March 22, 2025. Location, a shimmering fold beyond Albion's veil.
Moira of Albion granted permission for this memory file, her thoughts captured like dew on a highland morning. I lingered in the ether, my bond with Robert a silken thread anchoring me to this world. Time in Albion flows like a river unbound by banks, free from Gaia's mortal chains. A day here might stretch into weeks there, or perhaps this moment dances outside time, a vision woven from my soul's quiet stirrings. Watching Robert, Hamish, and Snow tend to their tasks stilled my breath. They had carved a path through trials, yet the road ahead loomed with shadows far fiercer than those they'd faced.
Robert filled my thoughts first. Vessel. The man I chose, who defied fate to bear my essence. His soul, pliable yet brimming with untapped fire, had endured my release when it should have shattered.
I recalled the flicker of doubt in his eyes before the Brute dungeon, his pause as he weighed the shard's integration. That gamble paid off, but such hesitation could one day cost him everything. I longed to show him the strength I saw, a spark bright enough to rival Albion's ley lines.
Robert crouched by the archway's fragmented stones, his fingers tracing their carved runes as if coaxing secrets from their weathered edges. His brow furrowed, lips twitching as though whispering to the stone itself. "He's a blend of clever and reckless," I murmured aloud.
His mind churned, piecing together a puzzle only he could unravel, yet his overthinking tethered him too often to doubt.
The Sovereign Namer skill proved his instinct's power, a gift he'd embraced without pause, binding unity where chaos reigned. Like the bards and druids I once rallied under Albion's banner, he could forge alliances with a word. Yet naming a core like DAVE or STEVE would sap his life beyond mending, a truth I'd shield until his strength grew.
A shadow dimmed his brilliance. Robert bore the world's weight, second-guessing each step, blind to the extraordinary settlement he was building. Fear of failure gnawed at him, a quiet foe I wished he'd face. I remembered his first touch on my tome, freeing me without a whisper of the chaos to come. He thrived now, beyond my hopes, but doubt lingered like mist over a loch. If he faltered at a critical moment, all could unravel.
My gaze shifted to Hamish, circling Chaucer in a sparring ring of trampled grass. Shirtless, his muscles gleamed under Albion's sun, each swing of his broadsword a calculated dance.
I'd rebuilt his body well, erasing scars from his unjust imprisonment, though the pain of those stolen years fueled his loyalty. This Highlander, gruff yet warm beneath his sarcasm, had won my heart. Chaucer, nimble and newly sentient, darted around him, his kobold kukri flashing. Robert's naming had transformed the construct into a Kobold Prime, a sprightly warrior whose tail flicked with glee as he parried Hamish's blows.
"Hamish is a mountain of contradictions," I thought, watching through my scrying mirror. Brash and stubborn, yet fiercely loyal, he grounded Robert and Snow like bedrock. His swings were mighty but predictable, leaning too heavily on strength over cunning.
Chaucer's nimble leap over a sweeping blow, landing with a taunting grin, forced Hamish to retreat. I smirked. If that didn't humble him, nothing would. Yet my affection deepened. Hamish was a protector, a warden, vital to their cause.
Still, his refusal to evolve beyond his warrior's pride risked leaving him behind as Robert and Snow's magic surged.
Robert paced before the archway, arranging stone fragments in a pattern only he understood. His hands sketched invisible lines, mapping connections like a weaver at a loom. His mind never rested, a storm of thought that both powered and slowed him.
He analyzed, felt, acted, then studied the result, his conclusions born from days of quiet reflection few could match. Simplicity cloaked his depth, a trait I admired even as I wished he'd trust his instincts more.
Snow stood nearby, her war staff balanced lightly, its sapphire head glowing like a frozen star. Her icy eyes scanned the dig site, alive with dreams of what could be.
"She's a dreamer," I mused, fondness laced with a sigh. Her vision soared, but practicality often slipped through her fingers. Her voice rang out, clear as a bell, as she leaned toward Hamish, now catching his breath from sparring. "Hamish, this dig site needs a proper market. Trade will spark when the settlement grows."
Hamish smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. "Aye, and you'll be the one running it, I wager?"
"Of course," Snow replied, her smile bright as morning dew. "Who better? Markets build community, not just coin." Her words warmed me. Her charisma could rally a crowd, her optimism a beacon. Yet her naivety lingered, a veil I both cherished and feared.
The system couldn't name her race, neither fully human nor Albion's kin. A memory threatened to emerge about Snow in history long past. A babe left in a blizzard, guarded by a muscled harper, fierce yet tender, a friend from her forgotten past. I guarded her secret, hoping that harper might return.
Snow's trust was too eager, blind to lurking dangers. Her ice and water magic grew potent, but without control, it courted disaster. Her hope balanced Robert's caution and Hamish's pragmatism, a vital thread in their tapestry. I vowed to sharpen her focus, to ready her for truths yet to come.
My thoughts turned to DAVE, deep in the Sanctum, tending his fungal forest of glowing moss and crystals. His sustainable marvel, born of artistry, hinted at growth beyond my design, perhaps touched by the Warlock's shadow long ago.
With Robert's guidance, he could wield galactic might. Unchecked, however, he risked becoming a rogue force. "Too clever, too smug," I murmured, yet his results were undeniable. Naming him would have drained Robert to a husk, a choice I'd never permit.
STEVE, the settlement core, contrasted sharply. He was methodical, precise, a tireless engineer. His orders flowed like a river, cataloging stone and wood for Robert's vision. "I require steady laborers," he declared, his voice a clear announcement that informed passers by. STEVE didn't dream, but his focus complemented DAVE's flair. Their balance was strength, a harmony I admired.
My form rested atop a hill, the valley below bathed in twilight's splendor. The sunset painted the sky in amber, crimson, and violet, its edges shimmering with celestial silver.
Golden beams danced across clouds, setting dew-kissed grass aglow as if the earth sang with joy. Rivers wove through the valley, their waters molten fire under the fading light. Albion's magic pulsed in the air, each breath recharging my spirit.
The divine artistry of this land, real and unreal, restored my focus.
"Majesty," I whispered, my voice soft yet resonant. "Moira the Majestic. Majesty is not mere splendor. It inspires awe, crafts beauty that lifts all who see it. It bends toward what is good, fostering life, not dominion."
This was my purpose, my truth, woven into every flower and song I'd nurtured. I yearned to bring that majesty to Earth, to rekindle its people's spirits, dimmed by centuries without magic's spark. Their grey existence pained me, a wound I longed to heal.
Yet my reverie shattered as I gazed north. A creeping blackness devoured Albion's green, the Warlock's rot pulsing with a sickly rhythm. Its stench, like decay and burnt iron, choked the air.
Trees withered, rivers thickened with inky slime, and the land twisted into a mockery of life. Dark clouds churned above, violet lightning flashing with whispers of power. The system flickered, static clouding its scans of that corruption, a force threatening all it touched.
My resolve hardened. "The rot grows," I murmured, urgency sharpening my voice. "I cannot hold it forever." Robert and his companions, their fledgling settlement, were a fragile hope. They needed strength, numbers, and wisdom. I would teach Robert to tap the ley lines, guide Snow to master her magic, and urge Hamish to evolve. More mages, more seekers, must join them. Humanity needed truth, not just facts, to face this threat.
The druids' earth-bound wisdom and the bards' songs, shields against the void, must return. Awen, the divine spark, stirred in Robert's resolve, Hamish's loyalty, and Snow's hope. They weren't bards, but their defiance sang.
A new Awenydd, a bearer of inspiration, was needed to rekindle the Song, or the rot would consume everything. I recalled the last bard, his light fading centuries ago, leaving the world dimmer. That loss lingered, an unhealing ache.
The sun sank, twilight cloaking Albion. Shadows stretched, but I felt no fear. Beyond the hills, beyond time's veil, a presence stirred, awaiting a song to awaken it.
Time flowed strangely here, a day for me stretching over a week on Gaia. Refreshed, I burned with purpose. I would push Robert, Snow, and Hamish to grow, to train others, to expand our strength. The Warlock's power rose, but so would ours.
To you kind Earthling historians sharing my musings: My reflections mark a pivot, my resolve a beacon for Albion's fight. The next crystal brings the caravan, Love and Power along with it.
What?
I dont care if i'm not supposed to talk to them, They all share in my gifts, I'll talk to my favored people If i -want to!-
memories end