☕️ Alice’s Mad Tea Party Presents: Storytime
🫖 Alice Spills the Tea on: The War of the Fates
Alright, my little darlings, today’s tale is about a war so wild, it could shake the very threads of fate itself. A war fought not just for power, but for something far more dangerous: control over the Threads of Destiny. And let me tell you, who controls fate… controls everything. But don’t worry, I’ll spill the tea on how that all went down.
It all began in the land of Vel’Nara, a place beyond time and space, where the very fabric of reality was woven and unknotted by celestial beings called the Loomweavers. These creatures—half god, half titan, all-powerful—were the masters of fate. They sat in their cosmic hall, twisting the Threads of Destiny, ensuring the course of all things, great and small, followed the preordained path.
The Loomweavers had one rule: do not meddle with the threads.
But as with all great rules, some beings just couldn’t resist. Enter the gods.
You see, the gods of Vel’Nara were not your typical thunder-and-lightning types. No, no. These gods were creative. Mischievous. They were all about bending the rules—just to see what would happen. And that’s exactly what they did. For eons, the gods would sneak into the Loomweavers’ hall and snip a thread here, pull one there, just to test the waters. A little chaos here, a little destruction there. Nothing too big, just enough to make things interesting.
But there was one god—Avelos—who took it too far. Avelos wasn’t content with just tweaking fate. Oh no, darling. He wanted to control it. He wanted to shape the threads to his will, to dictate not just his future, but the future of everything—every creature, every god, every whisper of magic that existed.
So, one fateful day, Avelos made his move. He crept into the Loomweavers’ hall and severed the greatest thread—the Thread of Creation. This thread was the foundation of all life. It was what gave birth to the stars, the planets, and the very essence of magic itself. Avelos, greedy and drunk on power, thought that by owning the Thread of Creation, he could become more powerful than the gods themselves. But what he didn’t realize—oh, sweetie, let me tell you—was that severing that thread would unleash an ancient horror.
With the Thread of Creation split, chaos burst forth. The heavens shook, and the ground cracked. Out of the rift came The Ravager, a primordial creature older than the stars themselves. It had slumbered for eons, sealed within the cosmic fabric, but now, it was free. And let me tell you, darling, The Ravager wasn’t happy. It was a creature of pure entropy—a being whose mere existence was the death of order, of fate, of everything. It was the ultimate destroyer.
Avelos, realizing his mistake, tried to bind the Ravager back into the void, but it was too late. The Ravager turned its terrible gaze on him, and with a single thought, it shattered his divine form into nothingness. Just like that. Poof. Gone.
Now, the remaining gods were furious. They knew that they had to stop the Ravager before it tore through the very heart of reality. So, they rallied together and called upon their own divine powers, each bringing forth their greatest weapon. Some wielded storms of lightning, others summoned beasts of destruction, but nothing could touch the Ravager. It was as though the creature was immune to their magic, to their divine might. For the Ravager was the purest form of chaos—magic couldn’t control it.
But there was one creature—Miraela the Shapeshifter—who had an idea. Miraela was no mere god; she was a creature of balance, born of both creation and destruction. She had the power to change shape, to mold herself into anything, to weave through the cracks of reality. So, she did the impossible. She became the Ravager.
Oh, yes, darling. Miraela, in all her wisdom, knew that to defeat the Ravager, she would have to become it. She dove into the heart of chaos, let it flood through her veins, let it twist her body and soul, until she was both the destroyer and the creator. The gods watched, stunned and horrified, as Miraela battled the Ravager from within.
For days, it was a battle of wills—a creature of pure chaos fighting against the very essence of balance. Finally, with one final, heart-stopping moment, Miraela split the Ravager into a thousand pieces, casting them back into the void from whence it came.
But the price was high. Miraela was lost. She had become the Ravager, and in doing so, had erased herself from existence. The gods mourned her sacrifice, but they knew it was the only way.
And so, the gods retreated from the Loomweavers’ hall. They sealed the Thread of Creation back into the fabric of the cosmos, never to be touched again. And as for the gods? They learned their lesson. No more meddling with the threads of fate.
But here’s the thing, darling—fate is tricky. Even gods can’t resist the urge to see what happens when they tug at the threads just a little bit.
And so, the war ended, but the struggle continues—because, as we all know, there’s always another god, always another creature, always another temptation to break the rules. It’s the way of the universe, darling. Always changing, always moving.
Winkingly yours,
—Alice, Queen of Ink & Lore
