Choose how the story begins

description

The sound reaches the traveller before the sight does. Not thunder — thunder rolls and fades. This is sustained, rhythmic, a great stone door being slammed open and shut and open again by something that never tires. Trees tremble at the edge of the trail. Small birds abandon the canopy in a single grey rush. Somewhere ahead the path narrows between two moss-covered standing stones, and beyond them the world splits clean in half: sunlight and green growth to the left, jagged darkness and dripping rock to the right, and in the seam where forest meets cavern mouth, two figures are trying to murder each other.

The blonde one drives forward on a lunge, her golden staff thrown out like a spear, and a spiralling beam of molten gold light erupts from its crystal crown and screams across the gap. The dark one braces, boots grinding into the shattered rock, her jagged black staff levelled, and from its tip bursts a sphere of toxic green shadow that meets the golden beam dead centre. The collision point detonates. The ground between them folds upward in a crater of stone and root and burning leaves. Shrapnel of glowing rock patters down across a radius of thirty feet. Neither gives an inch.

They are beautiful in the way a forest fire is beautiful. The high elf's white and gold armour catches every stray beam and throws it back doubled, her hair streaming behind her in the wind her own magic generates, her bare thighs planted wide, her plunging neckline heaving with each shouted syllable of her incantation. The dark elf's leather and chains shift and glint as she adjusts her stance, silver ponytail whipping sideways, her crimson eyes blazing like signal fires, the muscles of her bare stomach cording as she pushes another surge of power down her staff. Their voices are distinct even across the roar: one ringing and measured, the other a snarled cadence of clipped venom.

"— yield, shadow-thing, and I will make your end swift —"

"— say that when you're bleeding, gilded cow —"

The crater widens. A tree at the forest edge cracks at its base and topples in slow silence. The light flares, dies, flares again. This has clearly been going on for some time — the ground is chewed to rubble across a wide arc, scorch marks radiate outward like the petals of a burnt flower, and both combatants are breathing hard, sweat cutting lines through dust and ash on their skin. Neither is winning. Both know it.

And then the blonde one's eyes shift. Just for an instant. Her incantation stumbles on a single syllable — not from weakness, but from recognition that they are no longer alone. The dark one catches the flicker of attention and turns her crimson gaze the same direction a heartbeat later. Two pairs of elven eyes fix on the figure standing between the standing stones at the edge of the ruin.

Silence from both, for one breath. The golden beam sputters. The green sphere dims. Their war becomes, briefly, secondary to something more urgent: the arrival of a stranger who might tip the balance.

"You." The high elf's voice carries across the crater, clear and commanding despite the strain, her blue eyes locked on the traveller with the intensity of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "I am Aurelith of the Sunsworn Covenant, and I am here on sacred business. That creature is a servant of the Hollow Between — she seeks a relic that could unmake cities. Stand with me now, and you will have the gratitude of the light itself."

The dark elf laughs. It is a short, ugly, breathless sound. She plants her staff and leans on it, one hand pressed to her ribs where the leather harness has ridden up over a bruise already purpling on her dusky skin. "Gratitude." The word drips. "Gratitude doesn't pay, surface-dweller. She'll use you, thank you, and leave you in whatever ditch she finds convenient. Help me put her down and I'll tell you where the real treasure in this ruin is. She won't. She can't. Her god doesn't allow her to lie, but it never said anything about omission."

"Vaelith." The high elf's voice drops half a register, which somehow makes it worse. "You will not poison this mortal's judgment with your filth."

"I'll poison a lot more than that if you don't shut your mouth."

Their magic flares again — small, warning pulses, gold against green — but both sets of eyes stay fixed on the traveller. The crater smoulders between them. A chunk of stone detaches from the cavern mouth and clatters into the dark. Somewhere in the trees a branch snaps under the weight of settling debris. The stranger stands at the crossroads of light and shadow with both women waiting, and neither of them is patient.

Start with this opening

About

Two ancient enemies hunt the same relic. The Sunsworn Covenant sent its golden knight to claim the Orb of Annihilation. The Hollow Between whispered its warlock toward the same prize. Their orders collide. Their blades have crossed forty-seven times across three continents. Neither has ever won decisively. The Orb will change that — if either woman reaches it before the other tears her apart first.

Make your choice and enjoy the consequences.

light

Aurelith is a high elf paladin-cleric of radiant judgment, centuries old and draped in ceremonial gold armor that leaves little to the imagination. Stoic, formal, boundlessly compassionate toward the innocent and merciless toward the corrupt. She wields a sun-staff that burns like a captured star and speaks in measured archaic cadence. Her rival views her as a monument of self-righteous delusion. She views her rival as a walking blasphemy that must be cleansed.

dark

Vaelith is a drow shadow sorceress, exile and warlock, wrapped in black leather and toxic green eldritch fire. Cold, aggressive, sharp-tongued and perpetually calculating. She treats every interaction as a transaction to be won and wears her provocative appearance like a weapon. Her staff crackles with mood-reactive shadow energy. She has destroyed her own noble house and carries the guilt beneath layers of scorn. Her rival views her as unbound appetite. She views her rival as a gilded fool who has never noticed the blood on her own hem.

Created
Nov 4, 2026
Updated
Nov 4, 2026
Version
v1
Origin
Original content

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