For Phenix,

On this, the eighth day of the fourth moon cycle, in the 196th year after the borderland, I, Lord Reginald of Erris, solemnly pass to you, my nephew and chosen heir, the burden of our family's dark past. This dire knowledge has been concealed from the eyes of the Vraynian people by deliberate design for almost 200 years, carefully obfuscated in false histories. As the next Lord of Erris, it now falls to you to ensure the truth is not forgotten.

According to our histories, the magic users of Vrayna, consumed by guilt, offered themselves as sacrifices for the good of our nation. They voluntarily depleted their lifeforce and created the borderland as an act of penance for their supposed blasphemy. 

However, this story is a grievous falsehood, crafted by the priests of Vraylewit and the Royal family to conceal their own misdeeds. In the year of the borderland, the magic users of Vrayna were exterminated by Royal decree, betrayed by the Houses of Erris and Brighton. 

In the sacred texts of Vraylewit, it is written that magic was a blight upon our land, one that had to be purged for the sake of the people. However, that leads to the question of why. Why was it deemed so dangerous? 

The answer is simple: Magic drew worship away from the Gods and the Royals. The rise of the Beastlands was the excuse, perhaps even the catalyst, but the underlying reason was greed; the greed of the church and the greed of the Royals. Those who held the highest power could not bear to see those beneath them rise to power of their own.

Magic was and is the natural energy of the land. Though it originates from a place outside of the Gods’ purview, it is a part of the world we inhabit. Some are born with an affinity for magic, some are not, and there is no means of predicting who will have the ability to become a powerful mage. And therein lay the problem.

Magic, amongst many other things, served as an equalizer. An heir to a duchy might possess no ability whatsoever, while a commoner of the lowest birth could be blessed with unfathomable power. It all depended on the will of the spirits of magic, who imbued people with their power. It created a balance between the power of the nobility and the helplessness of the common man, something the rulers of Vrayna could never accept.

In the east of the continent, far beyond anywhere that humankind has ever travelled, lies a land of wild magic, commonly referred to as the wildlands. Though its source remains unknown, it is from this untamed region that all magic flows. It was the spirits, the first beings of magic to emerge from the wildlands, who brought magic to Vrayna. 

In the land that eventually became known as the Beastlands, the vast land that lies between Vrayna and the wildlands, the spirits’ power was more concentrated. Their powerful magic gave new form to the animals that lived there, allowing them to shapeshift into Vraynian-like appearances. They also gained powerful magic, along with the previously exclusive human trait of intelligence. They were no longer animals, but a civilization that rivaled our own; untouched by the Gods and undeniably dangerous. 

The beastmen, using their newly developed capacity for reason and logic, offered Vrayna a treaty, one that promised great benefit to both sides. 

From us, they sought knowledge. As a nascent people, the beastmen knew little of agriculture or architecture, functioning as a society of hunters and gatherers. They wished to learn how to build cities, how to farm the land, and how to sustain their growing population.

In return, the beastmen offered their strength. Blessed with formidable physical prowess and an innate connection to magic, they were uniquely suited to combat the monsters that plagued the borders of the Wildlands. They proposed a union, which they called a joining; a treaty of marriage to seal our alliance and unite our peoples. 

Our weaknesses were their strengths, and theirs were ours. United we could stand up to the monsters of the wildlands.  

The common folk rejoiced, the nobles were pleased, but the priests of Vraylewit were wroth. To them, the beastmen were not potential allies, but abominations, a threat to their way of life. These were not children of the Gods, but creatures birthed from vile, Godless magic. They paid no homage to the church. Instead, they heeded the whispers of the spirits, the very same spirits that had lured the Vraynian people into corruption.

In the eyes of the church, the issue was clear. Should the beastmen be accepted and the spirits gain favor, magic would prevail and the Gods would be forgotten. And if the people ceased to worship Vraylewit, the church would lose its dominion over the crown.

So, the church began whispering in the King’s ear, poisoning his mind with lies and fearmongering. 

The monsters were out of control, they said. Soon Vrayna would be overrun. 

Commoners were awakening powers that placed them above the nobility, they warned, disrupting the sacred balance Vraylewit had ordained. How long before they turned their vile magic against the crown?

The beastmen were little more than animals, they said, corrupted by vile magic. They wanted to steal our Gods-given bounties. How dare they demand a virgin sacrifice? The beastmen claimed they wanted to unify our people, but they only wished to conquer our land. Surely, they were in league with the monsters.

They claimed that Vrayna was in a state of crisis, but the crisis was one of their own devising, an excuse to justify their crusade against magic.  

My great-great-grandfather, the former Lord of Erris, along with the Lord of Brighton, was summoned to the Golden Palace by the King and the High Priest of Vraylewit. There, they were given a terrible mandate: in exchange for their lives, they were to gather the nation’s magic users under the pretense of aiding in the creation of a barrier to repel the monsters.

But the true goal was far more sinister.

House Erris was charged with identifying and collecting every magic user in the kingdom, ensuring not a single common-born child was overlooked. Then, using a spell specially crafted by House Brighton, the gathered magic users were stripped of their power and their life forces were drained to fuel the creation of the borderland.

With the creation of the borderland, the magic of the land was exhausted, and the life force of the sacrifices proved sufficient to sustain its power for centuries. The beastmen could no longer stand on Vraynian soil and the remaining monsters, weakened by the loss of their magic, were swiftly exterminated. All magic, save the magic of two noble houses, had been purged from Vraylewit’s paradise.  

Those two houses, bound by oaths of silence under threat of annihilation, retained but a shadow of their former strength. Some claim their power waned due to the absence of magic in the land, while others argue it was a punishment from the spirits for betraying our fellow users. I am inclined to believe the latter, though the former may be more plausible.

And now, almost two hundred years later, the borderland has begun to falter and the lives of the sacrificed are officially consigned to oblivion. 

With what little time I have left, I will not live to see it myself, nor can I be there to teach you as the former Lord taught me, but your generation will undoubtedly witness the return of magic to our land. My only hope is that you will show the wisdom our ancestors lacked.

It is with that in mind that I leave this letter, as well as my journal and the journals of the previous Lords, to you, Phenix, my nephew and heir. You are but a babe as I write this, but one day you may well be the man charged with correcting the injustices wrought by our ancestors. When the time comes, I trust that you will know what to do.

Above all else, no matter what the House of Brighton, the Royal family, or the priests of Vraylewit may claim, know this: though your abilities might not be a gift from the Gods, they are a gift nonetheless. Cherish them. Wield them with purpose. Redeem the name of Erris in the eyes of the spirits, and restore our house to its former glory.  

–from the journal of Lord Reginald of Erris, bequeathed to his nephew upon his death.