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The Blade of Phoee (Updated 12/08/08)
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<blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 2813421" data-attributes="member: 22792"><p><strong>Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued</strong></p><p></p><p>Zayda blinked her eyes. The dining table she had been sitting at blurred. <em>Dizzy</em>, she thought. Poison was the next thought that pounded into her mind like a cart driven by a team of horses—fast, relentless, and dominating.</p><p></p><p>She blinked. It was her only course of action. Powerless, the elf felt the poison—if that were the cause—drown her in unconsciousness.</p><p></p><p>But it was not pure darkness and absence of thought. The elf could feel and sense, could even see. The colors that swirled in front of her mind’s eye formed a cacophonous brilliance like the dances of her home upon the harvest nights. The celebration of life, their continued life, was both beautiful and savage. These colors were not dissimilar.</p><p></p><p>And then the savage dance parted like a two curtains drawn aside, revealing reality.</p><p></p><p>She stood on the edge of the forest, the Draeul forest, her homeland. South, the sloping hills of the human kingdom slid away from her. North, the forest swallowed the horizon, silent but vigilant guards of her home. She stood on the sword’s edge, a part of neither world, her only company a familiar wooden hut. </p><p></p><p>Zayda glanced at the hut, catching each detail with her trained eye. It looked no different than when last she had laid eyes upon it. She felt a difference, though. Something here had changed.</p><p></p><p>She stepped forward and reached for the old leather skin that covered the doorway. It was grainy and rough; at least that much was the same. She pushed it aside watched as the light illuminated the floor. The rug that had lain across the floor during her last visit was pushed haphazardly to the side. Leaning against that wall and pinning the rug in place, a rough section of wood with braces rested. It was circular and covered with dirt. </p><p></p><p>In the center of the floor was a circular hole, piercing the earth. A hemp rope—tied to the hut—descended into that dark pit. The elf glanced carefully over the ledge and noted a flicker of torchlight deep below.</p><p></p><p>With a sigh, she grasped the rope and flung herself into the hole. Quickly, she descended as carefully as was possible. </p><p></p><p>She landed with a quiet thump upon the soft earth at the bottom of the rope. The blue light of the world above partially slipped through the vertical shaft, surrounding her head with a nimbus of blue light. She ignored the light. Her eyes were focused on the bent form stretching its withered hands over the wall.</p><p></p><p>The wall was dirt and stone, unremarkable. But upon that crude surface, some talented hand had etched a tree in silver. The branches curled and uncurled, stretched away from the thick trunk. The detail was magnificent. She leaned in, noting the shifting patterns of ridges upon the drawn bark of the tree. And it seemed to sway, as if a breeze were flustering the branches and molesting the silver leaves.</p><p> “<em>You may not find me above</em>,” the withered form whispered. His hands etched an invisible arc over the tree and then slashed downward. “<em>For I have gone below.</em>” He spun, allowing Zayda a complete view. He was old, as old as a human could be she thought. His eyes were bright and blue and shining with a youth never lost. Upon his bald pate, a wreath of mistletoe circled his brow. It was like a crude crown crafted by a child. It was simple; in that simplicity was elegance.</p><p></p><p>“<em>The branches wither,</em>” he said as he turned back to the silver tree. His fingers rang the lengths of a few branches before shooting down to the base again. “<em>When the roots cannot grow.</em>”</p><p></p><p>“I know you,” Zayda said. “I was supposed to find you…I can’t remember your name.” </p><p></p><p>“<em>There is not enough water for the rain and the skies. When the darkness comes, the last <strong>Phoee’un</strong>[1] dies.</em>” The old man paused, taking a slow, labored breath. Sadness, she thought, infinite sadness. “<em>One year after that last day, all the bonds shall be broke. Both forest and city, devoured by smoke.</em>”</p><p></p><p>The old man, the druid, turned to Zayda. His radiant eyes locked her in place. “<em>Two questions you may ask, the answers I may tell. Ask quickly my dear, ‘for the world becomes hell.</em>”</p><p></p><p>Zayda felt the holding power of the gaze waver. She thought quickly and blurted, “Are you the last Phoee’un?”</p><p></p><p>The old man sighed and shook his head sadly. “<em>The last Phoee’un, the greatest in power, their name will not be known until that fateful hour.</em>”</p><p></p><p>Zayda scratched her nose with irritation, a very un-elf-like motion. “Then,” she murmured, “then you are obviously talking about the end of the world. How long do we have?”</p><p></p><p>The druid sighed again and Zayda instantly knew neither of her questions were of any use. Still, he pulled near to her ear and whispered, “<em>Guess I was not clear, in verse two or three. Let’s clear this confusion so you can finally see.</em>” He leapt back and motioned at the silver tree. With a voice as deep as a god, she thought, he proclaimed, “<em>Cold Winter’s approach brings final darkness.</em></p><p></p><p>The tree shuddered and twitched. Its silver leaves fell like snow to its base as an oily fluid broke the earth above it, painting the stone black.</p><p></p><p>“<em>At the end of this year, all people will feel distress. But suffer one year more of pain and hunger, watch the world die, watch the Dark God conquer.</em>” </p><p></p><p>Zayda had shielded her eyes from the silver tree which had rent itself into many flickering, silver silhouettes of people. Those tiny forms had turned upon each other, fighting and killing all while wasting away. She couldn’t watch.</p><p></p><p>The silence caused her to look up. She looked into the eyes of the druid, the prophet. The deep blue of his eyes swallowed her. Faintly, she heard the verses again as if drifting over a vast distance to reach her ears. She could feel warmth; he was grinning. Deep down, she knew it would be alright. Somehow, it would all be alright.</p><p></p><p>The darkness closed in around her, silencing her senses.</p><p></p><p>-------------------------------------------------------</p><p></p><p>[1] Phoee'un is the proper name of druids in Norum da Salaex. Phoee is the name of the mother of all the other gods. She is credited with all of creation. The suffix 'un means "child of"; it’s a neuter prefix as opposed to ‘iban (son of) and ‘anda (daughter of). So, Phoee'un means: child of Phoee. They revere Phoee as the ultimate form of nature. She is neither good nor evil, neither lawful nor chaotic. She just is.</p><p></p><p>[2] General Note: I don’t consider myself much of a poet…especially when it’s on the spot. So, hopefully you’ll forgive my attempts. <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite8" alt=":D" title="Big grin :D" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":D" /> <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite2" alt=";)" title="Wink ;)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=";)" /></p><p></p><p><strong>[3] IMPORTANT NOTE: THIS BRINGS US CURRENT, AS FAR AS I CAN TELL <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite2" alt=";)" title="Wink ;)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=";)" /></strong></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Funeris, post: 2813421, member: 22792"] [b]Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued[/b] Zayda blinked her eyes. The dining table she had been sitting at blurred. [i]Dizzy[/i], she thought. Poison was the next thought that pounded into her mind like a cart driven by a team of horses—fast, relentless, and dominating. She blinked. It was her only course of action. Powerless, the elf felt the poison—if that were the cause—drown her in unconsciousness. But it was not pure darkness and absence of thought. The elf could feel and sense, could even see. The colors that swirled in front of her mind’s eye formed a cacophonous brilliance like the dances of her home upon the harvest nights. The celebration of life, their continued life, was both beautiful and savage. These colors were not dissimilar. And then the savage dance parted like a two curtains drawn aside, revealing reality. She stood on the edge of the forest, the Draeul forest, her homeland. South, the sloping hills of the human kingdom slid away from her. North, the forest swallowed the horizon, silent but vigilant guards of her home. She stood on the sword’s edge, a part of neither world, her only company a familiar wooden hut. Zayda glanced at the hut, catching each detail with her trained eye. It looked no different than when last she had laid eyes upon it. She felt a difference, though. Something here had changed. She stepped forward and reached for the old leather skin that covered the doorway. It was grainy and rough; at least that much was the same. She pushed it aside watched as the light illuminated the floor. The rug that had lain across the floor during her last visit was pushed haphazardly to the side. Leaning against that wall and pinning the rug in place, a rough section of wood with braces rested. It was circular and covered with dirt. In the center of the floor was a circular hole, piercing the earth. A hemp rope—tied to the hut—descended into that dark pit. The elf glanced carefully over the ledge and noted a flicker of torchlight deep below. With a sigh, she grasped the rope and flung herself into the hole. Quickly, she descended as carefully as was possible. She landed with a quiet thump upon the soft earth at the bottom of the rope. The blue light of the world above partially slipped through the vertical shaft, surrounding her head with a nimbus of blue light. She ignored the light. Her eyes were focused on the bent form stretching its withered hands over the wall. The wall was dirt and stone, unremarkable. But upon that crude surface, some talented hand had etched a tree in silver. The branches curled and uncurled, stretched away from the thick trunk. The detail was magnificent. She leaned in, noting the shifting patterns of ridges upon the drawn bark of the tree. And it seemed to sway, as if a breeze were flustering the branches and molesting the silver leaves. “[i]You may not find me above[/i],” the withered form whispered. His hands etched an invisible arc over the tree and then slashed downward. “[i]For I have gone below.[/i]” He spun, allowing Zayda a complete view. He was old, as old as a human could be she thought. His eyes were bright and blue and shining with a youth never lost. Upon his bald pate, a wreath of mistletoe circled his brow. It was like a crude crown crafted by a child. It was simple; in that simplicity was elegance. “[i]The branches wither,[/i]” he said as he turned back to the silver tree. His fingers rang the lengths of a few branches before shooting down to the base again. “[i]When the roots cannot grow.[/i]” “I know you,” Zayda said. “I was supposed to find you…I can’t remember your name.” “[i]There is not enough water for the rain and the skies. When the darkness comes, the last [b]Phoee’un[/b][1] dies.[/i]” The old man paused, taking a slow, labored breath. Sadness, she thought, infinite sadness. “[i]One year after that last day, all the bonds shall be broke. Both forest and city, devoured by smoke.[/i]” The old man, the druid, turned to Zayda. His radiant eyes locked her in place. “[i]Two questions you may ask, the answers I may tell. Ask quickly my dear, ‘for the world becomes hell.[/i]” Zayda felt the holding power of the gaze waver. She thought quickly and blurted, “Are you the last Phoee’un?” The old man sighed and shook his head sadly. “[i]The last Phoee’un, the greatest in power, their name will not be known until that fateful hour.[/i]” Zayda scratched her nose with irritation, a very un-elf-like motion. “Then,” she murmured, “then you are obviously talking about the end of the world. How long do we have?” The druid sighed again and Zayda instantly knew neither of her questions were of any use. Still, he pulled near to her ear and whispered, “[i]Guess I was not clear, in verse two or three. Let’s clear this confusion so you can finally see.[/i]” He leapt back and motioned at the silver tree. With a voice as deep as a god, she thought, he proclaimed, “[i]Cold Winter’s approach brings final darkness.[/i] The tree shuddered and twitched. Its silver leaves fell like snow to its base as an oily fluid broke the earth above it, painting the stone black. “[i]At the end of this year, all people will feel distress. But suffer one year more of pain and hunger, watch the world die, watch the Dark God conquer.[/i]” Zayda had shielded her eyes from the silver tree which had rent itself into many flickering, silver silhouettes of people. Those tiny forms had turned upon each other, fighting and killing all while wasting away. She couldn’t watch. The silence caused her to look up. She looked into the eyes of the druid, the prophet. The deep blue of his eyes swallowed her. Faintly, she heard the verses again as if drifting over a vast distance to reach her ears. She could feel warmth; he was grinning. Deep down, she knew it would be alright. Somehow, it would all be alright. The darkness closed in around her, silencing her senses. ------------------------------------------------------- [1] Phoee'un is the proper name of druids in Norum da Salaex. Phoee is the name of the mother of all the other gods. She is credited with all of creation. The suffix 'un means "child of"; it’s a neuter prefix as opposed to ‘iban (son of) and ‘anda (daughter of). So, Phoee'un means: child of Phoee. They revere Phoee as the ultimate form of nature. She is neither good nor evil, neither lawful nor chaotic. She just is. [2] General Note: I don’t consider myself much of a poet…especially when it’s on the spot. So, hopefully you’ll forgive my attempts. :D ;) [b][3] IMPORTANT NOTE: THIS BRINGS US CURRENT, AS FAR AS I CAN TELL ;)[/b] [/QUOTE]
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