Rantrali
02-11-04, 10:28 AM
Prologue
__________
Born of the Shadow
The sun's radiance blessed this land, warmth was not great, but it sunk deep. That unblemished guardian sat in the azure sky, gleaming through the leaves of proud trees in those plains and forests of peace. The air was clear and fresh, with the hint of the splendor given by the many flowers growing among the shrubbery, multihued and beautiful in this dawn of the Heat.
Rolling plains blanketed in a soft layer of emerald swayed methodically in the breeze, little trees in those open meadows. The breeze was soft, enough to ruffle the foliage and brush the trees in a western direction.
Birds roamed the skies, flying from perch to branch, singing willingly of harmony. Only the murmur of leaves disrupted those birds as they crooned in unison. Those miniature animals, clad in colorful feathers would occasionally swoop low to catch their feed or sweep the waters for fish in a fluent grace. Youth opened their mouths wide in immature calls, stopping only when food filled those beaks.
Squirrels and muskrats, small critters with thin fur bounding about under the trees canopy, along bare, rich earth and through the high grasses. The squirrels with their shaggy tales played with kith and kin alike, grays and browns and tinges of red mixing in the bustling. Trying here and there to scoff the few seeds among the flowers, pulling roots and scampering away like thieves.
Among the sluggish waterways, many streaked through the water, the sleens and craeres. Beautiful rocks reflecting the light brilliantly on the rivers bed, those pebbles carved to smoothness through those many ages. Not much activity could be seen in those crystalline streams dividing the land.
The sky was vast, but cut off to the north by jagged knives slicing through the atmosphere, so high that the blue was now darkly clouded. Mountains of legend separating realms, dyed lavender, ranged off to the east and west, fading along the horizon. Yet something so great from afar, must be towering to the heavens when at the roots of them, carving through the clouds and continuing further.
This oasis, a forgotten sanctuary, an ancient haven, stood in the middle of this large world, the middle of it where the sun was warm and nothing could disturb it. The land was not very large, but it made a safe home for its inhabitants.
But with so much happiness, there must be angst and sorrow. So much good must have evil. The wind died at this moment, the clouds seeming to still. Nothing stirred, the animals stood silent, holding their breath, for they knew something was coming.
In the heart of this land, the air seemed to drift away from this spot, until finally there was no air, and it became darkness. Beginning to swirl like oil in water, it finally gave way to a being, though difficult to make out. This figure, garbed in nothing but black, could easily be missed, if the surrounding black did not catch an eye.
Taking a step forward, the grass seemed to char at the touch of his footfall, nothing breaking into flame, just dying away to crumple in the dead soil. He raised his right hand, the cloak flapping in an unseen wind, and as his cloak clung to his arm, a vast wave of heat boiled the land.
In moments, this wind that licked at his cloak seemed to be this realm, everything seemed to die in that time. The sky turned a sickly crimson just before it was enclosed in black clouds that swirled toward the very point up above where the man stood.
As the man cloaked in blackness looked around at what he made, the ground burnt a deep gray, along with the trees-those that still stood and didn't collapse on the lack of life it had. The hills still held their form, but it was a desolate place. What used to be water and along the riverbed was no more, the water all but vanished without a trace.
The hooded head seemed to look to the skies toward three forms, unseen at a glance against the black heavens, yet they were there, serpentines of demonic immensity. Those Vedagala, the creatures of legend, their strength impassable; they rivaled the gods. If not for the haunting veil, their scales would have glinted like burnished silver, though they lacked color. The wings of bat's, yet large to match its body, beat the air fiercer than mallets whipping a drum, causing the very air to thrash it its wake.
As the cloaked arms flapped in that surreal breeze, the man spun about as though searching for something. After moments of spinning, he finally stopped and began to weave those arms in a perplexing manner, as though it was a dance. But none would call it a dance as the ground erupted, decayed earth flying everywhere, as a massive fortress rose from the ground. Just as black as the cloak, the bricks making the towers and seemingly beautiful palaces-except the murky tinge.
As the blighted land stilled, the dark citadel coming to a stop and this realm immobilizing itself as it once was, the man still stood, now upon the tallest tower in the center of this fortress. His head seemed to search again, now down at the stronghold that he made, his form seemed to shift in satisfaction.
For a time, this land remained the same. The black land, the dark sky, everything so dark... And still those mountains loomed, only seen to the far east and west. The mountains continued, not in a straight line, but enveloped this territory, making it a safe haven, but now a black fortification, walled around by those mounts.
Silent it stayed for a time. Only for a time...
As the wind blew fiercer on one particular day, the doors that once stood still crashed open, and skeletal bodies erupted from it, spilling out with crude weapons and not much armor.
Not just skeletons, but abominations seemingly an entangled mess of corpses that seemed huge in strength, all black bones, little skin, but actually armor plating their irregular shape.
Cloaked ones, partially resembling their master who was still upon that soaring tower, walked stiffly, shoulders hunched and pale bones seen within their deep hoods, along with a glimpse of long fingers of that pallid ivory.
Wolves of deep black skulked in the shadows, attacking one another over the flesh they were fed, viciously ripping at it and at their adversaries. As one wolf was killed, being shredded by the one who came to share the chow, it lay there, and appeared to decay in moments. It left a black shadow where it rested, darker than the surrounding blight, and the other wolves soon gathered and drank from it. Though it did not seem like a liquid, merely a shadow, it rippled gently as they licked, and the shadow seemed to flow towards their mouths. As they drank, the wolves enlarged, as though they took the spirit of what once was a wolf and added it to their soul, their body.
This army grew, all the time the cloaked man stood at the top of the high tower. The land was still for much of the time, the dead bodies, when they were spawned, just assembled in jagged, muddled groups and rows. The man was waiting.
And as ages became the past, as the dawn of another period came, the One of the Shadow waited-waited in the very land where this planet began.
His armies assembled and great, he finally fled that tower, walking through his land that he made, all the time his three pets soared above, roaring in anguish and in impatience.
The Man of the Night walked along what used to be prospering, beautiful hills, through valleys and forests, along the riverbeds and lakes. He walked on bare ground for days. He walked on bare ground for months. And finally he found himself at the roots of those mountains that held him and his armies.
But he did not stop. He did not waver one step. Each step was just as the last, even in the harsh weather in those clouds. His three pets always clawing at the sky, sweeping in large circles as he went.
After coming and going from the peaks, he descended upon the land. Coming down to the lands where technology had grown, where the humans controlled borders and lived in peace. The Ancients were no doubt in their concealment, never wanting to reveal themselves until necessity.
The One of the Shadow was free. The Man of the Night walked liberally along the land with his three servants to do as they were instructed.
'And so it came to pass as Gai'draeliss swept across the land, calmly and masked until doom was beset upon that of the nations he set forth his three until doom was beset upon that of the nations he set forth his three Vedagala to burn the hills, the villages and match the armies of legend to match him in battle.
His Armies will reign among the godly, and only then will they be defeated in the last extremity of the world's resilience. He will fall, yet not fall, become one with the world, and be born again to return and build his armies again. He will live for eternity. Until the end of time.'
Passage of The Thegarid Revolution
Written and told by Theg Malida
Scribe and Scholar of the High Palad of Tharimad
16th kaesin, Age of the Born
__________
Born of the Shadow
The sun's radiance blessed this land, warmth was not great, but it sunk deep. That unblemished guardian sat in the azure sky, gleaming through the leaves of proud trees in those plains and forests of peace. The air was clear and fresh, with the hint of the splendor given by the many flowers growing among the shrubbery, multihued and beautiful in this dawn of the Heat.
Rolling plains blanketed in a soft layer of emerald swayed methodically in the breeze, little trees in those open meadows. The breeze was soft, enough to ruffle the foliage and brush the trees in a western direction.
Birds roamed the skies, flying from perch to branch, singing willingly of harmony. Only the murmur of leaves disrupted those birds as they crooned in unison. Those miniature animals, clad in colorful feathers would occasionally swoop low to catch their feed or sweep the waters for fish in a fluent grace. Youth opened their mouths wide in immature calls, stopping only when food filled those beaks.
Squirrels and muskrats, small critters with thin fur bounding about under the trees canopy, along bare, rich earth and through the high grasses. The squirrels with their shaggy tales played with kith and kin alike, grays and browns and tinges of red mixing in the bustling. Trying here and there to scoff the few seeds among the flowers, pulling roots and scampering away like thieves.
Among the sluggish waterways, many streaked through the water, the sleens and craeres. Beautiful rocks reflecting the light brilliantly on the rivers bed, those pebbles carved to smoothness through those many ages. Not much activity could be seen in those crystalline streams dividing the land.
The sky was vast, but cut off to the north by jagged knives slicing through the atmosphere, so high that the blue was now darkly clouded. Mountains of legend separating realms, dyed lavender, ranged off to the east and west, fading along the horizon. Yet something so great from afar, must be towering to the heavens when at the roots of them, carving through the clouds and continuing further.
This oasis, a forgotten sanctuary, an ancient haven, stood in the middle of this large world, the middle of it where the sun was warm and nothing could disturb it. The land was not very large, but it made a safe home for its inhabitants.
But with so much happiness, there must be angst and sorrow. So much good must have evil. The wind died at this moment, the clouds seeming to still. Nothing stirred, the animals stood silent, holding their breath, for they knew something was coming.
In the heart of this land, the air seemed to drift away from this spot, until finally there was no air, and it became darkness. Beginning to swirl like oil in water, it finally gave way to a being, though difficult to make out. This figure, garbed in nothing but black, could easily be missed, if the surrounding black did not catch an eye.
Taking a step forward, the grass seemed to char at the touch of his footfall, nothing breaking into flame, just dying away to crumple in the dead soil. He raised his right hand, the cloak flapping in an unseen wind, and as his cloak clung to his arm, a vast wave of heat boiled the land.
In moments, this wind that licked at his cloak seemed to be this realm, everything seemed to die in that time. The sky turned a sickly crimson just before it was enclosed in black clouds that swirled toward the very point up above where the man stood.
As the man cloaked in blackness looked around at what he made, the ground burnt a deep gray, along with the trees-those that still stood and didn't collapse on the lack of life it had. The hills still held their form, but it was a desolate place. What used to be water and along the riverbed was no more, the water all but vanished without a trace.
The hooded head seemed to look to the skies toward three forms, unseen at a glance against the black heavens, yet they were there, serpentines of demonic immensity. Those Vedagala, the creatures of legend, their strength impassable; they rivaled the gods. If not for the haunting veil, their scales would have glinted like burnished silver, though they lacked color. The wings of bat's, yet large to match its body, beat the air fiercer than mallets whipping a drum, causing the very air to thrash it its wake.
As the cloaked arms flapped in that surreal breeze, the man spun about as though searching for something. After moments of spinning, he finally stopped and began to weave those arms in a perplexing manner, as though it was a dance. But none would call it a dance as the ground erupted, decayed earth flying everywhere, as a massive fortress rose from the ground. Just as black as the cloak, the bricks making the towers and seemingly beautiful palaces-except the murky tinge.
As the blighted land stilled, the dark citadel coming to a stop and this realm immobilizing itself as it once was, the man still stood, now upon the tallest tower in the center of this fortress. His head seemed to search again, now down at the stronghold that he made, his form seemed to shift in satisfaction.
For a time, this land remained the same. The black land, the dark sky, everything so dark... And still those mountains loomed, only seen to the far east and west. The mountains continued, not in a straight line, but enveloped this territory, making it a safe haven, but now a black fortification, walled around by those mounts.
Silent it stayed for a time. Only for a time...
As the wind blew fiercer on one particular day, the doors that once stood still crashed open, and skeletal bodies erupted from it, spilling out with crude weapons and not much armor.
Not just skeletons, but abominations seemingly an entangled mess of corpses that seemed huge in strength, all black bones, little skin, but actually armor plating their irregular shape.
Cloaked ones, partially resembling their master who was still upon that soaring tower, walked stiffly, shoulders hunched and pale bones seen within their deep hoods, along with a glimpse of long fingers of that pallid ivory.
Wolves of deep black skulked in the shadows, attacking one another over the flesh they were fed, viciously ripping at it and at their adversaries. As one wolf was killed, being shredded by the one who came to share the chow, it lay there, and appeared to decay in moments. It left a black shadow where it rested, darker than the surrounding blight, and the other wolves soon gathered and drank from it. Though it did not seem like a liquid, merely a shadow, it rippled gently as they licked, and the shadow seemed to flow towards their mouths. As they drank, the wolves enlarged, as though they took the spirit of what once was a wolf and added it to their soul, their body.
This army grew, all the time the cloaked man stood at the top of the high tower. The land was still for much of the time, the dead bodies, when they were spawned, just assembled in jagged, muddled groups and rows. The man was waiting.
And as ages became the past, as the dawn of another period came, the One of the Shadow waited-waited in the very land where this planet began.
His armies assembled and great, he finally fled that tower, walking through his land that he made, all the time his three pets soared above, roaring in anguish and in impatience.
The Man of the Night walked along what used to be prospering, beautiful hills, through valleys and forests, along the riverbeds and lakes. He walked on bare ground for days. He walked on bare ground for months. And finally he found himself at the roots of those mountains that held him and his armies.
But he did not stop. He did not waver one step. Each step was just as the last, even in the harsh weather in those clouds. His three pets always clawing at the sky, sweeping in large circles as he went.
After coming and going from the peaks, he descended upon the land. Coming down to the lands where technology had grown, where the humans controlled borders and lived in peace. The Ancients were no doubt in their concealment, never wanting to reveal themselves until necessity.
The One of the Shadow was free. The Man of the Night walked liberally along the land with his three servants to do as they were instructed.
'And so it came to pass as Gai'draeliss swept across the land, calmly and masked until doom was beset upon that of the nations he set forth his three until doom was beset upon that of the nations he set forth his three Vedagala to burn the hills, the villages and match the armies of legend to match him in battle.
His Armies will reign among the godly, and only then will they be defeated in the last extremity of the world's resilience. He will fall, yet not fall, become one with the world, and be born again to return and build his armies again. He will live for eternity. Until the end of time.'
Passage of The Thegarid Revolution
Written and told by Theg Malida
Scribe and Scholar of the High Palad of Tharimad
16th kaesin, Age of the Born