Interlude
I was going to let everyone speculate wildly for the next several days, but I will be out-of-town until next Tuesday, so I didn't want to be that big a RBSHW...
Rose at Deathsgate
Your body is wracked by pain after unending pain for what seems to be an eternity. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the agony fades, leaving you calm and cold. An obsidian path stretches before you, surrounded by swirling, silent mist. The razor sharp rock should slice your feet to ribbons, but you feel nothing. Looking down, you note, in a detached way, that your body is naked and pale.
You find yourself moving down the path, although you are unsure whether or not you move under your own volition. Soon you find yourself standing before an enormous obsidian portal that soars above you. Runes of power are carved on every inch of the portal and you can feel the gateway thrumming. Beyond the opening, you see an idyllic land of rolling hills, beautiful forests and rushing streams. Trees heavy with fruit beckon you and the delicious smell of roasting meet and fine ale waft gently against your face.
A pale, slender form - clad in diaphanous green silk - lounges along the stream bank. You see that it is Asralla, in the full bloom of her youth. She sits up and motions you to join her. A grin splits your pale face and you step forward to move through the portal.
An invisible hand stays your advance. You struggle against the force with all of your might, but make no headway. Asralla stands and reaches towards you, sorrow reflected on her face. You cry out silently, trying to break the bonds that hold you in place. The pastoral scene and your ladylove begin to recede into the distance and the harder you struggle, the more rapidly they disappear. Finally, there is nothing left but darkness.
Tears that do not exist stream down your face. You are tired and want to rest, but you see another figure approaching through darkness, walking on empty space, as it was solid ground. It is a girl, no, a young woman. She is clad in white robes that cling to her slender body. Long dark hair frames her slender face and her eyes shine forth with wisdom and sadness and the weight of untold ages. A pale scar mars her otherwise perfect skin, a jagged line running vertically from the crown of her forehead to the bridge of her nose. She pauses and regards you with her wise eyes.
‘Rosë who is of the Brigante people and yet not of them,’ she says softly within your head, ‘why do you walk the Paths of the Dead and seek to pass through Deathsgate? My mother says that your time has not yet come.’
You try to answer, but no words come from your throat. She continues to gaze at you and you feel her penetrating into your very soul.
‘Yes,’ she coos, ‘I see.’
All of the pain you have experienced over your short life comes welling back, crashing like a mighty ocean wave against your spirit. It pounds against you and the pain is blinding and intense. You are certain that you will succumb, that you will fall, that the void will take you. Just when you are sure you can take no more, the pain subsides, leaving your spirit weak, but unbroken.
‘You have the mark of greatness upon you, young one, just as my mother has said. Know that in the dark storm that is coming, you have a part to play. A terrible curse hangs over the people of your mother, yet their courage and strength are paramount to turning the dark tide. If the lands are to stand against the darkness, you must free them from the curse. The path is perilous and death will hang heavy on your trail, yet for hope, you must go!’
She stops speaking for a moment and cocks her head as if she is listening. ‘Yes mother, I will tell him.’
‘Use this rhyme to guide your steps.’
She begins to chant and her haunting voice pulsates all around you, “Seek the seeker, at her feet train. Sword of the father, by dragon’s breath stained. Isle of darkness, far as the eagle flies. Corrupted totem, thrice must die. Over the chasm, thou must fly!”
The power of her words burns into your mind, writing the words in your memory forever.
‘Now you must turn from the Obsidian Path and return to the world before your spirit weakens too much!’
You turn to go and feel her presence directly behind you. Cold hands that burn like ice touch your shoulder blades, ‘Fly, Rosë of the Brigantes, fly!’
You feel yourself hurtling through the air at an impossible speed, propelled by the agony tearing from your shoulders and threatening to rip you asunder. Then, mercifully, you know no more…
To Be Continued...
Next: Interlude - Questions and Answers
~ Old One
PS - What? I still haven't told you what is going on? I guess I am a RBSHW after all! See ya soon!
