as to the extent of Edwyn’s greed. It was laid bare before them, etched into the sallow faces of every villager, baked into the hard, tasteless bread each tavern served, and sewn into the empty fields of every barren farm they rode past. Confronted by the ugly truth, ██████ only grew more resolute in their goal.

Passing through the countryside, ██████ was shocked by the groups of bandits they encountered. People that ██████ had been told had turned against their king in greed and envy, were instead starving farmers and traders who were trying to feed themselves and their families.

██████ swore then, they would do better.

With the help of their countrymen, ██████ devised a plan to smuggle themselves across the border and into Avalyn. The plan was simple: hide on board the next trade convoy in a crate of wares and hope to pass through inspection. Odds were that this simple ruse would not be enough and that they would be returned to the King to face his judgement. Expecting the worst, ██████ called upon their small but powerful repertoire of magic.

██████ didn’t have a name for it, but their father had always referred to it as “manipulation magic”. In reality, it was an intense connection to the people around them and felt bigger than any crude name their father or anyone else could give it. They were able to feel and see the emotions of those around them. If they wanted, they could even impose their will over others. A very dark power, were it to ever be abused. However, in cases of trying to sway ornery guards, it was a valuable asset.

In ██████’s mind, people’s emotional states often appeared like threads, tangled and complex. They glowed as they formed the other person’s mental state. There was a messy weave of bright red where the guard stood. It moved erratically like a cornered snake. The smugglers had changed from the bright yellow of confidence to an ever-growing red. Reading these patterns and their colors had been the core of ██████’s magical training.
The exchange between the guard captain and the smugglers grew more heated as ██████ watched the guard’s emotional weave getting more hectic and saturated. At the sound of a sword unsheathing, they knew that it was time to act.

Controlling their craft, ██████ tapped into the man’s emotions and saw the guard captain’s sense of anger and duty burning red hot. ██████ reached out with their mind, and as if detangling the mess, left a neat line with a neutral white glow. Shortly thereafter, and with the help of some additional coin to smooth things over, the caravan was moving again, through the gates and into the Kingdom of Avalyn.

Gaining access to an order of forbidden magic practitioners, notorious for their secrecy, was never going to be an easy task. ██████ had needed to pay a lot of gold, and prove themselves to several different factions of their motivations to meet with The Order of the Black Lagoon. After bribes, interrogations, and a few challenges, ██████ was finally transported to the fabled lagoon itself.

By the Order’s stipulations, anyone entering or exiting their home were not allowed to see anything that could ever lead them back to The Order. Their magical gifts allowed ██████ to know that they weren’t in danger, and so they rode comfortably in silence. When the carriage finally stopped, the first thing ██████ noticed was the overwhelming scent of ocean air, which was strange given that they were about a week’s ride to the nearest coastline.

The strangeness didn’t stop there. As their driver removed the band that had been used to blind them, ██████ was immediately stunned by the surrounding land. The Black Lagoon lived up to its name, the dark water still enough to look like glass. Moss covered stones stood along the shore and backed up to a white granite wall. The sheer rock face of the wall held up a mess of brambles that surrounded a dark house, grand in stature, if humble in appearance.

“Child of Tyrants,” whispered a withered voice. It sounded as if the speaker stood within an arm’s length of ██████. “The Order of the Black Lagoon welcomes home their wayward progeny.” ██████ turned to see a decrepit woman wearing an equally ragged, black cloak. “We have anticipated your return for quite some time.”

“My Return?” ██████ questioned, having no memory of this place.

“Yes, child,” the emissary continued. “We’ve awaited this day from the moment Vivianne departed–” ██████ attempted to cut the old woman off with questions about their mother. Questions they needed answers to. A shriveled hand emerged from beneath the dark cloak to silence them. “Her story is not for us to tell, but for you to discover. Perhaps if you learn what we have to teach, you may ascertain what happened for yourself.”

“How will seeing into the future help me to understand the past?” ██████ asked.

“When weaving a tapestry, even if you were not the one to begin it, you are able to see the threads that came before. The colors chosen, the patterns. These things all mean something.” The crone’s voice trailed off, extinguishing further discussion of the subject. “Join us for dinner, child. Afterwards, we will give you the tools to learn.”

The meal was more than pleasant, despite their eerie surroundings. The same could be said for this entire experience within the witches’ den. They had always believed the Order of the Black Lagoon would be just as wretched as the creature their father had returned with: bloodthirsty, twisted, and evil. Rather, the warmth in the room must be what others felt with family. Laughter came easily as bowls and plates were passed around the table; a feeling that seemed to come naturally to ██████.
After they’d finished eating, the group descended into the cellar. It was a ritual chamber that exuded the same energy ██████ had experienced when in the presence of their mother’s magic. The room looked like a round theater. Descending steps led to a circular platform at the bottom of it all. Knowingly, everyone began to move to their spots while ██████ looked on, the swirling of cloaks settled. As if it was muscle memory, ██████ began to descend the stone steps, making their way towards the center of the room.

Operating on instinct, they reached into the bag that had not left their side since the inner vault and pulled out The Onyx Crown. The jagged spires that adorned it caught a hint of the low candlelight in the room. The Crown’s unveiling served as a signal to the women. As one, they all began to chant. Raising it above their head, ██████ brought it down to crown themselves. Instead, the jagged stone circlet engulfed their head and fell to their shoulders, far too large to sit as intended. The monstrous thing appeared almost like teeth, a ravenous beast that threatened to tear ██████’s head off.

Assuming the position their mother had used when meditating, ██████ began to connect themselves to the energy of the women’s chanting. The ground beneath them began to boil with black liquid, but they remained still and allowed the pool to swallow them. It was as if they had been pulled beneath the blackened lagoon outside. Soon enough, inky water began to fill their lungs as the darkness consumed their vision.

██████ awoke, retching the water of The Black Lagoon over cobblestones. Slowly, they stood to better assess their surroundings. Rows and rows of looms surrounded them, all actively working on tapestries despite having no weaver.

Looking at the work that the looms were creating, ██████ was shocked to see the most significant moments of their life displayed in front of them. All the moments of their life, threaded together in brilliant color. There were slight differences in each tapestry, but all telling the same story which led down to The Onyx Crown. From there, each tapestry began to piece together different fates.

A translucent thread came from ██████’s chest, a bright silver glowing thing, and led to a loom which was currently weaving a bloody scene. The King stood above ██████’s prone body, his giant bloody sword sticking out of their torso. That was not a future they would accept.

Reaching out, ██████ tore the thread that linked them to this tapestry. The energy that reached out from their chest ached, looking for a connection. Countless looms filled the space, continually working, searching for a better fate.  As if pulled, ██████ turned and walked towards one at the end of the space. Vivianne stood next to Edwyn, holding their daughter, Sarah. Her life played out similarly to the one they’d already lived. As the newest addition was woven, she did not stand alone against The King, but flanked on either side by two figures.

One was a truly massive individual, perhaps even larger than her father. They were dressed in ancient, weathered plate armor from head to toe, and a helm adorned with two horns that extended out on either side of their head. In this figure’s hands was a tower shield that was close in height to its wielder. Their blade, equally massive, looked like a cleaver, but made to cut down men.

The other figure was a distinct contrast to the first. Diminutive by comparison, unarmored, and completely wrapped in bandages, the second individual seemed to radiate sunlight. A shepherd’s crook held a brilliant lantern at their side. Instead of carrying a weapon, it looked as if this person held a star between their palms.

Using their magic of connection, ██████ began to weave their own thread into this tapestry. This was her story, who she was meant to be. A tale that ended with her standing triumphant over the King’s dead body, aided by allies. In this tapestry, she became who she was meant to be. Then there was a shrill, ear-splitting scream in an almost familiar voice.

“SARAH! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

“Sarah!” 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” the old crone asked as the younger woman regained her senses.

Sarah. That was her name. She rose to her feet, feeling the awe of the others as she reached her full height. The crown remained on her shoulders, and for the first time she felt the full weight of it. Sarah had found what she was looking for: a chance.

The others trained her in the oracular arts, as promised. Sarah found that she felt more at ease around these “cursed” oracles than she ever had at the palace. She was surprised at the ache in her heart in their parting, but it was time for her to leave. It was time for her to grow stronger. So Sarah set off in search of the challenges that would prepare her for the task to come: taking back Tir Tywyll from the tyrannical reign of her father.

She spent three years honing her combat skills and her ability with a blade. Tanaka warriors taught her the art of total awareness in combat; not only being present in the moment, but anticipating the next. It was not entirely dissimilar to her own magic. Only when she had grown into a formidable warrior and gained the support needed to contend with The Onyx Legion, and The Onyx King himself, would she dare return home.

That time had finally come. The High Harvest Festival was fast approaching and would provide the perfect platform for Sarah to announce her bid for the throne. She knew the support of the other kingdoms would come through action. She would also have to find the two figures in the tapestry, but that did not yet concern her. That wasn’t something she had to seek out, it was something that would happen. First, and most importantly, she needed her countrymen. So she smuggled herself back into her homeland and headed for the largest celebration outside the capital.

As the festivities reached their peak and happy townsfolk filled the festival grounds, Sarah braced herself for the speech she was about to give. If necessary, she could try to sway the crowd’s emotions to her favor with her magic. However, wars were won by people that had the passion for their country in their hearts, not sorcery. She needed the people, those who were ready to take back what was rightfully theirs. With a nod from the allies she had gathered thus far, she took a deep breath and rose to the stage.

There she stood, above the crowd, shocked faces staring back at her.

“People of Tir Twywll! I am Sarah Arthurian, former princess and exiled daughter of The Onyx King. A king who has failed you for generations. During my exile, I have seen the work that you, my countrymen, have put into this land. Your land. The blood. The sweat. But most of all, the pride. Yet, The Onyx King grows richer while the common folk fight to keep food on their tables.” The emotions of the crowd were a mix of disbelief and shock.

“It is time that we break the cycle and put an end to this miserable, ceaseless war. Let us seek camaraderie with our neighbors rather than sharpened blades. Let us create a new system such that you, the people, who are the true owners of this land, may rightfully partake in its riches. Brothers and sisters, I have not returned simply to agitate the sore wound of your servitude, but to offer you a solution!”

Sarah turned down to look at the hungry dirty faces of the people, her people. With her magical sight, she saw chaotic tangles of confusion and fatigue. Beneath those burned something bright within each person’s individual weave, they all had hope. She punctuated her statement by reaching into the pouch at her hip before raising her arm overhead. The Onyx Crown caught the light of the sun’s sinking rays. At the sight, gasps rose from her countrymen. The hope that lay hidden, having been given the spark needed to start a fire.

“Usurper!” some faceless voice called as a blade flew through the air, aimed at her head. She expertly wielded the crown to intercept its path to her neck, her hand bleeding where it had been clipped by the blade. It was one of The King’s men, mixed in with the bystanders, yelled out as several others descended on him, squashing his attempt to interfere. Sarah used the momentum of the incident to continue.

“Even now, The Onyx King’s men work to prevent the people from coming together in opposition to his unjust reign. Citizens of Tir Tywyll, ask yourselves, when was the last time your tyrant king offered you anything more than this endless war?”

Sarah watched as The King’s guard began to close in from the edges of the gathered crowd. The crowd, which was growing brighter and bolder in their passion, shouted and cried in agreement.

“The King fights to keep you all imprisoned under his unjust rule. He uses The Onyx Legion, who are kept fed and happy, to control those he starves. Farmers, Merchants, Craftsmen, Warriors, this country was made by you. To take back our land, we need those from every walk of life. Allies who will throw their support behind my banner as I attempt to free us from the suffering The King has brought down upon our heads. It is time we take back our lives and our land!”

Raising The Onyx Crown, as before, Sarah held the still bloody ornament around her head. The act was accompanied by an uproarious cry of exaltation. The city’s guards began to close in, but the crowd turned. No longer feeling helpless. All the citizens, regardless of age or gender, began to fight back against the monsters who had oppressed them all this time. Sarah released the crown, and it fell, its full weight clanging onto her shoulders.

Looking out at her people, Sarah saw the heart of Tir Tywyll. And the true source of her kingdom’s power. The Onyx Crown, the symbol of sovereignty over Tir Tywyll, rested upon her shoulders. Her blood still adorned the jagged spike of the crown, and slowly began to run down her breastplate, splitting the Tywillian Crest.

What better way to ignite the flames of rebellion than with the courage of her people?