The world of Ballenlight was, and still is, an ancient world caught in the nebulous endless sea of its own dark universe, and its ever greater connection to the wider multidimensional cosmos. Every world that has ever been is connected to this cosmos. Or is now, or was. Some have destroyed themselves to never return, and some have been consumed by the ever expanding mystical and magical nature of other realms. Some worlds have bound their planes together for protection, sealing out whatever other unimaginable evils might be out there, and some have managed this protection on their own.
Either way Ballenlight is old even compared to the greater majority of these worlds. But Ballenlight for all its years and tumbling through the sea of stars in what some call 'The Greater Astral Plane' of the Cosmos has not managed to seal itself away. Yet there are many great and terrible beings that roam the cosmos now that might call it home, or at least left behind followers on other planes and worlds that live still that could possibly find it to be the world that they came from.
The surface of Ballenlight, and a great many of its deep places are spotted with ruins of societies that have grown and left it behind. Or grown upon it and died out. Still more seek it out, seeking entry through secret doors between the planes, hidden paths through the Hells, or through hidden chambers rumored to be held within the endless confines of the Infinite Library. People call these places Dungeons, Fallen Domains, and more names besides, but all are fonts of magic spewing jealous protectors and avaricious hunters each sharing a goal to become what they once were.
Ballenlight is one of few worlds rich with magic, unconsumed by the Hells and madness, and left unsealed. Many seek it out for this alone, to gain enough power to simply extend their lives into the hundreds instead of a few meager decades, but others still seek greater power. For it is known to these other worlds that power does not come from outside, but within. The Soul is key to all power, and train as they might, few reach what heights might be seen upon Ballenlight.
Because of the simple reason that magic from outside can be used in spite of its absence. It can be taken from others, and its mysteries revealed by thwarting a foe’s magic in combat. Magic can be obtained through worship, and through tedious work until it is sealed away. That is part of what it means to be sealed, to invert the flow of magic from the souls of the living in such a way to make their very lives a shield against intrusion. None may have it then, but all are safe from it.
Such actions were never taken upon Ballenlight. Such actions could not be taken upon Ballenlight because of how difficult the task would become. For the still living Domains of others remain as Dungeons and their magic cannot be so easily made to submit. However difficult an attempt was made for the peace of the land to accomplish this goal; subduing and caging the dungeons one by one; but the goal was only achieved in part before one of the Gods betrayed another of their great and mighty Pantheon. Now the world is off balance, the word of a deadly foe trusted as truth, and prosperity of all has been threatened to delve into war strife and madness as Ballenlight has seen only so many times before in its history.
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So it was that Rokke, the Goddess of the Elven people of Ballenlight remembered her screams of dismay made from within the bleak skies of the twisted Hells as countless souls carrying the touch and color of Istania's worship appeared there. She had dived into the assaulting minor demons that tried to drag away the innocent, screeching and rending them with her mighty beak and talons. Her wings had beat like thunder, and the skies above had cast brilliant blue lightning down in her wake.
She had torn and rent the hellish and bent leftovers of fallen souls from the once pristine paths of the afterlife, sending out a call with her divine magic to summon the Pathfinders that they might better escort the mob of lost and confused souls before her. Yet so many were dragged away to be needlessly tormented or sundered.
Rokke still wanted to scream now as she watched from her perch in the material plane as more and more refugees landed upon the shores of her people. The Elven people were kind, and great healers in their way. Rokke had come before many of them and explained that Istania's death would mark the start of a period of untold chaos among human kind, and upon the continent of Drudesha itself.
If the Elves did not seek out the humans now, and embrace some of them as their own the humans would fall to barbarism more likely than not. Halspus, the 'human' God of Knowledge may try and succeed in keeping some few cities as bastions of order, but her rule as a lich would not be accepted by the whole of mankind. Her cold and logical pursuit of knowledge attracted scholars, but would not be understood by the impassioned. Rahammod was kind, but ruled an empire of chaos. He was not the God to give a large empire the restraining shackles it needed. Lastly, Halspus could not come to the grieving people with balms they would accept and need if quelling Theadus's madness with death became the only solution.
Rokke knew this, and understood her own troubles, always being a species apart from the people who venerated and worshiped her. In truth Rokke was a being so old she did not understand herself what exactly she had been, if she had ever lived at all. What she knew however was the wind, the sky, and the currents that passed between worlds. She understood her role as guardian of the forests of the continent of Frandia, and her role as one of the few great spirit beasts considered an ally by the Pathfinders of Eternity, but she did not know exactly what she was or had been.
She imagined once she had been a great eagle, or perhaps a magical familiar of a powerful and wise sage, but she could not remember that life if that is what it had been. She was greater than an eagle, faster than any falcon, and more powerful than any cleric, mage, or priest in the ways of magic. She was a Goddess, if undeniably first by title, but also by power. And yet that power was limited to her shores.
So she let out a mournful cry and spread out her wings. The skies burst with her healing tears as the sick weary coming off the boats stopped and stared up at her. Humans, Elves returning home, wayward dwarves, and even a few dragon-kin looked up at her partially in shock no doubt, but what concerns they may have had were washed away as the first drops of healing rain fell upon them.
Stains came out from their clothes. Dirt melted away from their skin. Infected wounds stitched themselves neatly together a little more with each drop that soaked into their skin. The children with them were the first to raise their hands. Their little voices cheered in instinctual understanding of the welcome Rokke had just given.
Rokke folded her wings, and was satisfied for now. The people coming to her shores would need to adapt to the ways of the forest, but they would know peace here. They would grow and tend the forests with the elves, and be trained against the coming darkness and chaos that might rise if the human empires fell. These shores would always be protected, and its land always vibrant and green. That Rokke, and the most of her devout followers, knew very well.