"Early in Queen Alin'at'acto's reign, shortly after consolidating what power she could on the island but before she was the defacto ruler. A mage by the name of Olital, born from an elven mother and a god, rebelled with an army of undead and laid siege to the ancient city. He marched along the Jutuhi river from his city on the coast, met the queen's force along the river, where they did battle before he met his end near Bathladar." -An Excerpt of Keiva's Mythological History
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Where is this? This darkness? What happened? What is that?
"Swavi te, sugu'usa ra, nagrat dinafae." The mage waved their hand with a flourish and took gauge of his work. The spell swirled before him with only a dark color to it and even less sound. It flowed through the air like a poison, hanging with his hand as it guided the tendrils through the incantation. Like a stitch, the tendril of smoke-like magic threaded into the corpse of a young elven man on the table, slipping in and slowly filling the empty cati'ja, where the body stored magic. Synonymous with the nervous, muscular, cardiovascular, and endocrine systems, every being from as simple to a blade of grass to the very gods and Prime Beings themselves used the same method to transport magic across their being.
"Now you have life," the mage smiled, a row of sickly teeth lining his gums. His irises were a pale yellow, though as he cast his magic they began to take on a fiery quality. He took a step back to admire his work. The corpse of the young elf now sat up before him on the table with eyes a deep purple, a trait of the deep elves native to the caverns of the Underdark. The eyes were blank, soulless and void, for now.
"Do you remember anything, child?" The mage asked, his smile never fading as he stood and gazed into his subjects face. No answer came from the lips of the young elf, his gaze locked at a point beyond the mage. The silence hung in the air and the mage waited as the second ticked away, with no response.
"No matter, that will not hinder our progress." The mage lifted his right hand, the glove on it adorned with a gem that shined the color of midnight and created shadows potentially darker. His power focused, tensing like a muscle and then releasing as he manipulated the magic, moving it inside of his cadaver as if it were his puppet. By all means, it is.
"AHHHHHH," the cadaver erupted, throwing its arms up and charging two steps towards the mage before collapsing to the ground with a series of sick thuds and thunks.
"Ah so he does live again," the mage licked his teeth in satisfaction as the cadaver struggled to learn how to walk again, an unfortunate side effect of death. Prolonged death, in the case of the poor sap. The mage smiled down at the struggling elf with amusement, almost hoping he would figure out how to work out the complexities of life so fast. He would be the first.
*"*So much fight left in you, you would think you saw the man who killed you." The smile on the man became devious, "Oh wait, you did."
***
Darkness.
The void.
I did not give up yet.
"NNNNNOOOO." the cadaver roared, fighting against the magic that compelled it to follow the will that was being imposed against it. The elf struggled to its knees, pushing with every ounce of might and piece of will that it could summon. Despite all of its effort, it fell to the ground, its limbs almost useless.
"You must have been quite the fighter in life to give me this much trouble even now. If I wouldn't have caught you unaware in the darkness of your city we might have had a rather interesting battle." The mage tensed his hand, pulling from his well of magic to quell the uprising within his cadaver. "But it is too late for you, Ra'fiti Sevata. You could not escape me with all of your might." His magic began to expand, encompassing all that used to be Ra'fiti.
The magic within the cadaver began to calm, as it integrated itself into its occupant, supplanting what one could call the free will of the original owner with the iron will of the mage, Wata`aran. The memories of the elf soon faded, to be replaced with whatever the Mage wanted to imprint and the struggle soon gave way to a blank stare.
"There, you see, things under me are not that bad. You aren't even dead anymore, you see. I've just made you better, more capable of accomplishing your task." The Mage grinned and twisted the magic in his hand, causing a surge and a sudden rush of energy as the spell finished and then the magic calmed almost as quickly as it began. What remained as far as the mage was concerned was a vessel, one that would serve its purpose, and then he could dispose of it. In the manner that is fitting of it. He could only grin in excitement as his plan to own the whole of Ver-Anda came together. "Now you Ra'fiti, will do well to remember what I created you for. You know that my plan will go off with you doing your part or not, at this point, I just promise that things will be better for the rest of your family this way." The deep elf did not respond to the Mages statements, only stared far beyond into the distance, his consciousness deep in a dark pool by this point, submerged and drowning.
What was the void that had preceded this? Was it the dark, soft wings of Uutu? Or was it the brilliant light the stories always said was Vakti?