Beyond The Lunar Coil - 001

The sun was warm and gentle, shining over Castelmaine having burnt away the morning’s mist. He lay there on his back, his eyes closed and his golden hair spread out amongst the lush grass, smiling to himself, enjoying the sun and listening to the bustle of the city around him.

The courtyard wasn’t particularly large, little more than a thirty yards square patch of well kept grass bordered in on three sides by the Scholarium’s grand stone walls that rose around him, the bell tower spiralling skyward on the northern wall, a giant crystal glinting from the top, and by a narrow marble pathway that wound through the Scholarium to the fourth side. Despite it’s size, the tower courtyard was frequented by scholars in their pristine robes between lectures and study sessions.

It made for quite the social area; the buzz of friendly conversation and academic debate over various magical theorems and experiments, still tranquil and separated from the noise of the city proper beyond the Scholarium’s outermost walls.

He opened his eyes and sat upright, squinting as his eyes grew accustomed to the bright midday light, the cool breeze catching his hair as he watched two female students finish their food, close their books and rise, brushing various crumbs or other debris from their robes as they made their way towards the tower. Almost on cue to this display, the grand bell tolled for the first hour of the afternoon.

“Solarmancy” he muttered to himself. They were headed for the tower, or at least the northern wings, at the pinnacle of the suns cycle, when the Solarmancy lectures were held - for obvious reasons.

He smiled to himself again, they were second year students most likely, Ellinari, both of them. He lay back down again and closed his eyes. He’d have to head off for his own studies very soon, he thought to himself, but he was in no rush; the weather was glorious and damned if he was going to relinquish that just to avoid being late for-

“Jvaan?”

He opened his eyes slowly with a silent sigh to find another female stood over him, raven black hair down beyond her shoulders, her delicate face bordered by two strands that hung just off her feline ears.

“Good afternoon” he yawned wearily, grinning warmly but got no farther before she had planted a soft kiss upon his lips before rocking back onto the grass next to him.

“Jvaan, don’t we have to be at the waterfront soon? I thought you’d have left already...”
He chuckled softly before sitting up and peering at her, “And waste this glorious weather, Cortali? Besides, you’re running late too.”
She nodded and leapt to her feet with lightning agility and grace, She offered him a hand up which he took before kneeling to pick up his knapsack and slinging it’s weight over his shoulder, the tomes hanging heavily beside his waist.
“Just an errand for the Library.”
He simply nodded and said, “Come, we’ll be late” before offering her his hand.


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The entire of the southern district seemed to be enjoying the warm weather as the two made their way through the crowds of the busy streets. Castelmaine had made a swift recovery after the Third Coming, and now, three centuries on, it seemed to those within the Glimmering City as if nothing had happened.

The districts had been entirely rebuilt, and though only a scant few had survived the Third Coming, all would agree that the city was nigh exactly the same as it had been before the catastrophe.

To the north, the Veo Kazaia monastery had been completely destroyed. The labarynthine monastery tunnels that had nearly all collapsed were dug out by the Geomancers, and the artifacts and relics delicately excavated. The forest gardens of the land above had been scorched to the ground, but now, had been entirely replanted, recreating the beautiful groves and glades, and the polluted lakes had been cleansed and purified.

The eastern Trade District, the “City On The Water” as it was called, due to its nature of being a network of canals and waterways, had literally sunk beneath the waves. However, the canals had been dredged, the buildings rebuilt, the forums, walkways and bazaars reconstructed gradually over time.

To western Old Town had been hit badly too, of course. The ancient stone buildings there had crumbled out onto the streets to such an extent that the maze of houses had ended up appearing as nothing more than a field of rubble. Amazingly, Old Town was the fastest district to recover, the sheer willpower to restore it had it back to it’s former glory in a mere matter of decades.

The southern district, home to the University Scholarium and the Grand Library was hit the worst. The dizzying ivory towers that gave the district it’s name “The Glimmering City” and the marble walkways that connected them, suspended streets between the upper levels of the towers, had come crashing down. The glory and beauty of the Glimmering City utterly destroyed, and much of the wealth of knowledge kept there was lost; the tomes and scrolls burnt or utterly ruined, and those academics and scholars, the professors and magi perished, taking their knowledge and arts with them.

Amazingly, despite the fires, and utter destruction around it, the Grand Library remained intact, a shared glory with the Crystal Palace at the city’s very centre.

Still, the rebuilding of the southern district was slow, as was the recovery of all the lore lost, but as the third century anniversary of the Third Coming came and went, the University Scholarium declared with pride that all that had been lost was recovered.



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Somewhere off in the distance he heard the Scholarium’s bell chime once. He finished watering the plants, a small bed of fragrant purple hyacinths interspersed with orange sunblossoms and pink foxgloves that decorated the corner of the Cathedral Green, further bordered by a clean stone pathway. Across the other side of the pathway, an artificial stream flowed through a neat stone passage hugging the path and flowing into the cathedral itself on the other side of the green where it fed the baptismal fonts, itself fed from an ornate fountain that trickled peacefully behind him.

He placed the watering can back into the shallow water at the foot of the fountain and turned back to his flowers: perfect, immaculate, the colours worn by the priesthood. He kept his flowers proudly, this was just one way to pay homage to the Gods, and surely they would be pleased with his efforts.

He rose his gaze up to the stone monument at the centre of the green; a statue of a male and female ellinari, her with feline ears, though his elfin, both looking upwards, their hands raised and holding aloft a red crystal, immaculately carved. Offering up the souls of the departed.

Three centuries may have passed, the city may have been rebuilt and life may continue, but he was old, one of the handful who had witnessed the Third Coming in all its horror and yet lived to survive. Like all the survivors he was mute, though even after three hundred years he would not have spoken of the event even if he could, for so terrible had it been. He would never forget what he had seen, though he wished he could. Like all the others, he would wake in a silent scream every night as the visions replayed through his mind. Yes, he wished he could forget that tragedy, but yet he chose to hold onto the memory in honour of the millions upon millions who had died.

None should ever forget that. That was what this monument was for.

He turned back to the cathedral, a majestic building, restored as faithfully as the rest of the city had been, yet humble in its majesty. Large arched windows lined the walls, each a stained glass mural depicting one of the Pantheon, interspersed with butresses and ornate little needles along the roof, a single square tower rose up at one end, a great cyrstal held there above it in an ornate frame designed to make the crystal appear winged.

A young girl, not older than twelve winters came bounding out of the cathedral doors across the green towards him shouting, “Uncle! Uncle!”

He smiled warmly at this and turned to face her. He was no blood relative of the girl, an orphan who lived and served at the cathedral. Her flowing hair, as crimson as the crystal on the monument, a deep rose red, flapped behind her as she flung her arms around him, he puffed, winded a little, yet still smiling warmly as he embraced her back.

“Catleia!” came a young mans voice as another figure, clad in the same purple and orange priests regalia as he was, chased out after the girl. The boy was young, a dark haired cleric in training. He sighed and tucked a loose hair behind an elfin ear as he slowed to a walk as he closed in on them, “I am sorry Father Astril.” the boy sighed with a quick bow.

Astril raised his hand and waved it away as no trouble with a smile. Truth be told, he cared for the girl as if she were his niece, nay, as if she were his daughter. There was something about her that reminded him of the daughter he had lost during Third Coming, and that was a great comfort to him.

“Come, Catleia, leave the Father to his duties, you have lessons to attend.”
The girl let go of her embrace and nodded with a weak smile, “Yes, Septimus, I will come...” then span on her heels, “And I’ll see you at dinner tonight, Unlce! I’ll tell you all about my lessons!”
“Catleia!” Septimus gasped, “Show the Father some proper respec-”
But before he could finish, Astril had interrupted with another wave and a shake of his head to imply such formalities unnecessary. Septimus nodded and took Catleia’s hand, bowed and left with her in tow.

Astril stood and watched, a wide smile upon his face as warm as the pleasant weather the Gods had blessed them with.



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As Cortali and Jvaan passed through the E’tal gate that divided the southern district from the lake that the city was built on. they saw the Waterfront, a web of stone walkways that branched out to smaller stone jetties to which innumerable ellinari ships were moored. Each ship was a beautifully crafted wooden construct with delicately embroidered designs upon the sails to distinguish them. Some designs were simple House emblems, others were grand murals depicting events such as encounters with the lakes sahuagin or the dreaded Lurker that prowled the waters.

But they were not to linger and gaze in awe at sails, the journey had taken them longer than expected due to the sheer volume of people on the streets and they were in danger of being late. Still, they could see the Temple of Isobellis from where they stood, a great ornate construct rising from the waves in the distance.

As they made their way across the stone walkways between sailors keeping their vessels, unhauling the days catch of Bristlewhisker and Saltslack, or just enjoying a smoke in the sun, they could see numerous other robed students meandering along the jetties. The light danced off the waters surface, a bright azure blue, and the lake breeze was fresh and revitalising in the heat.

As they made their way closer, the temple rose to greet them; brilliant white glossy stone columns set against a powder blue wall made of various shells. Statues of the Goddess Isobellis flanked the walkway to the temples entrance, rising from the water several yards from the walkways edge. Each statue was of the same woman clad in a dress of fish scales, though each was a different representation of her various capricious moods.

Some were warm, welcoming, pouring water from a great urn, symbolizing that from water comes all life, Isobellis the Mother. Another was of her letting a fish free from a net back into the water, Isobellis of Compassion. Others were altogether more sinister, a stormy visage roaring viciously out across the lake, a depiction of her when she made the waters rough, and pulled less capable sailors to a watery grave, Isobellis the Cruel.

The Isobellis Lake was renowend for being calm and fruitful with catches, but powerful currents were not unheard of, and when storms hit, the waters were unrelenting. Also, rumours abounded of a great creature that prowled the depths, known solely as the Lurker of the Lake; legends placed it as Isobellis’ prized pet, others as her servant. Regardless its true nature, the creature was feared well.

“Ah! Master Sunbreeze, Miss Runesinger, you’re right on time.” a middle aged ellinari woman with short cropped chestnut hair that rolled around her rabbit ears stood at the temples entrance wearing regal purple robes with an ornate orange trim, “Go right on in, they are waiting at the Crystal Pool.”

Jvaan nodded and holding Corteli’s hand ducked past and into the temple proper, gliding down a short flight of white stone stairs, across a large open hallway where many knelt praying, priests and priestesses milled around and several ellinari in wedding robes were led round into various side rooms, for Isobellis was also the Goddess of Love, Refreshing, Moving and Powerful as the Tides. They continued down another flight of steps into a small room well below the waters surface with a small square pool at it’s centre, directly above which hung a crystal, suspended magicly. Light from the crystal danced on the waters surface and reflected out across the pastel blue floor, walls and ceiling.

“From the water spouts life, a like the water, love is changing, oft capricious, powerful as the tides and as magical as a mountain stream.” A priest stood on the opposite side of the pool, and as he spoke, the water rose slightly, lapping cooly around their feet. The priest smiled and ducked away, a beautiful ellinari woman stepped from behind him onto the water, and into the centre of the pool. Corteli and several others gasped, she stood upon the water as if it were stone.

The woman wore a long flowing dress of shimmering silver scale, her silver hair lapped at her back softly like the waves. The dress clung tightly to her figure, youthful, full and untouched; this was the Avatar of Isobellis.

The group watched and listened in awe as a priestess knelt in the water on the left side of the pool began to play a gentle melody upon a sort of flute. Moments later, a second priestess joined with a lulling harmony on a marimba from the right side of the pool. The Avatar danced, she danced beautifully and the water itself seemed to wish to dance with her. She danced as though she herself were as free and fluid as the waters, and as the dance continued, the water broke free of its inhibitions, four little spouts rising from the waters, dancing around her elegant moves.

Jvaan felt Corteli squeeze his hand a little tighter, he smiled, indeed this was an amazing display of Hydromancy. As if sensing his thoughts, she whispered to him,
“It truly is as if she is the Goddess herself...”