Pact Girpadda, The Original Covenant

Its final words dug into the air around it, forever marring their home. The child's skin grew taut, mottled with ivory spots glowed like radiance in the sunlight. The mother smiled as her son drew in the stale air around them. Then the child laughed. Life now had a price.

— Excerpt from the Myth

Many myths and legends came from Metiria to Kerine when the ark ships made landfall. One of particular note that often is told alongside early teachings of the Doctrine of Hell & Earth is the birth of the legendary diplomat, Jherran Dol'Vastros. Histories often tell of Jherran's exploits positively, as he is spoken of as the one responsible for The Great Tirian Unification, unifying all of Metiria under one society. People spoke of his kind nature, willingness to listen, and tenacious personality as driving forces in his success in unifying Metiria. However, some believed it to be unnatural. Anecdotes from citizens across ancient Metiria described Jherran arriving seemingly from no where, a white mist preceding his arrival, traveling across the island in a matter of hours, and tribes making peace within a day. Accounts also attempted to tie Jherran's unification with the arrival and discovery of The Devils and their Braumfaturas. Historical texts and firsthand accounts of this time are difficult to come by, especially one in good enough condition to glean a complete story. As such, a crude and dark myth was developed by the Tirian pilgrims after their arrival to Kerine, centering around Jherran's birth and the blackened bargain his mother had made to ensure he became the great man history remembers him as. The myth is only regarded in a serious manner by few individuals, chalking it up to envious folk downplaying the legend's accomplishments.

A Pact Made from Love

The myth generally follows a young mother in the northern region of Metiria. Her husband had long perished trying to tame the Trackless Sea, leaving the young firbolg woman to tend for herself and her child alone. The tribe she had called home was dwindling, attacked and raided by neighboring tribes and marauders. Worse yet, her child, no more than a few months old, began to grow sickly, skin stretching of the bone as he wailed in the night. Days passed, and the child's condition grew worse with the woman's mind trailing behind him. The mother taught herself the ways of the plants and fruits, hoping to find ways to ail the suffering of her people, her son, and herself.

Flames suddenly roiled outside the mother's home. The attack came swiftly, men and women shouting and crying just beyond the threshold. Tears streamed down her face; was it a curse that more hardship be pressed upon her? Or a blessing that might push her to end her suffering?

The mother rushed into her bedroom. The vile nectar lied on the stand beside her bed; a darker product of her delve into her search for a panacea. She took in the smoldering air around her, the screams of her kinsmen, and the cries from her son. One drop was given to the sickly child and two for herself, enough to dull the world as it faded into nothing.

Then, the mother awoke. Her child laid there, motionless as if frozen in time before a wall of fire lit by sunlight. No words were spoken as one eye opened from the raging flames, its pupil surrounded by orbs of scarlet, gold, and ebony. As the eye shut, her husband approached. A warmth flowed through her; she knew this was not the man she had married and sired her boy, yet she felt a comfort and bliss she had not felt since her childhood. The man calmly outstretched a hand. The terms were clear without ever having a sentence uttered. She turned towards her child, frozen in time without his mother. Without breaking sight of her child, she clasped onto the man's hand, holding tight with the weight of everything she was.

The mother opened her eyes. She was resting on her bed, cradling her son in her arms. The smell of smoke was gone, and normal chatter could be heard beyond the threshold. She could now hear him, the man from her dream. She could not see him as he spoke in a manner she could not understand. The room then grew silent, all sound drained from the world. Its final words dug into the air around it, forever marring their home. The child's skin grew taut, mottled with ivory spots glowed like radiance in the sunlight. The mother smiled as her son drew in the stale air around them. Then the child laughed. Life now had a price.

The son learned her mother's tongue quickly, speaking akin to an elder of their tribe. His sickly frame flowed with renewed vitality, trekking on ever longer journeys into Metiria's shallows and jungles. The mother saw her son grow year after year, glowing with pride as he became legend. Growing beyond the borders of the tribe, her son ventured out to learn of the island and all its people. The mother's face filled with sorrow, only for a moment before embracing her son one last time.

Whether its the sands beneath your feet or the breeze through your hair, know my love will always be there to push you forward.

Jherran left his mother that day. Some people claim once he passed the border of his village, his mother turned to sand, never to be seen again. Other claim she fell ill as if poisoned, remaining bedridden until her death. A commonality among all of them, however, was that this was the last time Jherran saw his mother.