Where the Heavens and the Earth meet, and the colors of the sky, wind, and world drain out to leave us in vast nothingness, there lies a far- off star. It glimmers and shines brighter than any other known, though it is quite a dark place. And this is no true star, it is a world. A world of wonder, of enchantment, and of curious beings. It is home and refuge to beasts and creatures that any other human would dismiss as a “myth”. But this world was very, very real, and very, very lethal. Every twist, turn, and corner held a danger beyond our own imagination or understanding. Not even the most brilliant and strengthened minds could conjure a close copy of such a realm as this; leaf for leaf, star for star, hope for hope. It was far too complex, far too unique, and far too beautiful.
Those whom had created such a marvelous place, despite their efforts, wished not to be called “god” and “goddess”, but “sibyls”. These beings were peaceful over all of the land, caring for every plant, animal, and thing that was, but when times came to war, they lead only justice- serving battles. Through this manner, they gained the trust of their subjects, and many chose to follow in their ways. These followers stayed close, sharing the art of trades and secrets to success with one another. They were part of a dual family; women as the “sisters” or “Daughters of Eddyn”, men were “Brothers” or “sons of Wilhielme”. Each of these followers guided lesser subjects, and each was marked with a special symbol, each a different size or shape. White was the curled mark of Eddyn, and black was the dead tree- like mark of Wilhielme. The sibyls taught their students well, and taught them of the Great Spirit they must follow. The spirit gives life, and if you follow it, long life. The two elders lived in harmony with the land they now called Verdun.
But there must be a chaos where there is a serenity, just as there must be days of sun and days of rain. It is the way and balance of the universe. Such a balance thrown off was inconceivable. Thus, we meet Arion.
Arion is a book of great power and knowledge. It was created by the two sibyls in hopes of using it for the creation of a second world through their descendants. It was written by Eddyn’s own quill and Wilhielme’s ink, and by the hand of a spell. Both spoke upon the empty pages and watched as every one filled with spells and illustrations of creation. It was a beautiful work, and when all was done and deemed perfect, it was bound to form Arion, the breath- taking book of power and wisdom.
Not every person could deal with the glorification of the tome, however. It was a praised treatise; most of those whom weren’t the brethren or sisterhood saw it as the one god. They believed that if the children or the followers of the sibyls’ could create a world, any people could. Many asked to behold the title. Eddyn decided that Arion was best hidden away, where only those worthy of the pages could ever find and lay eye on it. So, she and her affiliate flicked a spell out over the Cariggles, and part of the forest bent and twisted until the broken and once dead limbs reached for cirrus and had turned to solid stone. In this tower they hid the book away and made their new home. Verdun was at peace once more.
Days and nights passed, weeks into months, years to centuries. We would go mad in this time. As did Wilhielme. He began to tell of voices in his head, telling him to do tasks. Then they stretched to crimes, then on to cruelties. The voices at last screamed and shrieked, “Take the book! Kill the girl! Take it! Maul her! Steal! Mutilate!” He began to keel over for subsistence. The voice told, and he obeyed. Eddyn watched in terror as the eldest of the two acted as the unwise of any people or persons. When Wilhielme came to the matter of Arion and Eddyn, he chose life over love, and planned to murder his own. Eddyn knew what was to become of her if she did nothing. She knew that she had to protect her subjects, her followers, and her family. She took Wilhielme’s as well, and between the descendants and clans, devised a pact.
The followers must forever protect the family of the sibyls, keeping them from the Black One’s watchful and blood- lusting eyes. Males would be protected by the Brothers, and the women would be protected by the Sisterhood. Descendants would stay in hiding until their time had come. When all was said and done, she made each the Brethren and the Sisters temples, only a day’s journey apart. Strict rules were set, and before she left the rest alone, she declared Verdun monarchy- free. She let the clans and tribes decide their own leaders, and she was assured that the family would grow to keep things in order and at peace.
Eddyn then made her final trip to the tower of the Carrigles.

Wilhielme had awaited her return with unsheathed weapons. The voice surged on, “Kill, steal, maul, take, mutilate, own…” His plans were as clear as crystal on the embedding of his swords. His former partner met him with Arion. He could not but hesitate his attack. The voiced throbbed in his head, “The book, the book, the book…” In his hesitation, Eddyn sung a rhapsody so sweet, so lovely; the buds bloomed at the sound. But only those of the sibyl’s blood could truly hear it. And, at the very sound, Arion withered away into dried, black parchment, and the pages were destroyed and scattered to the winds of time. Wilhielme’s fury thrust a piercing scream at her, then his own diamond- embedded sword into her chest. With the cover still in her hands and a few measly pages still attached, the whit sibyl laid to rest on her bed of silk and satin. Wilhielme’s madness murdered him as well, forcing him to take his own life. For millennias, the tower was, and remains, still and untouched, awaiting the heirs to this day.