The Archives of Oakenhaven

Gods and guardians who mingle with mortals are often met with curses, misfortune, and shame. The monster of fate can only grow the more one tries to avoid it. One such story of immovable resistance sparked the origin of an entire race, and eternal shame wrought by the guardian of one of the underworld’s most hallowed planes.

Ghol-Charox was the guardian of Dronthod, a plane of the underworld where all who practiced filial piety and overall duty to their families—a combined practice known as mol varondis—would live in peace amongst each other. He had a fondness for the mortal realm, and eventually he took Melyra, an elven woman from Uminora, as a lover. Their daughter was born petrified and gray, and further, Melyra died giving birth to her. Although Ghol mourned his lover’s death, he understood well that mortals could never be brought back to life. He refused, however, to accept the stillborn child’s fate, thus he gave her a name, Mir Virah, and set out to restore life to her so that he might honor the late Melyra. He tried for weeks in vain, but his reign was in death; His realm confined him to it. And so, he went to the only person he knew who could create life—the goddess Vaelyn (or Elyn, as the Nelthrin called her), and begged her to breathe life into his child. She heard his pleas and took pity on him, and she decided to be merciful. However, she warned him that his daughter’s skin would forever be gray as she was born, and he was to promise never set foot in the mortal world again.

Ghol agreed to these terms, but he knew immediately that he would come to break his promise.

When the child opened her eyes, they were a brilliant indigo. Ghol was moved by her beauty. Never in his then thousand-year watch had he seen any creature, mortal or divine, so unique—And he wanted all of Esyrene to see it. At that time, the only settled lands were the early glimmers of Nelthemar and Uminora, so he was well hidden in the shadows when he abandoned his post at Dronthod to carve out his own sanctuary. In the valley he named Kurux, a circle nestled within hills and mountains, there hid a vast lake which fed from a river whose tributaries were threaded intricately through all the land to the north. There, he happened upon rich deposits of dark gray clay, and from it he sculpted thousands of men, women, and children. With jewels from mountain caves, he gave them eyes with hues from pink to red to purple. His daughter stayed beside him meanwhile as she slowly grew into a woman.

Still, Ghol-Charox could not create life, but his labors were not entirely in vain. Thousands of men and women, depicted in their joy, mourning, and toil, were very much alive in his thoughts and dreams. In those thoughts and dreams, they were more intelligent, more virtuous, and more cunning than even the Gildvar people, and they honored their families much like the souls of Dronthod. Vaelyn, however, was not a fool, and she had been watching him for an entire century. She could not cast the punishment of death upon him; She could not create death. Although he had broken his promise, she pitied him still, enough that she would not call upon Lusmir, the god of death, to intervene.

But Lusmir came to find out.

Ghol had abandoned his post for a century. He had forgotten his duty, and his realm of the underworld was without a guardian. Souls rebelled and grew into a monstrous amalgamation that was strong enough to break down the door and escape Dronthod.

The monster wreaked havoc on the planes of the underworld. Even Lusmir himself could not quell its force on his own. His army of revered souls was reduced to near nothingness; the amalgamation absorbed many and killed the rest. This was the only force known up to that point to have been able to kill an immortal soul.

But the god of death was clever.

The guardians of the underworld exist to watch over souls in small, categorized batches, to keep them and their sorrows at bay. It is typically thought that the more evil that is concentrated within a group of souls, the stronger and more cunning a guardian their realm needs, given their unpredictable nature. What was curious about this particular situation, however, was that the amalgamation was born of souls that were virtuous, pious—and perhaps that is why it took them an entire century to become restless enough to rebel.

It is also suggested, however, that virtuous souls are much stronger, but are usually peaceful. Those that are evil, contrariwise, have a tenuous yet explosive anger that can be snuffed out so long as their guardian is attentive. It came to be known that when a virtuous soul feels wronged, or abandoned, the anger becomes rooted deeply within them. Ghol had failed the thousands of good people who simply wanted to rest comfortably in the afterlife with their families. For a century, he was not there to soothe their sorrows, to herd them away from woe and despair.

Lusmir knew this, and although he had never, since the beginning of time, needed to calm a tempest of such magnitude, he was able to devise a plan. A wave of doubt washed over him as he realized that the only way to ensure that millions of other souls would rest comfortably—those already present and those to come—would be to sacrifice those who deserved it the most. Lusmir knew that he would need to instill evil into each and every soul within the monster to weaken them, and to condemn them eternally to the plane of Irvend.

And so, Lusmir sacrificed his shepherd’s cane.

The guardians of the underworld carry shepherd canes that have the power to control the dead. Lusmir’s was called Temperance. Although the monster had grown too powerful to be controlled by Temperance, the malefic energy that dwelled within the cane had accumulated since the beginning of time. He simply had to release it.

Lusmir broke Temperance in half, and he nearly lost control as a sudden burst of energy erupted from it. He managed rather quickly, however, to steady his hand and aim the flow directly at the amalgamation.

Just as the clever god expected, the monster slowly reduced to a third of its size. The souls were still restless, but they could finally be quelled. Lusmir was left without a means to control them, however, and called upon Zedros, the guardian of Irvend, to herd them into his realm.

Lusmir would spend another century without his ultimate power as a god. Until he could repair Temperance, Zedros would be appointed as the lord of the underworld.

And Ghol-Charox was called back to the underworld.

Ghol was, needless to say, reluctant to leave the land that he had carved out for his stone people. Lusmir reminded him that these people were never, and would never, be living, and that his duty was to those who were once living, and those who were condemned by his cruel negligence. Although he’d caused irreparable damage worthy of ten thousand years’ punishment, Lusmir knew that there was no other guardian who could ever be posted at Dronthod. Ghol-Charox was sentenced to a labor of one century to repair Temperance.

Mir Virah’s guilt overwhelmed her.

The gray goddess was maddened by the thought that her existence had driven the underworld into such turmoil. Lusmir, however, did not claim her, thus she could not die, despite how she begged. Instead, she returned to Esyrene, leaving her father alone as he served his punishment. There, in a secluded forest, she encased herself in diamond—Alive, but resigned to the fate that her father had tried to avoid for so long.

A century passed.

Ghol-Charox had repaired the shepherd’s cane, and Lusmir reclaimed his throne from Zedros.

It was then that Ghol came to learn that his stone people came to life and had been building a civilization for the century he’d spent in toil. He also learned of his daughter’s fate, and with no time to grieve, he was sent back to his post at Dronthod.

Although Lusmir could not appoint another guardian to Dronthod, he could control which souls rested beyond its doors. Ghol-Charox would watch over the souls of his people exclusively for the rest of eternity, and were they to ever love, befriend, or mingle with others beyond the boundaries of race, they would be separated in the afterlife. Moreover, half-breeds of this race would have incomplete, half-souls. Ghol was thrilled by the news of his people having come to life—more so, even, than he was daunted by Lusmir’s terms. While at his post, waiting for the first souls to arrive, he quietly named his people the Dronvar—The people of Dronthod. He called their land Drondaris.

Ghol-Charox returned to Esyrene one last time to try to free his daughter.

Despite how he tried, Ghol could not break the diamond and release Mir Virah. She slept in a pod within, fully obscured, and he would never see her beauty again. As he mourned his daughter, Ghol decided to do the only thing he could think to do; He gave her to his people. He moved the monolithic diamond to the very center of Ux-Kurux, their capital city constructed upon a lake island.

The diamond came to be known as Charox-Val, or Gift of Charox in the Dronvari language. From the day it appeared in the city, it served as a towering reminder of Ghol’s curse and his sacrifice—A gift, just as much as it was a warning.

The Dronvar would soon find out that the monolith harbored immense magical energy. It could not, however, be drawn from. Of course, as is typical of mortals, it took them very little time to begin their first attempts at force.

Much like their creator, the Dronvar were cursed by their very creation to pay little heed to divine warnings.