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moonlightheretic · 2 years

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(The Heretic) Turbulent Ancestry: A History of Tragedy-Part 1

CW for Gore and Self Harm

During our weekly events I thought I would focus and shine a light on Moon’Hwa’s family history. Clan Lavellan is not what it seems…

(Chapter 19 The Jaws of Pride)

"Your ancestor…” He paused collecting his thoughts, “…When a Keeper of Clan Lavellen dies, they become a guardian of my sanctuary. You would be next. How can I bear to see you there for all eternity, Moon'Hwa?" He knelt behind me; his hand steady on my back. "When the veil is lifted, when the magic can flow, the people will regain their longevity. Death will no longer bite at their heels, at yours. Don't you understand?"

One could say that Moon’Hwa had it coming, just based on the events that shaped the terrain before her path began.

The drama may be ending with Moon’Hwa, but it didn’t start with her…

‘A solemn elven slave with violet tinted eyes, toiling underneath the vanity of Falon’Din, made his way to the secret haven under the protection of Fen’Harel, “A god that did not require worship, one who broke the chains of all who wished to join him.” It was unheard of, but this man was willing to take the risk, anything would be better than the heavy chains of Falon’Din.

Agents of Fen’Harel welcomed him, housed him and fed him, and yet, there was no payment or task required of him.

The man, the god, the mysterious sharp-eyed elf, known as the Dread Wolf, removed his Vallaslin with a simple gesture and assured him with words of ‘freedom’.

To honor his new life, he asked the God, Fen’Harel for a new name and that, he freely gave.

‘Lavellan.’ ‘They who journey to a hopeful place’ (Translation sourced from here---) https://fenxshiral.tumblr.com/post/106649319928/elvish-names-and-name-construction#:~:text=Lavellan%20%E2%80%93%3E%20They%20who%20journey%20to%20a%20hopeful%20place.

But for Lavellan, loyalty knew no limits as it verged onto devotion and then obsession.’

(Chapter 21 The Prideful, Titanic, The Corrupted)

‘Solas himself entered my mind, a humble rampage masked in discrete robes, he painted, spirits held him aloft as his arm stroked upwards, they lifted him further as he embellished with golden paint upon this inscape. He was here, and he was inconsolable, his brush strokes were slashes, manic barrages of fresco splattered upon the wall, the spirits encouraged his mood, they twirled around him, flashing in red, emphasizing what must be done. An enormous wolf paced in agitation behind him, six eyes blinking and a snarl fleeing from his jaws when a lowly elven man entered the room. He had the same eyes as me and he knelt by the unfinished mural, his hands stretched upwards in a plea. He was offering something. Solas, enraged, dropped to the floor, the wolf’s jaw slathered, and its hair raised as it circled the man. He wasn’t supposed to see, no one was supposed to see. He would whelve their shame forever, bury the secret and bury them. No one would find what they sought, what they robbed, what they desired. A breaking point illustrated in golden paint.’

‘The man with my eyes, the one that starred in the vision, I saw his face as he stalked away from Solas and his wolf, head withdrawn into his chest. He showed respect but his hands were balled into fists.’

Lavellan knew what must be done, he would elevate Fen’Harel whether he accepted it or not. Freedom made Lavellan bold, brash, and unapologetic and he knew worship would make Fen’Harel…more.

(Chapter 24 The Face of Pride)

‘Petrichor clung to the air as a hooded man traversed along a swollen river bed. Tucked under his arm was an abeyant artifact, almost neon in vibrancy. These were not the antiques I had activated with Solas. The man peered from under his hood, he looked right at me and I jumped, but he seemed to stare through me, shadows darted from left to right and my ancestor took off. I pursued him as he nimbly navigated through brush and thicket. He led us to a familiar irenic scene. A waterfall slapped against the humbled rocks, the stone flattened by centuries of beating, the relentless splashes fueling a shallow pool. He hesitated in front of it, nervously glancing around the trees, scanning for someone or something. My ancestor stepped into the shallow pool, his feet propelling ringlets of ripples into the pebbled shore. He waded to the waterfall, echoes of his movement lapping against nearby stone and flora until he reached the subdued slab.

His arms stretched out and he bestowed the artifact upon it, like a trophy upon an altar and the water showered it in a watery disguise. He turned from it and patted his pockets and cloak, in a flurry of panic. Floating in the pool next to his feet was a clump of something, he reached for it, relief easing his stiff shoulders. I strained to see -- The atmosphere rapidly changed, colors shifting like cards in a shuffling deck until they settled upon a subfuscous scene. Firelight raged war upon the riddled shadows of what looked like a secluded cave. My ancestor hunched over a small bowl, he opened his palm to reveal a small bundle of brown hair, and his hand trembled as he glowered at it, but determination set his jaw.

Eyes alight with monstrous ambition, he deposited the cluster in the shallow bowl and began grinding it with a large rock until it was a powder. He produced a knife from his pocket and poised it above the fire, the embers spitting into the reflective surface. The first Lavellan withdrew the knife and without hesitation, sunk it into his palm, yet no grimace befell his features. The pain was expected, had he done this before? The bleeding hand squeezed into a fist as he gathered his blood into the same bowl and mixed it. My ancestor then removed his tunic and dipped his fingers into the bowl, his other hand held a broken shard of a mirror to his face. With his fingers, he drew lines across the skin of his face and neck. This was a Vallaslin! But it was not one I recognized. It did not belong to any of the known Evanuris. He wedged the mirror shard into the muddy cave wall and to my horror, aimed the blood tipped dagger at his face. I didn’t want to watch this! I clawed at my hair and slapped at my cheeks. Wake up! Wake up! It was no use; I was sinking like a stone into the depths of this nightmare.

He dug trenches into skin with both hands trembling around the hilt of the knife. He breathed heavily as he whispered, eyes held steady on his reflection. I could not hear what was being said but his words churned the air like a potion mixing into a cauldron. His skin began to glow in several shades of a pulsating scarlet. That’s when I noticed--My own face tingled, ached and then became estiferous, so much so that I could no longer touch it. I pulled my hands away to reveal blood dripping down my fingers. No! It burned, my blood rioting just underneath writhing flesh and skin. I screamed helplessly as blisters boiled into existence upon my forehead and jaw, trails of blood slithered down my neck onto the ground. I curled into myself and rolled, desperately attempting to suffocate any fire my body produced. My actions were futile in dispelling the heat, I cried out and my tears burst into steam and I feared my body would combust. This was no ordinary Vallaslin!

I threw my face into the dirt, inhaling soil and small bits of rock, “Get off of me!” I coughed. “Get off!”

It stopped. My face’s temperature reduced down to a pitiful smolder. My tears still left searing reminders of what just transpired. I pulled myself to my knees, and looked around quickly for my ancestor, only to find that I was alone. All that remained of him was the mirror shard, I crawled over to it to measure the damage. I plucked it from the mud and examined my appearance, but all I saw was his. Eyes—hawk-like and pouring into my soul, for he clearly saw me now.

Blood aligned into patterns, forming webs of a promise and laced in haemal crimson. Six eyes of varying sizes crowned his forehead and cheeks, inter-connected by the bonds of gouged flesh, an anthem forged by blood and spirit: this was the Vallaslin of Fen’Harel.’

Solas explains... (Chapter 26 Disciples of Lust, Lies, and Power)

----"When Falon'din's gluttony for worship amassed the unthinkable ...the Titan---no prize was too grand. Worshipers; slaves anointed him with unimaginable power, but it was never enough."

Falon’din’s glass impaled body gurgled up into my minds view, his voice slithered into my head and I visibly winced.

"Ah, is it you? The straggler of Mythal's vast shadow has finally arrived. Come to join me or have you come to fling more glass?

Solas’s palm squeezed into a quaking fist, and I noticed a healing slice on his right index finger.

The connection confirmed; shivers sprouted in my upper back.

“His people were reduced to husks, beings existing only to raise him higher. A ladder made of flesh, bone and spirit. However, he did not expect the sky to possess a roof, thus he sought others…coveted more slaves. Further worship equaled to additional power, when his shadow draped over Mythal’s people a line was crossed.”

Solas’s gaze dipped into shadow and his hand relaxed.

“I managed to free many, one of whom became a dedicated and passionate agent. He possessed an uncanny ability to taste people, a first impression on his tongue if you will. I freed him from the bindings of Falon'din; his humble face was clean and spirit freed. Unfortunately, he was also narrow-minded and impulsive. I did not foresee him to so earnestly wish to be bound to someone again and certainly not to myself.”------------

-------------------“I…declined his offer and banished him when his egregious act was brought to light. A ritual that has resulted in the binding of one’s spirit-tethered blood when in life…and when in death the spirit serves on, as was demonstrated to you prior by your father’s passing. He… did not only bind himself, Moon’Hwa. He bound his blood.”

The memory of my father’s beehives and satchels full of honey sprouted into the forefront of my mind. Was he compelled to preserve Solas in his long slumber by our ancestor?

“He…bound himself…to you?” My hair stood on all ends. “Doesn’t that mean…I am bound to you? You warned …back then that that was my destiny.”

Solas met my eyes with an aching sort of anguish that bled into his irises before he closed his lids tightly.

“Well done.” Solas praised morosely, accepting my knowledge without question. “He is indeed your ancestor. The first Keeper of Clan Lavellan.”----------------

-------------------The purple-eyed spirit that numbered among my father’s—victims whom guarded the sanctuary, they were my ancestors…my family, and this was not unknown to me. Swept up in the chaos of my heart-ache and panic I never had the time to process the information or mourn. Those once living elves would remain there for eternity all because of the cataclysmic actions of one man who shared my eyes and my taste. The one who had been giving me orders and filling my mind with visions.

My fate was illustrated in front of me in shades of diaphanous violet. They were me and I was them.

I sat in silence, absorbing it all, my body swelling like sponge dropped in a full bucket.

“Nevertheless, the one you claim provoked you into saving me…he is loyal even in death.” Solas hung his head. “My greatest failure….”

Solas could never forgive himself for allowing Lavellan to live only to cause so much misfortune, he would never make the same mistake twice and Felassan and Talek suffered for the mistrust others wrought.

End of Part 1

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