Grab your lace fan and a strong cup of something enchanted, because Alice is about to spill the tea so hot it might scorch your boots off. Here comes a legend dipped in deception, wrapped in mystery, and tied with a crimson-stained bow.
☕️ Alice’s Mad Tea Party Presents: Storytime
🎩✨Alice Spills the Tea on: The Shadow of Vaelric
In the twilight days of the Olden Realm of Tharethien—when the skies still shimmered with echoing stardust and dragons dared to dream—a man appeared, cloaked in silver and mystery.
Vaelric.
A name that rolled off tongues like honeyed wine and lingered like a forbidden kiss.
He was dashing. Gallant. Oh-so-tragic. The kind of man whose eyes held centuries of sorrow and just enough smolder to make entire temple priestesses forget their vows. Some whispered he was a vampire, others swore he bore the blood of Elven kings, and the boldest claimed he was a mage who’d once drunk from the Well of Stars.
No matter the tale, one thing was certain: Vaelric showed up when kingdoms teetered and hope was a candle in the wind. He'd sweep in with his long cloak billowing dramatically, toss a rune into the air, and boom—evil undone, maidens rescued, tyrants dethroned.
But here’s the twist, sugarplum: his victories always came at a price. A noble hero falls. A sacred artifact vanishes. A city ends up just a little more broken than before. But who questions the hero, right?
Then came the Shard War.
The darkest threat the realm had ever seen: ancient horrors rising from beneath the earth, the sky bleeding shadow, and even the gods pulling their divine skirts up in fear.
And guess who led the final charge?
Vaelric, golden-eyed and grim-faced, riding his midnight steed, cloak snapping like thunder.
Only this time… something was off.
He fought with fury, yes—but too recklessly. Like a man hiding behind the theater of bravery.
When the dust cleared, the ancient evil was gone. But so were the gods. The old forests burned. The ocean rose. And Vaelric? Disappeared like mist at sunrise.
Centuries passed. Songs were sung. Statues were carved.
But the truth? Oh, my darling darlings, the truth finally slipped through the cracks of time like poisoned ink:
Vaelric wasn’t the hero.
He wasn’t even the antihero.
He was the architect of it all.
The horrors? His creation.
The war? His game.
The world’s unraveling? His design.
Every moment of valiant sacrifice, every battle he led, every kingdom he "saved" - was just another step in his master plan. He didn’t want power. He wanted silence. Control. A realm he could reshape from the ashes up, bound by magic only he understood.
They say he still walks the outer edges of the Forgotten Wastes, cloaked in shadows, rewriting the laws of magic with blood and stars. Charming as ever, of course.
So if you meet a silver-haired gentleman who smells of roses and ruin and says he’s here to “help”...
Run, darling.
Or don’t. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Mysteriously yours,
– Alice, Queen of Ink & Lore
