There once was a young woman.

A shrine maiden. Fair, frail and withered, with glassy jade eyes and hair akin to rough, dark hay. She labored tirelessly at the Temple of Yhiraam for pittance, ensuring that the temple’s glaring rosy-red and snow-white architecture would remain unmarred by the imperfection of the people who came to pray every day. The jagged, geometric shapes, the towering statues of warriors of legend, all built to glorify Him, the Dominion’s God of War and Law. His helmet rested atop the altar, among a cascading pile of wilting flowers, laid-down arms, and of course… gold.

Day in and day out, a procession of policemen, soldiers, their spouses, children, loved ones, all would filter in and out. They were deathly quiet, as every stray noise was harshly amplified by the hard stone, and this was a place of reverence. One by one they would cast their offerings at the Altar, and whisper quiet prayers, gazing long into the abyss behind the visor of Yhiraam’s legendary helmet. Perhaps Yhiraam would protect them. Protect their family. Protect their kingdom.

But Sophia, the shrine maiden… all she could see was that gold. Every night, she would be made to gather it all and bring it for the clergy. Scores of valuable coins; some people would give absolutely everything they could afford to. After all… the price for divinity was high, and nowadays, it was a seller’s market.

She hated it. The gold seemed to get heavier every night, even though people gave the same.

So, one night, she could take it no longer. Having gathered the gold into a bowl, she was to store it in the Temple’s vault… but, just this once, she would help herself. Surely, she was a servant of Yhiraam as well, was she not? She was so hungry… She gingerly dipped her hand in, feeling the glittering, cold coins sift through her shaking fingers, and scooped a handful of them for herself.

In her paranoia, she glanced to the helmet of Yhiraam watching over her from that pedestal… and she saw eyes, looking down on her from behind that visor with a kind of hatred she’d never felt before.

Her skin began to bubble and sear at the touch of the gold. Howling in pain, her screams echoed throughout the temple, making her ears ring. The gold scattered across the floor, and she collapsed at the altar, clutching her burning hand…

The clergymen would find her that morning. She would be on the streets as soon as they found that she was not mortally injured.

…

She hated this place. She hated the cold, thin air. She hated the people, hollow and careless and always concerned with alien things. She hated the Dominion, towering so high above that she couldn’t make out the faces of the people who were responsible for her suffering.

But above all else, she’d learned a lesson from them, though one that she could not begin to take advantage of there. There was no more room for divinity in a place so close to the heavens.

So, she left. She stowed away in a caravan, and she traveled for weeks throughout the summer, slotting herself in as an unassuming drifter among sympathetic travelers. She made her way into northern Woodveil, eventually coming to a stop at the town of Sishai, a modest town tucked into rolling hills far away from the choking industry of the Dominion.

Hearing her plight as a starving peasant fleeing the Dominion of Mere’s last days, they allowed her to settle down in a long-unoccupied home, and she would eventually make her place in the town as an apothecary.

It was steady, but hard work, and she didn’t make more than she needed to survive.

A year into her new life, she looked at her arm… still scarred and disfigured as it was. She wanted more.

…

One night, on a quiet summer evening, the treeline lit up.

Sound and thunder, cracking flashes and dazzling lights all filtered through the pines. Bright, bitter light enough to swallow the stars. Cautiously curious townspeople gathered in the streets to watch the commotion, murmuring amongst each other in worry at the source. A swell of anxiety came when the cacophony concluded, and guards began to gather around the road out, bows and blades at the ready.

Yet out of the woods strode Sophia, head high and gait victorious. In her hands was a simple mason jar, and within it something… strange. No one could make it out just yet. She was clearly injured; a heavy gash across her cheek, dirt and soot on her face, her ragged clothes torn and her breathing heavy. In spite of all this, splitting her countenance was a toothy grin, not wavering as a few of the townspeople came to her aid as she slumped beneath a streetlamp.

“Ha ha… don’t worry, my friends!” she says, briefly quieting the chorus of confused voices. She set the abyssal jar beside her and loosed a potion from her belt, popping the cork and quaffing it. Coughing on the taste, she cast it into the ground hard enough to shatter it, still full of adrenaline from her victory.

“There was somethin’ terrible out there, but I got it!” Where once her blood spilled freely, it became as honey, thick and slow. She patted the top of the jar, drawing the townspeople’s attention to it. The darkness inside became defined, a little whirlwind of inky, nebular mass.

“What is that thing?”

“Is that jar going to hold it…?”

“How the hell’d you get it in there?”

“Save yer’ questions! I’ll tell ya’ what it is… it’s a malicious spirit! Can’t tell what kind just yet, but I got an enchanted vessel just for things like this… and thank the Gods that I did!” Sophia’s tone was… interesting. Like a salesman trying to hawk a product. But to the townsfolk, she’d always been that quiet, friendly apothecary,  clearly a mage of some repute… and she truly looked injured, too.

“Bloody thing nearly took me down, but I managed to wrangle it into this jar! It’s in there for good now… at least as long as I can keep up the magic.” She dragged herself to her feet, gently pushing herself off the lamppost and hefting the jar into her hands. She peered into it, cradling it almost like a child, looking into the toiling black within.

“Well, Sophia… good job!” Erin, the town’s de-facto leader, emerged from the small crowd, eyeing the jar with hesitation and interest. He was a chiseled man, of imposing height and build, possessed of thick salt and pepper hair and dull blue eyes. Sophia always considered him a bit of an idiot, if she were honest.

“I thought you were something special… Had no idea you’d end up saving our asses like this, though.” He leaned in just a touch, peering into the jar… only to watch a pair of claws gently rake at its inside, making a grating noise. “Do you have any clue what this thing is?”

“Ha ha…” That grin only widened. “Please, don’t be too kind. I just did what any good mage would…” she lilted, tucking the jar under her arm and starting off on her limping trek to her home on the edge of town. “I needa’ take a bit of time, identify the… thing. Probably source some protective charms, yeah?”

An eye realized from the depths of the jar, peering menacingly at Erin as she disappeared into the weave of homes.

…