The Night Maiden Creates the Shadowfell
To taste of the magic of shadows, is to taste the love of Nacthlied.
Drink of her tears, and stare into the moonless night,
Travel under her veil of shadows, taking the darkness to conquer the world.
And return to her embrace when you are buried in the Shadowfell.
~ excerpt from the “Compassion of the Shadows”
Grievously wounded Nacthlied refused to die in front of her sister. She knew she must teleport herself to another location, another plane, anywhere but the battle site. She raised her voice and hands casting darkness upon the land and called her steward. Mortally, wounded but heeding the call Bardakvold understanding her motives, and ripped open a hole in the darkness before taking her death breath and crashed into the ocean below.
Nacthlied knew that this was her opportunity to escape, she dove through the rift as a final teardrop mixed with her blood fell to the ground below in honor of her steward. On the other side, Nacthlied willed the rip to mend keeping Shanwaser and Wolkengot far from her. An interplanar cosmic storm of magic, and blood of gods exploded out of and around Nacthlied sealing the rip between planes. As Nacthlied drifted off into a long slumber she beheld the beauty that is the Astral Sea drifting above her. She released herself and embraced death as she waited for the oblivion.
The ages passed…
Nacthlied was suspended between life and death. A goddess can not die until their final follower perishes, then the god dies, and its name forgotten from the eons. So Nacthlied drifted, surrounded by miasma of her own blood and defeat. Nacthlied in time came to the realization that death would not come for her, even death had forsaken her. There she was left drifting in her feelings of betrayal and abandonment. Waves of emotions rolled through her and she pulled on her magic and willed herself from this place, but her magic failed the longer she laid in this void. Yet, Nacthlied began to heal somehow, she did not comprehend. When she regained only enough strength to right herself, she took in her surroundings. Where was she? And why was she not dead? She observed herself floating in between the Astral Sea above, planes of the material beside her and the negative energy below suspended in a chasm outside all planes but nigh in the Sea.
Nacthlied’s rage and anger tore out of her as she let out a scream that would of shattered any mortal had they heard her anguish. And she witnessed the chasm grow larger, she watched as the Astral Sea stretched farther out of her reach defeating her attempt to survive once again. During that time Nacthlied let her rage consume her in fits, and such watched the Sea drift farther and farther as the chasm expanded with every outburst. But soon her rage left as her final reserve of magic was consumed by the void. Nacthlied drift off into a deep depression. There she floated for an age in a dark dreary apathy.
In sorrow, and despair unable to connect to the weave she had relied on for so long she lamented her plight. Floating in nothingness, she watched as her long exsanguinated blood drift together to form large bodies of harden mass. When she drew near to it though, she felt magic, not the weave of the material plane but a new source of magic. One that radiated from her blood amassed in floating hardened clots. As she refreshed herself drawing on this new magic, she felt the difference in it; still a weave but with tendrils and threads of cold, and negative energy. Nacthlied pulled on this magic and then infused it back into the mass and it coalesced into larger and denser material. As the mass grew, the magic grew in power. Pushing this new magic out from her, Nacthlied became her own weaver of magic, and she was returned to all her glory with great new power.
Her strength as a goddess grew but forever changed by the battle, and the time spent in this chasm. She drew on her godly powers and conjured earth to mix with her blood and magic. Then she conjured water to mix with her tears she had cried to give this new land water. As Nacthlied looked around at her new creation that hovered beside the planes rolling with shadows, she was pleased. She pulled form into this new plane using the shadows she embraced. She was after all the “Goddess of the Night”, now she took dominion of the Shadows her only companions that never left her. As the shadow world took shape and form Nacthlied’s dulled and depressed memories of her old home caused the new world to take a reflection, or "echo" of the Jethiea. But this world was bleak, desolate place full of decay and death. Yet, Nacthlied was still pleased this was to be her new home and felt her new magic surge in a weave that held this plane together. Nacthlied understood that from this plane, the Shadowfell, with weave of shadow magic she would return to Jethiea and overtake her sister once and finally.
~ excerpt from the “Compassion of the Shadows”
Grievously wounded Nacthlied refused to die in front of her sister. She knew she must teleport herself to another location, another plane, anywhere but the battle site. She raised her voice and hands casting darkness upon the land and called her steward. Mortally, wounded but heeding the call Bardakvold understanding her motives, and ripped open a hole in the darkness before taking her death breath and crashed into the ocean below.
Nacthlied knew that this was her opportunity to escape, she dove through the rift as a final teardrop mixed with her blood fell to the ground below in honor of her steward. On the other side, Nacthlied willed the rip to mend keeping Shanwaser and Wolkengot far from her. An interplanar cosmic storm of magic, and blood of gods exploded out of and around Nacthlied sealing the rip between planes. As Nacthlied drifted off into a long slumber she beheld the beauty that is the Astral Sea drifting above her. She released herself and embraced death as she waited for the oblivion.
The ages passed…
Nacthlied was suspended between life and death. A goddess can not die until their final follower perishes, then the god dies, and its name forgotten from the eons. So Nacthlied drifted, surrounded by miasma of her own blood and defeat. Nacthlied in time came to the realization that death would not come for her, even death had forsaken her. There she was left drifting in her feelings of betrayal and abandonment. Waves of emotions rolled through her and she pulled on her magic and willed herself from this place, but her magic failed the longer she laid in this void. Yet, Nacthlied began to heal somehow, she did not comprehend. When she regained only enough strength to right herself, she took in her surroundings. Where was she? And why was she not dead? She observed herself floating in between the Astral Sea above, planes of the material beside her and the negative energy below suspended in a chasm outside all planes but nigh in the Sea.
Nacthlied’s rage and anger tore out of her as she let out a scream that would of shattered any mortal had they heard her anguish. And she witnessed the chasm grow larger, she watched as the Astral Sea stretched farther out of her reach defeating her attempt to survive once again. During that time Nacthlied let her rage consume her in fits, and such watched the Sea drift farther and farther as the chasm expanded with every outburst. But soon her rage left as her final reserve of magic was consumed by the void. Nacthlied drift off into a deep depression. There she floated for an age in a dark dreary apathy.
In sorrow, and despair unable to connect to the weave she had relied on for so long she lamented her plight. Floating in nothingness, she watched as her long exsanguinated blood drift together to form large bodies of harden mass. When she drew near to it though, she felt magic, not the weave of the material plane but a new source of magic. One that radiated from her blood amassed in floating hardened clots. As she refreshed herself drawing on this new magic, she felt the difference in it; still a weave but with tendrils and threads of cold, and negative energy. Nacthlied pulled on this magic and then infused it back into the mass and it coalesced into larger and denser material. As the mass grew, the magic grew in power. Pushing this new magic out from her, Nacthlied became her own weaver of magic, and she was returned to all her glory with great new power.
Her strength as a goddess grew but forever changed by the battle, and the time spent in this chasm. She drew on her godly powers and conjured earth to mix with her blood and magic. Then she conjured water to mix with her tears she had cried to give this new land water. As Nacthlied looked around at her new creation that hovered beside the planes rolling with shadows, she was pleased. She pulled form into this new plane using the shadows she embraced. She was after all the “Goddess of the Night”, now she took dominion of the Shadows her only companions that never left her. As the shadow world took shape and form Nacthlied’s dulled and depressed memories of her old home caused the new world to take a reflection, or "echo" of the Jethiea. But this world was bleak, desolate place full of decay and death. Yet, Nacthlied was still pleased this was to be her new home and felt her new magic surge in a weave that held this plane together. Nacthlied understood that from this plane, the Shadowfell, with weave of shadow magic she would return to Jethiea and overtake her sister once and finally.
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Compassion of the Shadows
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