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Submissions and Contribution Provided to the Library of Vastiir

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Shantis:
*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"Probably this ancient story may upset some people of the Arcane Guild and their old way of seeing the world and how it is shaped. I advise to leave in your records for future research for someone who has an interest in this subject.

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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Strrambarek's theorem
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.At one point in the past, at the beginning of the silver age, there was a single, exentric arcane named Julius Strrambarek. Son of a blacksmith and nephew of a carpenter, he worked hard for years, trying to learn to read and write while producing his objects from days to days as carpenter, tinker and blacksmith apprentice. But in the little town that lived there existed an arcane tower in the limits of the region, of which an old arrogant arrogant and his pupils, children of nobles of several different regions, often made their commands and desmandos by all region, without fearing a trial of the authorities.

At 14, Julius already knew how to prepare almost everything in wood and metal, thanks to his great intelligence and manual ability. But he and all the young men of the region lived under sneak attacks of magical relatives and victims of irresponsible spells, in the constant provocation of the six pupils of the old mage named Maeir. Master Maeir have a good prestige and acted wisely and fair with the people of the village. But the pupils always threatened the residents, saying that if they were denounced, all the money they spent in the village would go to the other, from which they would move without a second thought. The money weighed heavily on those who lived only on agriculture and wool.

Julius discovered something unexpected in one of his days, arranging to the furniture of the local tavern... Every Friday, the group of wizard-apprentices brats visited the local tavern, to drink and make fun as never before, spending heavy bags of money and destroying everything. Money paid for everything, and silenced people. Thinking that it was time to do something about it, he decided to wait until next Friday ... And when the brats (same of Julio's age) decided to drink and party until he fell, he would steal one of the pivotal grimoires, to see the despair of them, compensating for all the chaos and mess they caused in the region every weekend.

Said and done, when one of the elders was busy drinking and flirting with one of the girls in the tavern, Julius took the distraction to take the apprentice's purse. Nothing important, other than a book about constructs and the grimoire. The grimoire was ridiculously simple, with 3 sheets outlined, and nothing more ... Then Julius left the library in a barrel full of trash, taking the book to read hidden in the workshop of his father, the local blacksmith.

Julius was happy to see so many diagrams, design drawings, and references that opened his imagination. There were things he did not understand, but he understood metal and wood. Gears and wires ... Then he proceeded to produce the design of a kind of mechanical arm, following the instructions of the book. The first model was full of flaws, but after a few days, he created a second model more improved, able to move the elbow. The fourth was able to turn the wrist, and the ninth model had the movements of opening and closing the fingers. All the movements were by strings and wires, and where there are strange marks and texts, Julius covered the fault or lack of information with simple and practical solutions.

For the next two months, Julius worked hard, mining iron, and picking good timber carefully, always working his hours off. The arcana pivetes did not appear any more, perhaps punished by the loss of the book. Julius did not pay much attention, for his work flowed and developed rapidly, leaving him proud of himself and his skill, but afraid that that knowledge might never have been shown. Julius went on to hide the materials and the result of his development in an abandoned mine, far from everything and everyone.

Over the next 5 years, Julius went on to do something that many arcane fail: Develop your own version and unique skills in arcane knowledge. His knowledge of the production and manufacture of wood and metal objects, including weapons, armor and shields served as the basis of knowledge. And in those five years, Julius began to develop his own arcane knowledge without realizing it, being able to generate magical energy capable of activating and moving parts of his creations.

In his first year working in that mine, he was able to build a construct armor, capable of ridiculously alone, slow and extremely noisy, but which protected its creator as if it were an exo-skeleton, protecting it from the elements and giving strength and resistance much higher than normal. In the third year of his solitary studies, Julius had developed a second complete version of his armor construct, called "Iron", as this was the main element he used as a raw material. "Iron" was as strong as a giant when used, but slow. Julius made a sword and shield, and when night was out to hunt, no wild creature was a match for him. He was always in a gray and gloomy fog, the effect of the strange runes he had reprinted from the book. His footsteps became more real, less massive, after Julius learned by trial and error every kind of rune in the book.

But, the few who rarely saw him from a distance, thought they were a new monster. Master Maeir was attentive, but neither his students nor he himself had found any trace or clue, discarding, as if it were a local rumor.
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When he turned 22, Julius had a version that he considered perfect of his armor. And he decided it was time to get what he thought was right... Respect!

Julius walked resolutely to the front of the arcane tower, wearing a cloak that covered his body and helmet with his visor open. He stops some distance from the entrance, and respectfully claps his hands, making the sound of his metal gloves echo as loud as bells, making everyone in the area hear hum.

"I am Julius Strrambarek, son of Marcus and Marion Strrambarek. I request a formal meeting, under the most civilited and respectable terms allowed to all, to meet the master of this tower, Master Maeir!"

Julius had read too many books during his childhood thanks to his priestly mother. He decided to present himself in a not very pompous, yet respectable and direct manner, determining a knightly way to deal with the situation. But pupils of the arcane master soon recognized the name. "Son of a dirty blacksmith, now comes with all pompous knighthood? How ridiculous!" One shouted. The other, from the top of the tower window, threw a bowl of water, which narrowly missed Julius. And the third one, opened the door, leaving with a staff and an angry look. "Here we only deal with real mages, or officials of the empire, or nobles. You are no one to want our attention, or even worthy to meet our master!"

As soon as the young man left the entrance of the tower, he began to fire, without warning, a rain of mystical spheres, which flew like comets. Julius lowered his face quickly, making the visor of his helmet go down, shielding his face. In a gesture, he raises his left arm, pulling from beneath his old cloak and patched a beautiful polished iron shield whose edges glowed with a sequence of runes that none of the pupils knew. The shield received a two, four, six magical beads and reflected them, making the boy fall unconscious on the floor, size shock of the impact.

The second pupil left the tower, grunting as it turned into a gigantic troll, already moving to take a right punch. Julius already had real combat experience, and he knew the strength of a real troll, and especially his. With his right hand he grabs the troll kid's wrist, breaking in two. The pain of the arm being crushed by Julius's metal glove made the boy fall to the floor, sitting in his human form, pale and frightened.

The other four pupils decided to take Julius aside, since the defense of the arcane tower was part of his training and responsibility. They invoked a strange horrid being reading a parchment stolen from their master, spawning a demonic and vampiric creature reflecting their hearts and minds distorted by power. The first brought the creature, while the second invoked a protective shield in his black clothes ... And the third, a black mystic lamina, while the fourth was to protect the creature with a porous rocky skin. Julius saw the four pupils doing their spells carefully. He recognized some of the symbols and words, but many were unknown. Respectfully he waited for the preparations to be ready. After long and ridiculous moments, where 4 arcane worked feverishly to protect their creature from the night (invoked in the midday sun), they finally gave the order of attack.

As the horrid vampire creature began to move, sword in hand, Julius knew it was serious now. The movements were skies and dangerous, the look thirsty for blood was not a lie. And the enchanted blade was a real problem. For long minutes, Julius dodged and blocked the attacks using his shield, while saying one, dua and finally the third time "I come here to speak in a civilized and respectful way with your master."

Visibly annoyed, Julius moves his right hand, easily decapturing the horrible creature, making his body fall and fall like a sack of potatoes. The four of them fled into the forest, screaming in fear as they watched the scene as Julius walked toward the entrance, wiping the blade from his sword with a piece of old cloth in his pocket. Blood does horrible damage to metal...

The master, who saw everything through the window descends patiently, meeting with Julius at the door. With a glance, he notices that the entire armor, elaborately crafted with gears and runes, had a powerful, though rustic, mystical aura. The shield had runes that the master had not recognized, making himself wonder what they were.

Julius humbly took from his belt the manual about constructs that he stole years ago, very carefully, returning to the hands of the master, who upon seeing the cover of the book, surprised stayed, already understanding what happened.

"Did you do all this yourself?" Speaks the master, looking at the armor, fascinated by the way Julius created a construct in the form of armor, to protect him.
"Yes, I did."
"Starting tomorrow, you will study with us. I do not take no for an answer. And you will have my permission to teach everything you know to me. And you can also train and learn about our magic style to improve and develop your unique style and knowledge."

Julius became the first constructmancer, a rare thug of arcane, who instead of invoking spells, built them physically. He made each year new armor made of construct, which were servants and protected his masters becoming armor with weapon and shields, or any kind of weaponry that Julius could dream of. Julius developed several wonders, such as mechanical animals, flying books and even at the end of his life, came to create servants who were almost real in terms of expression and thoughts like that of humans.

Julius left several disciples in constructmancy, all of them people of humble origin. His creations are rare and unknown, because other arcana feared that the magical machines of Julius and his followers would dominate the world, changing the magic as it was accepted and taught in the old days. Now the histories of his creations and creators were almost erased in the limbo of time, just waiting for a new generation to continue to expand his arcane knowledge of construct constructs.

The "Strrambarek's theorem" it was an old formula, which Master Maeir thought ... That the most creative mind is capable of molding magic with you own hands, finding means to make real. Once the rules of magic and the process were formed, this person who created them could pass on to everyone who did not have in their minds about the rules already formulated in their minds before other master. Maeir believed that Julius used the knowledge he took from the book to shape his own magic, constructing his constructs in the form of pieces of armor. Julius had a natural gift for manipulating the arcane forces with his own hands, producing anything his imagination created.
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Rainman:
I have enjoyed your stories over a cup of tea, while watching the fish in the tank.

Quite peaceful I must say.

You will need to come to the Valstiir Library and we can speak over some tea .. yes?

The Librarian

Shantis:
*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"I appreciate the invitation. As soon as I am available, I will visit the library to continue my research on legends, relics, and lost stories. To bestow it with another moment of peace, here is another story, on another parchment.

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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The Garden of the sisters
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.The age has already been forgotten, and the names and places do not matter so much now. But formerly, in ancient times, there was a strange and unique sisterhood, possessing only women. All of them were orphans, widows, or victims of wars. No matter his race, origin or whether he was noble or poor. They were just women. Sisters of suffering, silently watching the world crack and collapse part by part.

Gods had bigger plans for their champions, but none for their victims. Whether they are pale as ghosts, skeletal because of hunger, or bathed in blood, trying to survive a world that even the goddesses themselves can not protect, every woman has become a link of a long chain of sadness or pain, trying to believe that every life matters , and that each victim could be saved.

Turning their backs on any kind of god, be it good or bad, loyal or chaotic, pure or corrupting, they decide to follow their own steps, without lowering their heads, acting in silence, listening to the cries of those who have been, protecting those who need to be protected, healing and walking in different directions, with no destination, just surviving.

They do not have symbols, names or titles, they are just "sisters" among them. They were not noble or possessed, for all they knew and could do was to go forward, trying not to repeat the mistakes of their own past and their sisters... In different places of the world, each group of sisters built themselves a great labyrinth, without traps and monsters, only the frigid sad wind whispering like a faint wail. In its confused and long tunnels, it was possible to see rock plates, carved in detail images of each sister's life, from where she came and from where she followed, until the day of her death. There were no runes or words, only images, leaving for each sister or visitor the difficult task of interpreting everything they saw and heard within that labyrinth.

When walking, gradually it would be possible, in the lower levels of the long maze, several pots, with strange roses without spines, of different colors. Some are pink, some red, some yellow, and even white or blue. The flowers grew in total absence of light or water, taking decades to grow, only fed by the wetness and dust of the gentle wind brought from small entrances at the top of the labyrinth.

The sisters abandoned any mortal faith, whether by gods, entities, or persons. They had faith in themselves and their sisters. Her hands healed, in exchange for the life force of their own lives. They could revive anyone with a simple touch, or regenerate limbs and body parts, purifying in a fantastic and miraculous way.

The only ones allowed to be treated by type of blessing were the sisters' friends, relatives, and husbands. They calculated the value of a person, making a cold, but exact mental calculation of how many days they would have to lose of their own life to heal someone or to revive. Children and mothers were never charged while men were devalued. Good people paid symbolic prices while cruel and greedy had a high price. It was not origin or race, but what each person was in the eyes of one of the sisters. To those who revived, they respectfully demanded that at the death of the final death, that their bodies should be delivered to them, in order to return the other sisters to the life they lost by saving other lives. Whoever accepted, had the respect of a sister. Those who refused were never healed or treated by them again. But an unique trait, each time an sister heal or help someone with her powers, she ages temporarily, like an old exhausted and weak.

The bodies were cremated, for the ashes to feed the special roses of the sisters, whose petals possessed the gift of reviving even gods. And these petals were prepared, with a special recipe that only a sister knew ... A strange green elixir, that when being shed a drop in the tongue, healed completely or revived a person. If a disease affected a region, it was possible to see a sister discreetly emptying a bottle of elixir in a river or lake, gradually returning to life the nature of the region.

But among the strange mysteries and stories involved all the sisters, they were recognized only as one recited a song, of which upon being heard by another female voice, her eyes gleamed silver, while her heart pulsed in a green light , revealing that the elixir bottle resided magically in her body. The song was actually a sad and distant song, only sung by them when a sister died trying to save lives, or when they wanted to pay homage to another woman. The song is distant and almost forgotten, and today, when recited, rarely people can remember.

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Shantis:
*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"Sorry for not visiting the library yet. I'm in the middle of an important field research process, looking to discover details of a mysterious locked door of stone, in a unique place, probably ancestral in some way. As an apology, one more story for you. In part, a brief and unique legend about gods.

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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The anvil of Souls
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There is an ancient legend, a larger entity, larger than all races, larger than all the gods together, decided for reasons that only he knows, decided to create the whole universe. First he created himself, expanding his consciousness in all directions, for instants later, to create his own hands and body, to be able to shape reality to have the consistency of realized dreams, and the physical sensation so that everyone knows not it's just a dream. By clapping, he created all the elements we know and others we will still learn. And in separating them, he created for himself the anvil of souls.

In order for his creation to be perfect as he or she, so infinite of possibilities and variations, each with a small trace of his infinite creation, he had to create the anvil, so that with each hammer that gave, reality took form, generating life, which would generate more lives and by itself, more new infinite life forms. With his willpower as a hammer, and his body as a cosmic force to create everything, the creator began to work, using the anvil, forging the reality we all live. The sparks of this forge have shaped lands, seas, and all living things. Everyone who has soul who saw creation, with their own lives watching the creator forge life in his infinite work, have become gods. And they started to sing a song that echoes for all eternity...
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At the birth of time, the beginning of beginnings
One cosmic soul was created
A bringer of life, a universal creator
Born to smith his life in the all races

Like a spark of a hammer hitting, it spreads in all directions
Creating life among the skies
I'm struck with awe as I join the great smith
Now it takes flight to the brightest star of all

On a quest for life, through the sable skies
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls

On a bold crusade, in the realm of shade
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls

Through the glowing mist, like a fog of the creation
I can see the forming of new lands, new races
I've been struck by thunder as I witness all the splendor
And I realize how small we really are
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On a quest for life, through the sable skies
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls

On a bold crusade, in the realm of shade
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls

Ooh, I can see forever
On the wings of dreams I fly
Is this real or is it just a fantasy?
What awaits me now at the end of this ride?

On a quest for life, through the sable skies
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls
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The creator continues to forge the whole life of the universe, all forms, be they plants, animals or even people. When the common life cease to live, their souls return to their gods, the Creator's earliest creations... To be created by their gods again and again, and if they are sublime enough, they ascend to become new gods, to watch the cosmic spectacle of creation by some eternities, and thus to return, to guide the new creations of the creator to watch the creator and the anvil of souls...

Shantis:
*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"This time, a brief story about an old song about the druids in a florest. Hardly we will find a druid to confirm the story or song, but certainly has some truth behind it. I hope this contribution will help encourage others to do the same, as well as provide more extensive material to the researchers or readers who attend your library.

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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The Druid Stone Song
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In distant times, in a distant forest, an evil creature was defeated, at great cost. The forest guardians, wounded and tired, saw the destruction of their beloved home, now in ruins, gradually becoming a desert due to corruption caused by the creature. His name could no longer be pronounced, or revived easily. The adventurers turned their backs, returning to their cities with glories and prestige, but behind them there was only the ruined forest, which slowly died, corrupted and poisoned by the poisonous blood of the dead creature. Animals became sick, plants became weak and dead. And the Druids silently mourned.

The druids gathered around the creature's evil body, emanating corruption, wickedness and even dead malice. And slowly, the Druids circled the body in a circle with 12 members, beginning to sing a serious, sad and melancholic song, expressing their pain and agony, sacrificing their own lives, becoming part of the forest, turning into a circle of statues , sealing all the corruption of the body of the creature, and slowly purifying the forest, making it thrive and grow more vigorous and pure than ever.

After this, once a year, their descendants and apprentices approach the statues of their former mentors, and again sing the same song on the day of their sad death, to reinforce the pact of protecting and loving nature and that forest, renewing the bond of respect and understanding for life ... and to protect it in all its forms.

In place of the body of the vile and corrupt creature, in its place grew a gigantic tree, the largest of all forest. Its fruits are especially tasty, and its leaves are medicinal. Birds of all kinds and species live on their branches, while other animals, even the wildest and most dangerous ones, act graciously and peacefully before everyone as they approach that tree.

Elves feel honored to see that tree in person, while other druids only feel in full harmony with nature spend at least one night near the circle, feeling the presence of life in all its splendor.
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The moon sheds no light on the eastern florest
The day turns to night and the bonfires cease burning

The druids gather round and the chants fill the air
Their echoes resound and the living world stops turning

The magic words are spoken
As we leave the woods in silence
Now the circle stands alone
And the druids turn to stone

The dawn shines its light on eastern florest
The day floods the night with gilded rays of sunshine

The magic words were spoken
As we left the woods in silence
Then the circle stood alone
And the druids turned to stone

The rising sun is dancing on the edges of the stones
Casting shadows, creeping down the woods
Into the heart of the world

I marvel at this mystery, beholder of the stars
A holy temple, a sacred burial ground
Guarding well its secrets from us all
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