Legend of the Grace Foot

A long time ago, when the air was sweet with mana, there was once a free, elven wood tribe.

It was a tribe of peaceful people; they lived by trade and practiced a nomadic lifestyle.

But one day, a young girl, whose name has been lost to time- made a fatal, grave mistake.

Her mistake had cost her tribe the grace of their deity.

Without this grace, their bounty was fated to wither to a still.

And so, it did- their nomadic paths became destitute, they were shunned by other tribes and peoples, and they themselves were dying to a mysterious illness.

In no less than four seasons, did the tribe breathe it's last.

But the girl still lived.

She lived, as decreed by the deity she had angered.

"Live, live in your anguish, aetherling." Did the deity cackle in a voice as ancient and coarse as petrified pine.

"Until the day that of your flight foot, that of which you stole from me, catches a falling star- shall you live as the creature you so envy- doomed to live lives beyond your pale, as so do the supreme ones practice."

With a flash of mana that sundered a portion of the great elven wood- did the girl become a creature that lives its fleeting life on a graceful foot.

So did she live her first life, unknowing of what she was and what her goal should be- so did the next, and the next, and the next; each differing life longer than the last one.

Some lives were lived in joy-

and others in sadness.

Some lives were lived peacefully, yet many were lived in wrathful blood.

But as each life was lived by the grace foot,

so did her ancient sin grow-,

with her hope of catching a falling star dimming like a waning candle against the wintry torrent of lives she has lived.

Not soon after, she became a part of the primeval twelve- those who have been fated to walk the same path, eternal disasters cursed to walk Solaster in search of their deity-forsaken impossible task--

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