“Of this I tell unto you the truth, and Ezreal El was veriest beyond his time. He forewent the apex of his wisdom before the temple of Daggerford and to Him we owe the precept we still celebrate. Beyond any doubt, I say unto you that His daughter’s name is the same as the ancient root of the purest attainable through the speech of the soul.
”taken from “Apology of the Archmaester”, by Anvernia, High Priestess of the Lunar Cult
The birth of the Old Tradition has its roots in the First Age and is strictly related to the history of Daggerford, proudest amongst the Vale cities of men. In ancient times, it was a crossroad famous to all peoples. Its culture was evolved, and its military was feared, thanks to the greatest virtue of the First Men: the Great Council of the Sages. Enlightened scholars and gifted spellcasters all, upstanding among the Seven Sages was the warlock Ezreal El. Once an extraordinary warlock and steadfast politician.
Ezreal El had a daughter, Mirithlen, whose name means “Soul of Silver”. She was a young apprentice, studying with the most talented mages to hopefully become an initiate to the Sages, eventually taking one of their place when they reached old age. She was her father’s initiate, and she witnessed his slow unraveling. Watching helplessly as he began sinking into his research, his looks changing and his voice hiding malicious tones. She was the first to believe in her father’s contacts with otherworldly realms, also believing in his progress came from the guidance of some other being, and not his own knowledge, as renowned as it was. Despite the other Sages’ discontent for his wavering reason, she kept loving him, hoping that his soul would eventually recover from the obsession. She took Ezreal El’s seat in the Council when he lost his mind and position, though keeping an eye on him.
He mastered many crafts in his life, so much that he was called Archmaester by his subordinates and students, and led daring studies in cosmology and theology, searching for the source of primogenial power. His skill in magic was remarkable, and he observed the Three Sources it was drawn from to the point of conjecturing the existence of the Three Worlds. One being the Earthly World and assented that he experienced some kind of contact with the other two. Normally, the discovery of such things would be mundane to a learned sage of the Forgotten Realms, as there are many known planes of existence. However, what he had discovered was that the Three transcended these all, and that the planes he had known prior were simply a smaller part of the one of the Three. The discovery consumed him for many years. He confronted it with the lore of other peoples and devised new rituals, aiming to prove the existence of the unknown worlds. He appeared to be guided by an otherworldly being, as he single handedly built the foundation of what would eventually become the arcane studies to come, surpassing even the Satyrs in their skill with enchantment. Alas, the further his research went, the more lunatic and deranged he became.
One night, Mirithlen noticed that her beloved father was not in his quarters and began looking for him. The shadows of the night thickened as she approached the library where Ezreal El’s study was. Inside, moonlight strived to filter from the windows and unholy whispers tainted the silence. On the desk there was a tome where the Three Truths had been transcribed, and a fourth had evidently been torn free. The Archmaester’s calligraphy seemed to glow mad over the lines, as if it belonged to someone else. As the girl was absorbed by the reading in that terrifying ambiance, the whispers began to crescendo, and eventually she noticed a stifling stench in the air. She looked around her and spotted the corpse of one of the Sages. It was horribly disfigured, soaked in blood and surrounded by extinguished candles. Its flesh carved with illegible symbols. As she touched the corpse, Mirithlen felt her body transcending its physical form, while darkness and searing frost engulfed her. She realized that what she had witnessed was the result of a ritual aimed to transform the corpse into a door through worlds, and that Ezreal El understood that death was the only way to break into the darkest of those two endless realms.
When she regained her sight, she found herself in a place deprived of sound and smell, flayed by an icy wind. She dared the mists, and the dim light, and the sorrowful air, alone amongst translucent souls.
Eventually, she found her father, wandering around a majestic cathedral, solemn and decaying at the same time. His eyes were virtuous, and he held in his hand a scrap of paper written in his own blood. It was the Fourth Truth, omen of tragedy and of the end of all things. Ezreal El was repeating the words endlessly, driven mad by the sickening air of that realm. His daughter wept as she realized she had lost him forever.
She lay weeping for a great many hours, holding the accursed paper in one hand and the heel of her father in the other, until finally she found the courage to stand up. She dragged him away from the sanctuary of death, whose sight could traumatize the hardest of men, and wandered, looking for a way out. Alas, though they walked for hours and lost sight of the cathedral, they were as lost as ever, chased by unseen Fiends who thirsted for them to stay in that realm. In a moment of desperation, she realize that the only way out was the way in. She rested her eyes on the spoils of a once virtuous man, a caring father and a brave leader, then she wreathed him in a long, grieving embrace.
As the cold grew unbearable, so too did the desire not to let the Archmaester’s efforts be in vain, and Mirithlen killed her own father. She carved the symbols she had seen on the corpse of that poor Sage into his flesh, using nothing but her nails, and in doing so she resurfaced to Faerun, filled with despair and regret, forever defiled by the act. She spent the rest of her life knowing that her soul belonged to that darkness, where the grave of her beloved father was.
The Four Truths were then revealed to the world, along with Mirithlen’s testimony, a new tenet took shape in the loss of the greatest scholar of all. Thus, began the Second Age for the mortals of Faerun, in the years after Ezreal El.