-->

Monday 30 January 2017

The Shattered Oracle - I - In the Refuge of the Azhemyra - Page 2


I

In the Refuge of the Azhemyra


- Page Two -




"This is a matter of the future of our people. Do you remember that tale I told you of Boulka the Warrior-Queen?"

Serranos gave a nod and a long sniffle. He lifted one of his ill-fitting sleeves to rub at his nose.

"Well, Boulka couldn't have saved the old Morthavi Empire from the Demon-King Vholgisaal without the help of the prophecies. You do remember the old Morthavi prophecies from the Book of Talmuis, right?"

Serranos managed to clear his nose with another long sniffle. He raised his head up; his interest piqued and his emotions momentarily suspended. He was like his father and loved old lore and fables. He opened his mouth to reply, his tongue rolling around for a moment and then his jaw shut.

"Well, what I must do is write those prophecies. I fear that another great war will happen soon. It's my job to write down the information that a new Warrior-Queen, or Warrior-King, might use to save all of us."

The words were followed by an exaggerated nod and Serranos took a moment of quiet contemplation to think on his mother's words. His eyes darted through his glasses up to his father. He turned his head to look at his sister once again. He then returned his eyes to his mother.

"Someone else can do it. I want you home."

The tears began anew and Serranos pulled his hand from his mother's grip. His chin danced on his face and he muttered quiet cries under his breath.

Thraya, without thought, reached over with her left hand to grab the boy's chair and drag it close to her. She lifted her right to grab him at the base of the neck. With a light touch, she brought her brother's face into her arm and chest to comfort him. The boy began to wail softly into the fabric of her tunic.

Thraya's mother pulled back and pushed on the wooden back of her chair. She gave a nod to her daughter, knowing that she would take care of Serranos. They had always been close and Thraya had always watched over him like a mother authroc to her chick. Thraya's mother's eyes began to well with tears as well.

"As for you two..."

Thraya's mother quickly stifled her emotions and turned in her chair to look at the twins playing on the floor nearby. Both stopped their play to look straight up at their mother's face. Unlike the rest of the family who had auburn hair like their mother, the twins had stark white hair from birth.

"You two understand. Correct?"

The twins held eye contact with Thraya's mother for a moment. They turned to look at each other, seeming to speak a language without words; complex thoughts beamed into each other's tiny skulls. They momentarily came to a consensus and then returned their eyes to their mother. No words were spoken but the air seemed to dance with a strange energy.

"Good. I know you two will behave. All that I ask is that you start learning how to speak more. Once you go to school, you'll unnerve the other children."

One of the twins seemed to squint for a moment, picking up something from their mother. Both soon shrugged the sentiment off and returned to playing with their toys.

Thraya's mother turned to look up at her husband, now leaning on the wooden doorway with his arms crossed. His eyes turned to the twins and then back to his wife's eyes.

"You can handle them, right? Who'd of thought the youngest would be so adept at Haeth. They'll be oracles in no time."

"Just like their mother."




- Chapter Page Navigation -


  Table of Contents Next Chapter


Saturday 21 January 2017

The Shattered Oracle - I - In the Refuge of the Azhemyra - Page 1


I

In the Refuge of the Azhemyra


- Page One -




"While I'm gone, Thraya, it will be your job to take care of your brother and the twins."

Thraya sat with her wrists crossed over her lap. She gave a single downcast nod. She held her eyes on the ground for a moment and then cautiously looked up through her long, auburn hair at her mother.

Despite the length of hair, she hid her features beneath, her brilliant blue eyes managed to pierce through the shadow. Tears had begun to well up, giving her eyes the appearance of shimmering ice.

"Please don't start. It's only two years. It may seem like a long time to you — being so young — but the time will fly and I'll soon be home."

Thraya's mother reached forward from her chair. She lightly grasped her daughter's arm with her left hand, a show of both command and assurance. With her right, she gently moved Thraya's hair from her face and tucked it behind one of her ears.

Thraya raised her chin up fully. A single tear ran down her high cheekbones and over the myriad freckles that adorned her young face. She remained silent and held eyes with her mother.

"I need you to stay an extra year in Neshran. You remember that I told you this, earlier? It's not a punishment, dear. I need you to know that."

Thraya gave another single nod. Her eyes dropped again, as did a few scarlet locks of hair. She gave a heavy breath — a sigh of reluctance with her mother's wishes — but the breath held no sound.

"I don't know if I'll have finished the rituals before you and Serranos head off to Morrthault City for your education. I do hope I will be back before then. It means the world to me, please remember that."

Thraya's lower lip began to quiver despite how calm and resigned she seemed. Two of her fingers crept up to tug on the fingers of her other hand.

"Serranos."

Thraya's mother turned from her with a slight groan from her old and worn wooden chair. She made eye contact with the young boy sitting on his own chair beside Thraya.

"You take care of your sister and the twins. You follow what your father says while I'm gone. He is the master of the house."

Thraya's eyes looked up and beyond her mother to her father standing near the entrance to the dining area. He gave a sardonic smile at these words while rolling his eyes. She wanted to smile at her father, but she couldn't muster the energy. Thraya turned her head slightly to look over to her younger brother.

Serranos met her eyes for a moment. His blue-green eyes were always comically magnified, given the large spectacles he wore. She could see his eyes welling up with tears as well. Far more than Thraya, given how young and emotionally sensitive he was.

"I don't want you to go."

The tiny voice was like a faint whisper on the air. Serranos adjusted his glasses with a single hand, letting the tears flow beneath the rims and down his face. He reached out for the gray robes draped over his mother's leg before him.

"We talked about this earlier, Serranos. I have to. It's not just a matter of duty, but..."

Thraya's mother reached out to hold Serranos' hand above her robes. She turned her head to share a look with her husband at the edge of the room. They both nodded to each other, agreeing to some question and answer that was beyond words.



- Chapter Page Navigation -


  Table of Contents Next Chapter


The Shattered Oracle - Intro - Canto VIII; Awakenings



The Shattered Oracle

Intro - Canto VIII; Awakenings





If you find yourself, such as I,
Staring into the darkness of the night,
You will find yourself staring into the past.
Looking out into that darkness of ages,
Above to the stars,
Seeing in them the ghostly echoes of celestial realms,
Of worlds now forgotten, or long-ago destroyed.

There, if you look hard enough,
Long enough,
With eyes beyond the limited ken of mortals,
You will find the knowledge I will now impart to you.

There you will find the horrible truths,
Echoed out among the myriad worlds.
As I have.
And as this knowledge enlightens your mind,
It will carve away your very soul,
Driving you to fits of hopeless despair.

One such truth, important before all,
The world that we now call home,
The God-Mother Myrris,
Was not our first,
But she will be our last.

We are not her children,
As those that follow the gods would have you believe.
We are not her guardians,
As those who follow the elementals would command.
We are all wayward souls,
 each of us, trapped within her womb,
As she dies.

Long ago, eons upon eons hence,
We came to this world,
From another.
We sought refuge from a world that was dying,
Stripped away of warmth, of life, and of grace,
We fled to this world screaming.

The world our ancestors abandoned, 
Was once called Hoelv.
A place of abundant magicks,
Where great philosopher kings and queens,
Pierced the veils of life and death,
But something followed them through that shroud,
And laid waste to their entire world.

Cold, clawing arms of death,
Reached out from beyond,
Strangling the very life from those who dwelt there.
Horrors surmounted,
And nightmares were given form,
From the darkest fears,
From the hidden desires,
Of those that mistook hubris for enlightenment.

Those of our ancestors that were the best,
The brightest,
The strongest,
Pooled their magicks together to reach out,
Further than magic had ever reached before,
To pierce the void between worlds,
To create a great bridge of light,
Which our ancestors followed to here.

If you seek evidence of my claims,
Look ye to the distant north,
Look to the scintillating lights,
The ephemeral kingdom of the twisted god Nesharr,
That crown the world.

These are the echoes of that eldritch magic,
That rent the limitations of the celestial spheres,
And deposited our ancestors here,
To this world once lush and filled with hope,
but that will now be our tomb.

Look ye always to the past,
To the darkness above and beyond.
Do not look into the light;
To the future,
For as haunting and saddening as the past is,
The future contains far worse.

Do not go to those places where the world is weak,
Do not go to those places of magick and sorcery,
Do not look into the light!

Looking to the future can only glimpse one thing,
Destruction,
As it comes for us all.

Gaze not into that abyss of light,
As seductive as its call may be.

Looking to the past may drive you to despair,
As I have been driven.
Constantly being stuck in the echoes of the past.
But, to look to the future will give you clarity,
And turn the world around you,
Against you.

If you seek folly and have done so,
Much against my cautions,
You will find;
As madness spreads throughout the world around you,
Revealing the horrible truths,
You will be bereft and alone.
The only sane one,
In a dying world,
Filled with horrors and woe.
With no hope left,
And a seething, creeping insanity,
That turns friend into foe.






Canto VIII; Awakenings
The Chronicles of Vhaltenesh, the Seer


Written 168 years Post-Cataclysm
The Sixth and Final Age of Humanity
Translated from High Hoelatha into the Common Vulgate



  Table of Contents Next Chapter