"Oberon, are you listening?" Ophelia Raindancer inquired. "You cannot aspire to greatness in wizardry with such a fragmented understanding of magic."

"I've been listening, Master," Oberon replied, a note of exasperation lacing his words, "but forgive me if I find it challenging to maintain focus when your demeanour suggests otherwise. It's rather difficult to take your counsel seriously when you're indulging in an ice cream cone, with telltale smudges of sweetness lingering on your lips."

She retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket and quickly tidied herself up. "How embarrassing..." With a deep breath, she glanced down at the ice cream cone in her hand, then made an attempt at prayer, improvising with a one-handed gesture. "Oh, Sacred Darkness Lumi, may I never endure such a moment again."

As she sought solace in prayer, a passing guard rudely barged into her, his voice laden with contempt. "Mind your step! Are you blind or just careless? Stay alert, wood-lover!"

Oberon's irritation surged, his retort cutting, "Some manners wouldn't go amiss, you uncultured oaf!"

Ophelia interjected, her voice carrying a note of reconciliation, "I apologise for obstructing your way."

"Very well, a commendable gesture, you scorched-sun vagrant," the guard jeered, striding off amidst mocking laughter from the bystanders.

The female guard accompanying him spoke up, "Wait, wasn't that Lord Oberon? Shouldn't we be concerned about potential repercussions?"

"He's just a young noble, hardly worth fretting over," said the male guard dismissively. "I doubt he'd even recognise us, let alone hold a grudge."

"Why did you interfere?" Oberon grumbled, his discontent evident. "You're a sun elf; these commoners are beneath you."

As the leaves started to turn orange and crimson, and the days grew chillier, Oberon's dislike for this time of year intensified, second only to his disdain for winter.

"I wish I were an elf," he continued bitterly, "not just a lowly human like them." His words carried a mix of envy and resignation, echoing his deep-seated longing for a status beyond his reach. As time seemed to slow, a wave of melancholy settled over him. His gaze wandered, and he noticed a sign proclaiming "Autumn Harvest Fruits."

Walking past a wooden stall brimming with fruits, they overheard a transaction in progress. The woman merchant spoke confidently, "Wool would be quite useful. How about two bushels of apples for your bundle of wool?"

The farmer, smiling despite his missing teeth, nodded in agreement. "Two bushels sound fair. Here you are," he replied, handing over the apples.

Ophelia, her mind wandering, savoured her ice cream slowly, occasionally peering over the heads of the bustling crowd in search of dessert stalls or shops. Oberon, accustomed to her absent-mindedness, spotted a moon elf bard preparing to sing.

"Master, I would love to hear the elven bard over there," Oberon exclaimed, gently tugging at his mentor's robe. His gaze was fixed on the enchanting figure in alluring attire, his face lighting up with joy. "She's none other than Illyria Lunarsong, the renowned bard! I can't believe she's here!"

Ophelia glanced around, realising they were amidst a congregation of followers who had perverted the teachings of their shared deities to focus on darker aspects. The moon lady noticed Oberon and playfully winked, gesturing with two fingers on her lips and blowing a kiss. Ophelia saw Oberon looking bewildered as their gazes locked. She lightly tapped Oberon with a holy tome.

"You naughty boy!" she scolded, though a smile played on her lips. "Well, perhaps there's something to be learned? It's always good to keep an open mind!"

After waiting briefly, Illyria started singing:

In the harvest's burning light,

Sacred Darkness claims the night!

Nae the Almighty, hear our cry,

Seal our fate as stars collide!

O Sathiel, foe of Heaven's flame,

Steadfast guardian, curse their name!

Sentinel bold, relentless and stern,

Let their fields blaze as the seasons turn!

Crush the strong, consume the weak,

Harvest power, the chaos we seek!

Night grows heavy, sharp and cold,

The gods shall reign as fate foretold!

Tiamat, Dragon of endless wrath,

Lay destruction in your path!

Under your wings, the old world breaks,

The earth convulses; the darkness wakes.

O Warrior, Lone and bound to none,

Face the night where battles run!

To chaos pledged, the die is cast,

We shall strike as wolves—until the last!

Crush the strong, consume the weak,

Harvest power, the chaos we seek!

Night grows heavy, sharp and cold,

The gods shall reign as fate foretold!

Lucidia, Twilight's radiant flame,

Guide us far from guilt and shame!

Through the dark, where shadows dwell,

Light the path to heaven or hell!

Eloharis, Rapture's eternal hymn,

Lift our souls, though light grows dim.

Beneath the moon's unyielding stare,

We stand defiant, free from despair!

Under moonlit skies, we find,

The chaos gods consume our mind.

Akashirae, Sanguine Menace, rise!

Shape our fates where carnage lies.

Unleash thy tide without remorse,

Through blood and ruin, chart our course!

Ouroboros! Ouroboros! Dragon King supreme!

Crowning chaos, eternal dream!

Coiled serpent, devour the skies,

Under your rule, this autumn dies!

In the autumn's chilling air,

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We weave the dark, defy despair.

To gods of chaos, our voices soar,

Bound in shadow forevermore!

To Nae...to Sathiel...to Tiamat, hear!

To Lucidia's light and Ouroboros' spear!

We are but echoes in autumn's breath,

Sworn to serve...in life, in death.

Praise the dark where shadows rise,

The gods of chaos claim the skies.

With crimson flame and endless night,

Our harvest burns; our souls ignite!

The followers erupted in applause and cheers, their voices blending with the lively sounds of the market square. "More! We want more! Do your usual thing!" they called out eagerly.

The moon elf smiled mischievously, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Very well, my friends," Illyria replied, her voice carrying over the excited chatter. With a graceful twirl, she began a spirited dance, her movements fluid and captivating. The crowd gasped in awe, their cheers echoing through the bustling market.

"Master, can all elves dance like that?" Oberon asked, turning to his mentor. Suddenly, he realised Ophelia was nowhere to be seen. Frantically, Oberon scanned the bustling market square, his heart pounding with worry. He dashed through the throngs of people, unintentionally colliding with several passersby.

"Master Ophelia! Where are you?" he called out desperately.

The stout dwarf, his hands soot-stained from the forge, noticed Oberon's distress and nodded towards a nearby shop where an elven priestess was purchasing ice cream. "Hey kid, is that the lady you're looking for over there? She's quite the beauty. Though I can't really guess an elf's age just from looks."

Following the dwarf's gesture, Oberon spotted Ophelia at the shop counter. Relief washed over him as he hurried towards her.

"Thanks, old man!" Oberon exclaimed with a grin, tossing a gold coin in the dwarf's direction before rushing to Ophelia's side.

The dwarf caught the coin and initially beamed with happiness, but then his expression changed as he muttered to himself, "Old? I'm only 73 years young!"

Ophelia noticed Oberon running towards her and waved enthusiastically. "Oberon, I'm over here!" In her hands were two ornate, delectably adorned ice cream cones, one of which was dripping slightly onto the ground.

"Let me guess," Oberon began as he approached, "you spotted someone with those treats and just couldn't resist finding out where to get them? You should've given me a heads-up—I would've gladly paid. I've heard they're not treating you fairly at the cathedral. It's all pomp and no payment."

As they spoke, a cat approached and eagerly licked the small puddle of melted ice cream from the cobblestones. Oberon gently lifted the cat, its body stretching languidly, and looked concerned. Meanwhile, Ophelia carefully balanced the decadent treats in her hands as she recited a soothing healing spell to soothe the cat's potential discomfort.

A woman with fox ears hurried over, relieved. "Thank you for preventing Mochi from getting an upset stomach." Oberon handed the cat to her, and she quickly returned to her two children seated on a nearby bench, enjoying fruit pies. Ophelia noticed the kindness and smiled warmly at Oberon.

"I see your kindness, Oberon," she said gently. "Kindness begets kindness." She then offered him the slightly drippy ice cream cone.

Accepting the cone, Oberon's expression turned slightly sullen. "You always say these things, but..." He trailed off, a touch of resentment in his voice. "Never mind. It must be nice being an elf, always free and never ageing."

"Oberon, Matthias—a paladin and a half-human—was my saviour," Ophelia confided, savouring her ice cream with practised grace. Fate guided them past the imposing statue of this legendary figure, proudly erected in the vibrant heart of the kingdom's bustling market square. She continued, "Matthias didn't just rescue me; he became my adoptive father, guiding me toward a life of virtue."

"You mean cambion, and if he truly was as magnificent as everyone says, perhaps this kingdom wouldn't be in such disarray," Oberon remarked with a hint of bitterness, gazing up at the statue while the ice cream dripped a bit onto his hands. He quickly licked his fingers, trying to salvage the melting treat. "It's all lies. The commoners believe he's human; only a handful of nobles and royalty know his true lineage."

Ophelia considered Oberon's words carefully, feeling a pang of sympathy for his frustration. She took a moment before responding, her voice soft but firm.

"Oberon, it's understandable to feel disheartened by the state of our kingdom. But remember, greatness isn't solely defined by one individual's actions. Matthias, despite his human and demonic heritage, showed extraordinary courage and kindness. It's not about the race or lineage, but the choices we make and the deeds we undertake."

She paused, locking eyes with him, her gaze steady. "You have potential, Oberon. But true greatness in wizardry, or in any pursuit, requires discipline, dedication, and humility. Look beyond the superficial differences and focus on honing your skills. Only then can you truly aspire to make a difference, regardless of your background."

With a gentle smile, she added, "And as for me indulging in an ice cream cone, perhaps it's a reminder that even in the midst of our struggles, it's important to find moments of joy and lightness. Now, let's continue our journey, shall we?"

Oberon blushed slightly. "...Master, I sometimes forget how ageless you are."

Morgrath awoke shirtless on his bed of gaseous skulls, surrounded by empty bottles of red wine strewn about the floor.

Sebastian, prince of the holy kingdom Sanctumaria, hurled his words like daggers. "You're the scum of the earth, Oberon Montague! Once my father or siblings catch wind of your debauchery, your downfall is inevitable!"

"How long have I been asleep? It's a wonder dreams still find me," mused Morgrath, his disappointment evident as he woke. He shivered and retrieved his coral blanket from the floor. "What kind of lich am I, discarding all my feelings and memories, only to have embarked on a journey to reclaim half of them?" Sitting on the bed, he remained not fully awake yet.

"Mock me all you want, but mark my words, you'll rue the day," warned Sebastian, his naked form echoing within the hidden laboratory of the holy kingdom's castle as he dangled upside down.

Morgrath merely shrugged. "Sebastian, Sebastian, always the epitome of conceit and sheltered arrogance. Your threats are like sweet melodies to my ears."

He slipped into priestly robes, a gentle smile gracing his lips. "The instant I beheld you, I longed to bury you in your own filth," Morgrath remarked, glancing down into the giant pit below Sebastian, which was brimming with manure and vomit. "I see you've excelled in your duties. Admirable work!"

"You sick bastard, you've kept me alive with your dark magic just for this?" Sebastian's accusation hung in the air like a heavy fog. "And to think, I had believed your intentions were to overthrow Sanctumaria, or worse."

"My dear Sebastian, you flatter me with your suspicions," Morgrath responded with a sardonic smile. "You just remind me of someone from my childhood. His disdainful sneer, his haughty demeanour—they mirror yours uncannily. Perhaps that's why I've taken such delight in your suffering. Consider it a cruel twist of fate that you've become the target of my hatred, much like he once was."

Sebastian's intense gaze softened briefly before he broke into laughter. "I pity you, Morgrath," he said, his voice tinged with both empathy and disdain, "for taking pleasure in the suffering of others. It speaks volumes about the darkness that grips your soul."

"I believe it's time you had a refreshing dip in your own filth," Morgrath declared, his voice carrying a sinister undertone. With a snap of his fingers, his dark magic coaxed the unicorn spine encircling one of Sebastian's legs to loosen its grip.

Sebastian descended headfirst into the gaping maw of the gigantic pit, where the noxious depths greeted him with a repulsive embrace, causing him to unwittingly ingest a nauseating blend of his own vomit and manure. Despite his ability to stay afloat and his proficiency as a swimmer, Morgrath intervened with a spell tailored to exploit Sebastian's vulnerability in this dire situation.

With a malevolent laugh that echoed through the foul air, Morgrath declared, "Hahahaha! Witness the power of Morgrath's Special Magic: The Whirlpool of Sebastian's Shite!" Drawing upon the dark energies of the omniverse of excrement connected to the pit, he augmented the natural currents within, conjuring a swirling vortex of filth and debris.

The whirlpool proved too powerful for Sebastian to resist, dragging him relentlessly toward its centre. In a desperate struggle against the relentless pull, Sebastian fought to maintain his grip on consciousness. But despite his efforts, he was gradually overwhelmed by the force of the swirling current, pulled inexorably into its grasp until he was consumed entirely by the murky waters of the pit.

Yet, the ordeal was far from over. Morgrath sustained Sebastian with his dark magic, watching as Sebastian endured the trial until he ceased to scream and react.

Disappointed, Morgrath muttered, "They always lose their fighting spirit in the end." His fingers traced the contours of the shrunken Skull of Leviathan that adorned his robe, a grim reminder of his power and dominion over the pitiful souls who dared to challenge him.

"Ah, well. I suppose it falls upon me to conduct his funeral rites, as befits a priest of my standing."