Before the Great Crystallization, before the shimmering fields of Aethelgard, there were the Ricers. Not creatures of flesh and blood, but echoes – solidified fragments of emotion, born from moments of profound joy, unbearable sorrow, and the quiet contemplation of the celestial dance. They weren’t native to this plane, not entirely. They drifted in from the Veils, carried on the currents of forgotten memories, each one a miniature universe of sensation.
The initial Ricers, known as the ‘Primes,’ were formed during the creation of the first sentient beings on Aethelgard. Each one was inextricably linked to the emotion that birthed it. A Ricer born from the laughter of a child would pulse with iridescent light, radiating warmth and an almost tangible sense of innocent delight. Those born of grief were darker, clouded with amethyst and obsidian, emitting a subtle, melancholic hum.
Their purpose, as far as the nascent Aethelgardians understood it, was to act as conduits, amplifying and channeling the emotional energy of the world. They weren’t guardians, not protectors. They were simply… receivers, meticulously recording the ebb and flow of feeling. It was a strange, beautiful, and ultimately, terrifying process. The sheer volume of emotion they absorbed began to warp the very fabric of Aethelgard.
The Crystallization wasn’t a singular event, but a slow, insidious process. As the Ricers accumulated more and more emotion, they began to crystallize, solidifying into intricate, geometric forms. Initially, these forms were delicate, almost ethereal, but as the emotional load grew, they hardened, becoming increasingly complex and resistant. The light they emitted intensified, shifting through a spectrum of colors. The Aethelgardians, initially fascinated, quickly became wary.
The Ricers began to exert a gravitational influence, not a physical one, but an emotional one. Areas saturated with Ricing influence became prone to heightened states of feeling – ecstatic joy could escalate into manic fervor, quiet sadness could bloom into crushing despair. The very air seemed to vibrate with the accumulated emotion, a symphony of feeling that threatened to overwhelm the senses. They called it the ‘Luminescent Harvest’ – a beautiful, terrifying reaping of the soul.
The cartographer, Elara Vane, dedicated her life to mapping the Ricing fields. She believed that understanding their distribution would allow them to mitigate the effects of the Luminescent Harvest. However, her maps became increasingly distorted, reflecting not the physical landscape, but the swirling currents of emotion. Her final map, a swirling vortex of iridescent hues, depicted not mountains and rivers, but the raw, unfiltered emotions of the populace. She vanished shortly after completing it, reportedly consumed by the sheer intensity of the Ricing energy. Some say her essence became another Ricer, a beautiful, terrifying echo of her own melancholy.
A council of elders, recognizing the growing danger, enacted the Silent Accord. This wasn’t a decree, but a deeply ingrained cultural practice – a conscious effort to suppress strong emotions, to maintain a state of emotional neutrality. It was a desperate attempt to starve the Ricers, to dim their light and weaken their influence. The Accord succeeded, to a degree. The Ricers became less vibrant, their light faded, but they didn’t disappear. They remained, dormant, waiting. A silent, shimmering reminder of the power of feeling, and the profound consequences of unchecked emotion.