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What makes a Spiritmancer?

Is it their hearts? Their souls? Their compulsive desire to maintain the balance of the world? 

Or does being a Spiritmancer mean being something more?

Does it mean letting go of those that you love? Does it mean embracing the cusp of life and death with your very heart and soul? Does it mean understanding the emotions of others? Cherishing the very life you are given, while being kind enough to embrace the lives of those that surround you?

Does it mean accepting your death with open arms?

Whatever the case may be, everyone has their reasons. The art of Spiritmancy, embedded so deeply into the very concepts of life and death, burrowed into each and every one of our souls. It's a matter of life and death, in most instances. It's our faith. It's our duty...and our destiny.

I only hope you can join me, and assist me on this journey. To restore the balance broken to this world and the Lifestream, and usher in a new beginning for our art.

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"Why am I writing this?" says the young man. His pen lingers against the page, ink tearing through delicate seams of notepaper. His wings flicker, the temptation of the spirits rattling upon his psyche. His 'condition' had only worsened with age. Each and every day, do the voices of the spirits grow louder. Despite his best efforts, does he remain alone. A wandering exorcist, a vagabond with no allegiance. Cursed to take the burdens of the spirits for his own, with no one to aid him but his own person.

"I've always been alone, haven't I? Sure, I have friends. I have family. Yet...why do I feel like this all the time? Like the world doesn't want me? Is it all in my head? Am i growing insane?" He huffs, slamming his pen through the hardwood of the table. He seethes, growling under his breath, screaming into the heavens for why his purpose was taken away so young. "Damn it all! They won't understand! They won't know what it's like to be burdened by all of your damned screams! Why can't...why can't you LEAVE ME ALONE!?" The table is thrown against the wall, shattering in two. Occultism flutters through the man's body. For what did he have to live for? His wife? His friends? His family...?

He was born for more than this...was he not? To undertake their burdens?

Why this? Why something so painful to bear?

"Please. Just give me a sign. If I was born for more than this. Born for more than taking your damned burdens. Born for more than..." A pause, something is caught in his peripheral vision, lavender hues tilting to the side. "...More than..." 

A little girl. He'd pause, seeing spirits in the wild was not of any oddity to him. Yet this one? "...Hey..._" his voice suddenly grows soft. The little girl in the white dress was naught but a few feet tall, blackened hair caught in pigtails. She waves down the man, giggling as she ran outside. "Y-you're not..."

A pause, he follows the little girl outside. Only-..

For nothing to be there. She had vanished into thin air. Naught but her footsteps are left behind, echoing deep into the heart of the forest.

The heart of Gluttony's Maw itself. Beyond where any would ever dare. Even the most hardened of witches wouldn't dare delve that deep in the forest. The young man knew this well...-

Yet he was more humble than he had thought. The spirit of that girl toils with his soul, his heart set on bringing her peace. Much like all the rest.

And perhaps find out more about himself along the way...

"Right. This is what I was born for. I was born...to protect you all." He nods with conviction. Yet even he was not foolish enough to delve so deep into the Maw without company.

What awaits them, beyond that veil? Where rumors of Mortly's kin flutter through shadows...?