Introduction
Status: WIP
This is a work-in-progress page for an introduction to an interpreted setting for AFKJ that centres on my Merlin, Verdant.
This page outlines the basic details, as well as two versions of their story—the full write-up and a heavily summarized tl;dr version.
Otherwise, jump to any of the sections to explore
Characters | Herbarium | History | Worldbuilding
Esperia, as seen through Verdant
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The Story (full)
In the wake of the Divine War, and the deific debris thereof, the corrupted state of the Tree of Life has become untenable. Limbs long dried of ichor-rich sap have finally fallen; their replacement remains uncertain. Mycelium roots that once threaded throughout all of Esperia now lie rotten, broken or lost to creeping decay. Mortals now have access to Esperia’s wellspring of magic. Leaves borrowing from their branch—magic without lineage.
The remaining gods gather under the shadows of what they believe the source and salvation of this corruption is. It predates most of them, this root-deep sickness, and gnaws at the tree even as their confluence takes shape.
At last, it is agreed: the Tree must save itself—from itself.
A graft will be made, and planted elsewhere. A sliver of living wood, uncorrupted, is carved from the wounded bole and ferried across the hollowed realms. Misarte and Dura are granted the burden of guardianship where their fraying dominions converge.
This evergreen grove, tucked between where life springs from the lands and its dissolution, sits alone. One self watches, the other witnesses.
It endures. Seasons break upon it like waves on stone. Time cannot root itself here.
But eternity is not protection—only delay.
Eventually Misarte’s protection can no longer dwell. In her absence the grove yields to a new influence through its taproot—want, and its appetite. The sapling knows hunger, it in turn is known.
Ygdrisl, as The Raven, is borne up through the roots like rot through marrow. Corruption is grown anew and threatens to swallow the sapling whole.
Dura intervenes. In her rescue the tree is transformed—a tree no longer, it walks as a mage of her heritage. It is a name: a memory of root made flesh. Merlin.
It chooses Verdant for itself, for even now it bends toward the green.
Above, the gods divide.
Misarte laments the uprooting. To her, the transformation is a wound upon a wound. The grove was meant to cradle the graft. She would see it remain cloistered in sanctity—kept beneath canopy and covenant.
Dura sees only necessity. To bind it further is to stifle its bloom. The world is wounded. The seed must walk. It must grow beyond borders, unfurling across Esperia not as a living answer to need. It is not enough to protect—it must bear witness.
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The Story tl:dr
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