Active [Erithis - The See] An Empire of corruption and single-mindedness

[Maxxob]

As dawn’s first light struggled to pierce through the dense canopy of the ancient forest, the village of Erithis stirred, cloaked in an eerie silence. Nestled deep within the See of Fae, close to the contested border with the East Empire, the village had once been a place of serene beauty. The towering trees, whose roots intertwined with the very foundations of the village, now loomed like silent sentinels, their leaves tinged with the brown of late autumn—a season that seemed to have come early, brought on by the war that had crept ever closer to the heart of the See.

Erithis, once vibrant and full of life, now bore the scars of conflict. The cobblestone paths, once meticulously maintained, were now cracked and overgrown with wild vines. The homes, built in harmony with the trees that housed them, were battered and worn, their wooden walls charred in places from the embers of a distant battle. Smoke from the nearby battlefield had tainted the air, giving it a bitter, acrid taste that clung to the back of the throat.

The village square, usually a place of gathering and celebration, now lay empty and desolate. The fountain at its center, once a source of crystal-clear water, now trickled weakly, its basin stained with grime. A group of villagers, their faces gaunt and hollow from weeks of fear and hunger, gathered around a small fire. They whispered in low tones, their voices filled with despair and anger.

“Did you hear? The East Empire troops are just a day’s march away. If they push the front any further, we’ll be caught in the crossfire,” an older villager muttered, his eyes darting nervously toward the forest’s edge.

A younger woman, her hands trembling as she clutched a child to her chest, shook her head. “We should have left when the others did. The elders said we would be safe here, but look at us now. The forest offers no protection from fire and steel.”

A weary-looking man, his clothes tattered and smeared with dirt, spat on the ground. “Where would we go? The roads are no longer safe, and the portals… We would only be able to use them if we manage to get into the neighboring village of Eraza. We’re stuck here, just waiting to die.”

The child in the woman’s arms whimpered, and she shushed him gently, her voice barely concealing her own fear. “Hush now, little one. The spirits will protect us… They must.”

But even as she spoke the words, they sounded hollow, devoid of the conviction they once carried. The great primordial spirits, the ancient guardians of the See, had grown silent in recent weeks, their blessings and protections seemingly withdrawn. The villagers had once felt their presence in the rustle of leaves, in the gentle sway of the trees, but now, only an oppressive stillness remained.

As the morning wore on, the few remaining villagers emerged from their homes, drawn by the need to scavenge what little food and water they could find. The war had cut off all supply lines, and the once abundant forests now seemed barren. The fauna had fled, and the once rich soil had grown hostile, refusing to yield its bounty.

An old woman, her back bent with age and hardship, knelt beside the dying fountain, murmuring a prayer to the Spirit King. “Oh, great protector, why have you forsaken us? We, your faithful, suffer in this time of need. Please, grant us a sign…”

But the waters remained still, her plea unanswered. She sighed, her breath catching in her throat, and slowly rose to her feet, her movements labored.

In the distance, the faint sounds of war echoed through the trees—clashing steel, the cries of the wounded, the roar of fire consuming the land. It was a reminder that the war was never far, a constant specter that haunted the village of Erithis.

As the day wore on, the villagers went about their tasks with a heavy heart, their hope dwindling with each passing hour. The See of Fae, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage—its magic, its nature, and its people all suffering under the relentless march of war. The future was uncertain, and the villagers could only wait, their fate bound to the whims of forces far beyond their control.

---

The village of Erithis, a place that had once thrived in harmony with the ancient forest, now stood on the brink of collapse. The war had left its mark, and the scars it had inflicted on the land and its people would not soon heal. The Fae, once proud and powerful, now faced a future as uncertain as the shifting borders of their war-torn homeland.

 

[Elvario]

Ceylan

Spoiler: Full Image & Source

From:
Granblue Fantasy Wiki

Active titles: Syncretist Bishop, Hero of Aegrizora, Associate of Shrine of Cleansed Curses F, Dotty's Saviour, Ryke Adventurer E, Missionary, Wandering Saint, Shepherd, Daddy, Fetcher, Holy Child, Scribe of Celestials, Kind Healer, Expert Healer, Adept Empath, Expert Theologian, Novice Sophist, Caster, Summoner, Elementaler
Languages: Common | <Beastial>
Mentions: Maxxob

After his adventures in Widersia ended, he'd eventually found himself a guide into the See. Whether it'd be Demeter, Shael or someone they recommended. Or someone else altogether. In the end he'd gotten where he wanted to get. A village that seemed to need his presence rather badly.

That said, with nobody to introduce him to the Fae there, he did feel uncertain. His past dealings with Fae were mixed at best. Simply wandering in to be like 'yo whattup, who needs healing y'all?' might not be an ideal thing to do.

To make matters worse, his sharp ears and nose (Heightened Sense Smell/Hearing E) had been able to pick up on some nearby sounds of battle and on the signs of battlefields. With that in mind, it was probably best to help these people evacuate, was it not? That's what his Syncretist instincts told him, at the very least. He wasn't going to be able to fight a war for them, unless... He technically could. He'd battled before and perhaps the See would allow for easier summoning, if it's own spirits answered the call?

He shook his head. Overthinking this wasn't really going to get anything done, now as it. He walked onto the plaza, his senses sharp, as he was carefully [Scanning the Mood] of people. He wanted to know whom might help him handle whatever needed handling, or whom would point him in the right direction.

Scanning the Mood – Magic B, Magic Range C, Magic Targets C, Magic Area of Effect C, Selective C, Appraisal E - Empathy B, Insight B, Energised B, Sixth Sense B [Curses/Blessings/Danger/Spirits/Hidden Treasure] – Character uses their senses to pick up on the mood of those around them. - Grade Be – 3 Post Cooldown.

 

[Maxxob]

Elvario

As Ceylan stepped into the heart of Erithis, the weight of the village’s misery pressed down on him like the stifling air of the war-torn land. The fae villagers, their forms hunched with fatigue and eyes shadowed with suspicion, had begun to gather, watching the newcomer with guarded expressions. Ragged clothes clung to gaunt bodies, and the few children who lingered near their mothers clutched at their skirts, wide-eyed yet silent.

The plaza itself was barren, its stone tiles cracked, weeds crawling through the seams. Once a place of gathering, laughter, and celebration, it now stood as a hollow shell of its former self. The remnants of what might have been a fountain, now dry and cracked, sat at its center, a symbol of the village’s slow decay. The only sounds were the occasional creak of wooden shutters swaying in the breeze and the faint whispers of those too afraid to speak openly.

Eyes tracked Ceylan’s every move, their gazes flickering with a mixture of distrust and fear. Though his canine features marked him clearly as a beastkin, distinct from the humans of the East Empire, old wounds ran deep. To them, he was still a stranger, one who might yet bring more pain or, worse, false hope.

A faint stir broke through the tension as one brave soul moved. A small figure stepped forward—timid but drawn by something more powerful than her fear. A young gnome girl, frail beyond her years, emerged from the shadow of her mother. Her clothes, threadbare and mismatched, clung to her malnourished frame, each step she took hesitant but purposeful. Behind her, the girl's mother called out in a sharp whisper, her voice cracking, "Stop! Come back!"

But the girl didn’t stop. She seemed almost entranced, her wide emerald eyes locked on the kind-faced beastkin who now stood in the middle of her world. The wind caught in her tangled hair, pushing strands across her pale face, but she didn’t flinch as she came to a halt mere feet from him. She looked up, her gaze a mixture of awe, desperation, and something purer—hope, perhaps too innocent for a place so darkened by suffering.

"Are you here to help us, mister?" she asked, her voice so soft it almost dissolved into the breeze. Yet the question pierced the silence like a bell ringing in a chapel, its tremor filled with fragile emotion. Her small, trembling hands clutched the hem of her worn dress, her fingers turning white as she held on, as if holding on to that last thread of hope.

Around her, the villagers fell deathly silent, their guarded expressions melting just enough to reveal the faintest glimmer of yearning in their tired eyes. The war had taken everything from them—loved ones, homes, and even the will to dream of salvation. Yet in this moment, they were poised on the edge of possibility, the stranger before them perhaps representing their last chance.

The entire village seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with anticipation and fear, waiting for Ceylan’s response. Would he offer them the relief they so desperately sought? Or would he, like so many others before him, simply vanish into the chaos, leaving their hopes in ashes?

 

[Elvario]

Ceylan

Spoiler: Full Image & Source

From:
Granblue Fantasy Wiki

Active titles: Syncretist Bishop, Hero of Aegrizora, Associate of Shrine of Cleansed Curses F, Dotty's Saviour, Ryke Adventurer E, Missionary, Wandering Saint, Shepherd, Daddy, Fetcher, Holy Child, Scribe of Celestials, Kind Healer, Expert Healer, Adept Empath, Expert Theologian, Novice Sophist, Caster, Summoner, Elementaler
Languages: Common | <Beastial>
Mentions: Maxxob

His tail started to hang low as he saw what he'd just walked into. Things definitely weren't looking good here. The stares he was getting, despite being understandable, also made him nervous. He didn't have the best dealings in Fae lands in the past and now, being a sole [Beast] among so many Fae, he felt like he did when he tried to enter their war-camp. Whilst they had been soldiers, they'd been qually worn-out. Yet back then... His aid to them had just rekindled a war. That said, he was not among soldiers now, nor was he reliving that awful trial happening in a distant past, both his own and that of his world.

No, it'd not be the same again. He took a deep breath. Just then, he spotted a young gnome running at him. He smiled, as he crouched down when she reached him. “Yes. Yes I am.” The approach had given him the conviction he needed to see this through. What Syncretist would he be, if he would not be able to steel his resolve after such an earnest plea for aid. He'd give her a bit of his rations. “Here you go. Don't eat it too quickly, or your stomach will hurt.” He'd state, as he looked around.

The best way to show what he was about was probably not through words, but through actions. The Syncretist did tend to have a strong 'do first, spread the gospel later' tenet. He took his catalyst and silent started to chant in al almost song-like manner and rhythm.

“Sooth their mind, ease their pains. Calm their worries, give them rest. For in this harsh world, we need respite. Allow a peace to settle, in flesh and bone, in mind and soul. Make me a beacon of rest, so that I might alleviate these troubled minds and bodies.”

Soothing Aura – Magic B, Healing B, Magic Range C, Magic Targets C, Magic Duration C, Magic Area of Effect C, Selective C, Religion B, Empathy B, Insight B, Energised B, Persuasion F – Character has a soothing aura that calms and heals those around them. - Grade Be – 3 Post Cooldown.
Magic Circle - When a caster doesn't use the move action in a round they cast spells, recites spell incantation, uses a catalyst in hand, and performs gestures to cast a spell in combat, a full magic circle may appear under them or otherwise near them that enhances the spell's effectiveness by 1. In rounds where their Magic Circle is active, the Caster does not benefit from wearing armour.

After that was done, he would call upon the aid of some of his allies, as he would summon for the [Mice Maids]. “Thank you for heeding my call.” He'd greet them, as they would arrive after being summoned from Cardinal Zoilus' Tower. “These people need aid. Food, clothing, rest. I believe you all are capable enough to find out how to aid them to the best of your abilities.” He'd state, as he instructed them. The mice had a decent enough grasp on [Domestic Arts], so they were sure to be able to help out to some degree.

That said, there was one question left in the air. “This area seems to have become unsafe and is no longer liveable. I cannot stop the war from encroaching further, but I can aid you in leaving this place, if you wish for me to do so.” He'd state, wondering who'd respond, if any, as well as what their responses would be.

 

[Maxxob]

Elvario

As Ceylan crouched to meet the young gnome girl’s gaze, her wide, emerald eyes glimmered with a mixture of disbelief and hope. The faint quiver in her lips betrayed how deeply his gesture affected her. She extended her frail, trembling hands toward the ration he offered, fingers thin and bony, like those of a child who had been denied the simplest of life’s comforts for far too long. Her touch was delicate, as if afraid the offering might vanish if she grasped it too eagerly.

She paused for a moment, staring at the morsel in her hands as if it were some long-lost treasure. The ragged edges of her tattered sleeves fluttered slightly in the wind, but her focus remained fixed on the food. Then, with a tentative bite, she chewed slowly, savoring every crumb as if each were a feast unto itself. Her hunger was evident, but her restraint, driven by Ceylan’s gentle caution to eat slowly, showed a discipline beyond her years—perhaps born of hardship. “Thank you, mister…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, carrying the weight of her gratitude, her smile a delicate and fleeting thing, fragile but genuine.

From a few steps away, her mother watched with eyes full of emotion. She had initially hesitated, her stern expression concealing the deep well of pain and fear within. But as she saw her daughter receive nourishment—both physical and spiritual—tears welled up in her eyes. The lines etched in her face, carved by weeks of anguish, began to soften, and though she didn’t speak, the gratitude in her gaze was as clear as day. It was a silent exchange between a mother and the stranger who had shown them unexpected kindness.

With the quiet moment passing, Ceylan rose to his full height. The weight of his purpose seemed to settle onto his shoulders once more, but this time he bore it with renewed conviction. Without uttering a single word, he drew his catalyst, and as he began his incantation, his voice carried a lyrical, almost hypnotic rhythm. The wind seemed to catch his words, spreading them like seeds across the village, and the villagers, once skeptical, now watched in reverent silence.

His chant was not loud, but it possessed a power that resonated deeply. The cadence was soothing, like a lullaby sung to an exhausted child. As the spell took hold, a palpable shift began to occur in the atmosphere. The weight that had hung over the village for so long, the oppressive despair that clung to every stone and shingle, slowly started to lift. The air, once thick with hopelessness, now felt lighter, as if the very spirit of the place was taking its first full breath in months.

Those closest to Ceylan felt it first. An old man, confined to his home for weeks by the aches of illness and age, stepped gingerly outside. His weathered face was etched with disbelief as he realized that the constant pain in his joints had eased. He stood a little straighter, his cane suddenly less necessary as he gazed out at the village with fresh eyes. “Is this real?” he whispered to himself, shaking his head in astonishment.

A young mother, who had been bedridden for days with fever, now rose from her mat, her strength returning as if drawn from some deep well of vitality that Ceylan had tapped into. She stared at her hands in wonder, flexing her fingers as if to confirm that the sensation was true. Around her, her children clung to her, their expressions torn between joy and shock as they witnessed their mother standing once again.

Whispers spread like wildfire through the village. “A miracle…” one of the villagers breathed. “He’s healing us…”

The elderly woman who had prayed so fervently earlier in the day, her voice hoarse from crying out to the Spirit King, stumbled forward through the growing crowd. Her gnarled hands clutched tightly at the rosary-like charm she wore around her neck, her wrinkled face wet with tears. “It is him,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “The great protector has answered us through him…” Her words, once tinged with despair, now rang with newfound hope. She dropped to her knees, bowing her head in reverence, murmuring soft prayers of thanks.

Amidst the gathering crowd, the air now filled with a sense of quiet awe, Ceylan’s summoned companions, the Mice Maids, appeared with practiced precision. Small and unassuming, yet brimming with purpose, the tiny creatures darted about, their movements efficient and purposeful. With nimble paws, they immediately began their work. Some gathered what little food could be salvaged, rationing and organizing it with remarkable efficiency. Others mended tattered clothes and blankets, their needlework deft and swift, restoring dignity where it had been lost.

The Mice Maids, though small, were unrelenting in their efforts, bringing a sense of calm industry to the square. A few of the villagers, though initially hesitant, began to help where they could, guided by the maids’ quiet gestures. Their presence, though subtle, spoke volumes—the magic of the moment wasn’t only in the healing, but in the rebuilding of hope and community, no matter how small the steps.

Amidst the murmurs of awe, one voice, hesitant but urgent, rose above the others. A villager stepped forward, wringing his hands nervously. “This place… it’s no longer safe,” His admission echoed the unspoken fear that lingered beneath the surface of every hopeful glance. “The roads... they’ve become dangerous. Eraza is the closest village, but we can’t make it there alone.” His eyes darted toward the distant horizon, where the shadow of war still loomed. “Can you... protect us, if it comes to that?”

His words hung in the air like a challenge to the hopeful calm Ceylan had brought. The villagers, one by one, turned their gaze toward the Syncretist, their hearts filled with both hope and trepidation. Could they truly escape this forsaken place? Would their fragile sense of peace last beyond this moment of grace?

The villagers had been given a glimpse of salvation, but the journey ahead was still fraught with peril. Their faith in Ceylan, though growing, was now tempered with the harsh reality of the dangerous world that awaited beyond the borders of their ruined home. And yet, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, they had a reason to believe in something more than mere survival. They had hope—and it was growing stronger by the second.

 

[Elvario]

Ceylan

Spoiler: Full Image & Source

From:
Granblue Fantasy Wiki

Active titles: Syncretist Bishop, Hero of Aegrizora, Associate of Shrine of Cleansed Curses F, Dotty's Saviour, Ryke Adventurer E, Missionary, Wandering Saint, Shepherd, Daddy, Fetcher, Holy Child, Scribe of Celestials, Kind Healer, Expert Healer, Adept Empath, Expert Theologian, Novice Sophist, Caster, Summoner, Elementaler
Languages: Common | <Beastial> | {Sylvan}
Mentions: Maxxob

His heart almost broke upon seeing the gnome so grateful for something so simple. “{You're welcome. Well done for eating slowly.}” He'd praise, trying to speak the Sylvan language to have a bit more of a connection. He'd abstained from it thus far because his sheet only now got updated as he was afraid it might be a bit rude or suspicious, but he felt he'd had a good enough first impression to try using their native tongue.

As his allies, the Mice Maids, got to work, whilst his magic started restoring some vigour and health in the villagers, he was eventually approached by someone who'd explain the situation. An evacuation it was. “{Spirit King and gods be willing, I can.}” He stated, as whilst he wasn't able to fight himself, he was able to summon aid if needed. “{Are you the one in charge?}” He'd ask the man, as Ceylan felt he needed someone to discuss things with that could represent these villagers.

“{Gather everything you'll need to bring along here. I can use [Pocket Dimension] magic to help transport it. Check the houses to ensure that everyone gathers here. If anyone needs healing or convincing to follow, let me know. We'll leave as soon as we've got everything and everyone gathered. Help each-other and ask for aid if needed. We'll be in this together.}” He would say, his voice as if he was [Preach]ing to them, though with a sense of [Inspiring] urgency to it to work together and get this done.

[Preach] – Religion B, Insight B, Empathy B, Connected B [Syncretist Church - Bishop], Energised B, Persuasion F, Inspire F – Character holds a passionate hand-tailored theological speech about faith. Theologically sound and intended to stir up the right emotions. Inspire gives a +1 boost. - Grade Be - 3 Post Cooldown.

Honestly, he was a tad nervous. This might be one of the first times he'd taken the lead in such a big operation. Yet, as a [Bishop], he wouldn't be worth his salt if he couldn't do at least this much, right? He took a deep breath. Gods be willing, indeed, for it felt like much would rely on their favour. Even so, he was sure they would not abandon people like this, so he would gladly be their representative to come and aid them. [Syncretist Bishop] – character has a B grade connection to the Syncretist Church.

Luckily enough, his faith allowed him to rely on the Spirit King as well as on other deities, meaning his work as a [Missionary] might help these people open up. [Missionary] - Character is familiar with taking their faith on the road. They have an easier time finding places or people to shelter with while travelling. As if by divine providence. More easily found to be insufferable by those of other faiths.

Perhaps it hadn't been coincidence that a mother and her daughter had been among the first he'd been able to have open up to his presence and goals here. [Daddy] - Character is acknowledged by children and those of the fairer sex to be a daddy. What it means varies according to each individual, but it leads to favourable treatment by those who call the character Daddy and in turn favourable treatment is expected from Daddy. Losing the title of Daddy can be surprisingly painful.

There was one thing in particular, however, that kept on his mind. He was in the domain of the spirit king. Would that mean he would be willing to sent his aid if Ceylan would attempt to summon it? Would the Spirit King himself sent out his warriors, should they be needed? Ceylan did not know. Even so, he did have a good feeling about it. [Holy Child] - Character has been blessed by the heavens multiple times to work things in their favour. Celestial beings or holy folk are more likely to cooperate with character.

Even if he promised these people safety, it was a gamble, yet he knew that without taking it, this village was doomed to end up in the war zone itself. A sentence far too harsh to bare. At the very worst, he'd have to try defend them himself, with claws and teeth, though he prayed it wouldn't come to that. [Cursed Helper] - Character is cursed for helping others. Or are they cursed to help others? Point is helping others + cursed.

That said, he shouldn't get ahead of himself. He should've been able to have won over those he healed. [Kind Healer] - Character has cared for the wounds of an unappreciative target. Those healed by the character will be more likely to find them trustworthy.

He should also be able to easily get the younger ones and those less thoughtfully inclined to his side. Even the problematic ones. [Shepherd] - Character has guided those of bestial natures or stupid minds to better paths and pastures. Character will be more likely to gain recognition as being wise but will also garner no shortage of problem creatures to his side.

The more religious ones seemed to have already been willing to follow. [Wandering Saint] - Character is a wanderer that brings healing and well-being wherever they go. While the stories told by the people generally exceed reality, the faithful aware of who the character is consider them truth and are more hospitable to the character in hopes of being blessed.