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In the past the Island of Corone had struggled to retain its sovereignty. Attempting to remain neutral in the turbulence created by other nations had been a challenge for the government of Corone, and civil unrest had at one point ravaged the lives of its inhabitants. Today, however, Corone enjoys a relative prosperity that for a while now has attracted more than capital to the island. Everyday refugees from Salvar and the elven nations disembark from its busy piers by the dozens. Families of all kinds, from ranks of nobility to modest country folk arrive at the island in the hopes of making for themselves a better living. With them, traditions that would otherwise seem strange to the natives of the Island seem to flourish in the outskirts of the larger cities where migrant communities separate themselves between nationality, race, and religion. Whatever the differences of the new and old inhabitants of Corone however, there is an elven tradition that arrive many years prior and has since become a holiday to be enjoyed by all, the River Jubilee.
Before the devastation of Xem'Zun through Raiaera the mythical land of the elves had enjoyed the patronage of many dieties, spirits of all types and purposes that had once helped the elves preserve the balance between the dangers of their craft and the sanctity of nature. The invasion changed all of that however. Ancestral beings that had fro millenia guarded the purity of the land suddenly found themselves overran by legions of dark spirits and demonic abominations. Although the land was eventually recovered, and the legions of Xem'Zun painstakingly defeated the blessing of the woodland spirits was forever lost.
At least that was the case with most of the spirits. Before the necromancer had ever had a fair chance at battling the guardians of Raiaera, an order of misguided men who felt threatened by their power sealed elder spirits throughout Althanas into unassuming objects. This mysterious order hoped that in sealing ever stronger spirits a balance in which either the physical realm or the spiritual one dominated would be achieved. Centuries after the disappearance of the order the land they had sought to protect would find itself deprived of its most formidable warriors. However Raiaera was spared, and in the end the seal meant to protect the world from their power had protected the imprisoned spirits from the darkness. However for a spirit to remain bound for such a long period of time can prove fatal, for the longer spirits remain separated their power wanes significantly to a point in which they can easily vanish all together. Although the elder divinities did not perish at the hands of spirits of darkness it is very likely that they have all passed onto nirvana.
"... Or atleast that is what the spirits rumor in Salvar of the former guardians of Raiaera," Ithkim found himself again talking more about the past than he would have liked. For a northern spirit he was still too young to reminisce with the certain melancholy of an old broken soul. However those days had been hard ones for the spirits all across Althanas when the almost sudden disappearance of millions of spirits and human souls had sent ripples throughout the delicate system of the spirit world.
Sylvan had learned when to give his attention and when to reserve it; often times his snakes would ramble uncontrollably about things he couldn't even begin to understand, ancient tales of old divinities they had known by name, the best way to drink a spirit, and the evolution of the species. To any mild-mannered scholar the subjects would have seemed intriguing ones, perhaps even be considered a privilege coming from the mouths of century-old spirits. Sylvan knew them for what they where, however. Inthkim and Inarak where selfish, had no capacity for food, where disgustingly proud but most importantly stubborn. But from time to time they had proved resourceful. That day he had hoped would be such occasion, but at the time he had yet to receive a straight answer.
"What does any of this have to do with the Jubilee, snake? All I've been hearing about is more of that elven sob story I don't really care to listen to again," before he'd continued the sentence Sylvan had already placed a hand around Inarak's dark body which had coiled himself around his neck.
Inarak wasted no time attempting to punish the boy's insolence with strangulation, "If you would listen you will hear your answer. In Salvar there where rumors that the seal of a guardian of a former river in Raiaera was taken by some Merchant who traded in the black market as some kind of mystical trinket. Years later we began hearing of a festival being held in Corone to honor a river spirit."
"The Jubilee," Sylvan concluded, throwing a quick glance at Ithkim; the pale snake lying limply at his side growing visibly irritated.
"There is no way he is still alive within his seal, so don't get exited," having been the former patron of the subterranean water system of Fallien, Ithkim had heard similar rumors but she knew better than to pay credence to the gossip of lesser spirits.
Just like the Raiaeran guardians she and Inarak had at one point been sealed by the same man, and she better than anyone knew what happened to a being which had been sealed for too long. She had seen it. Her former partner and lover had also been sealed by Farook onto a pebble, and despite the best efforts of the attendants of the Jya to rescue the seal of the deity he died a long time ago in solitude with nothing but the sands to keep him company. She had been lucky. Being the major water divinity within the desert island had earned her a large following that had made of her power something that required a larger stone to be sealed in. It wasn't long until she was found and placed in a shrine dedicated to all the spirits which allowed her just enough following to continue her existence as a relatively small spirit.
"Whoever he was he must have been sealed for a very long time before being moved into the island, before you or I, Inarak," Ithkim's tone grew ever angrier as she spoke,"he must have been a god with a great following to have survived being taken outside of Raiaera. You know as well as I that once sealed not even gods can survive other regions. It is about time you get used to the idea that guardians of previous generations from us have already passed onto Nirvana," she continued now looking at Sylvan, "for as long as I can remember there haven't been any river patrons in Corone because the reach of Am'eleh stretches completely over the island. You can even feel it in the wind, it is suffocating!"
It had been a while since Sylvan had heard that name, it had been the venom of the god in his physical form that had almost destroyed his brother; there was no love between Melancor and his siblings. But in a way he had to be tankful to Am'aleh, his malice had been the act of conception for Sylvan, making him the temporary navigator of the slumbering god within him.
Inarak hadn't bothered to give an answer, sensing her anger to stem from somewhere deeper than trivial bickering. Sylvan stood up, driving his gaze to the horizon and putting an end to the topic. After all, Sylvan was not one to enjoy prolonging anyone's suffering even if it came through the remembrance of ancient memories. Having taken a small detour from the group they had perched themselves atop a small hill where the view broke through the heavy canopy of the Forrest.
"We mustn't be too far now... " Sylvan lifted a hand to his forehead, a few hours after noon the sun already beamed at an angle, "I can see the port from here," he pointed," but beyond that way all I see is trees. Save for the smoke columns, they must have lit the ceremonial fires already." Through the thick green branches of the ancient trees of the forest of Corone it would have been impossible to notice even the road which stood a few dozen yards beyond them. But now and them he would see moments of bright colors rushing through the trees; Sylvan had arrive to the island in the morning and since then masses of pilgrims streamed through the otherwise lonely forest road to reach the point of celebration. Dull blue-colored banners peaked through the low foliage of the trees, which seemed to prosper from the nourishment of the many stream that run parallel through the Forrest roads. Deep within the forest the many streams of the delta connected, the wide mountain river splintered to becoming the streams which fed the population of Corone. And it was this point where the pilgrims from all the stream-side roads, like the river, connected to celebrate the guardian spirit.
It was a beautiful procession, the rattle of the people, the sound of their bare feet, and the sea breeze through the trees all seemed to sing in unison with the tune of the water. There was something about their modest devotion that touched his heart in a way that made his throat stiff. Sylvan knew well that most of the guardian spirits sealed by Farook had extinguished centuries ago, to think the pilgrims efforts to honor a river spirit which could very well not exists would otherwise seem foolish to him, he could only pity them now. And it hurt.
"We best return to the pilgrimage, the shire can't be far from here now," giving Ithkim a weak dejected smile the words struggled through his throat, "even if not a guardian, lets hope for their sake there is someone looking after them."
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