Chapter 3
AUTHORS NOTE:
This chapter contains a 'spoiler' for those who are currently involved in my table-top games. If you are in one of my games, please consider that it may provide some meta knowledge in relation to the game. For everyone else, please read as though it were part of the normal flow of text.
November 7th
The Norgraithians only stayed for two days. One day to rest off the ships, one day to load their newly purchased supplies, and they left on the morn of Shimadas. It was a surreal experience, talking with the soldiers and with the King. Zechariah had never felt so uneasy before in his life, and never more afraid of having another one of his dreams. He thanked the Gods that he had not had an episode and embarrassed his father, or worse, endangered anyone. The visit, however, had put them behind schedule in reaping the harvest. Their stores were practically empty, having provided food for around seven hundred men. Usually Arrongar would have refused to sell so much and he had protested the dangers of draining their stores so low. But when King Aurvan offered two whole silver draws for a bushel of wheat instead of the standard one, Arrongar was advised not to refuse by Dawda, and they made a very large profit on their goods. It meant however, that now they would have to work harder than ever, and would likely have to purchase supplies until next years harvest. Hopefully the drain on food wouldn't raise prices too high.
Zechariah had gone to his rooms, pulled a small chest where he kept what pay he didn't spend. Inside, were only two platinum drops. Each one a little over two years worth of savings. Removing one from the box with reverence, along with a fair number of other drops and draws of lesser value, he went to King Aurvan's entourage, and purchase two small rubies to be set in Amir and Caldna's wedding bands. They would look wonderful with rubies set into the flowers, and he was almost finished with them. It was a steep gift, but he had little use for his money, and despite Amir's words of encouragement, could not forgive himself for what he had done.
He finished the bands late on the night of the Krudas, the 30th of Frakdios, and with the burden of the rings off his shoulders, he felt like he could finally breath. He slept easy that night, and the next morning returned to the farms with renewed vigor. Almost as though the bands completion were mythical, Amir crept out of the house with the support of crutches, and went for a short stroll. It was slow and he put no pressure on his right leg, but everyone was encouraged to see his vitality. Arrongar dismissed the extra farmhands to go finish preparations for the Festival, with less than a Portless to go, and the remaining farmhands had an extra bounce in their step as they saw the end in sight. They would be done with the harvest with only one day to rest. It certainly wasn't ideal, as usually most families liked to have a full Portless to prepare for the festivities, but this Rotation was not a usual one.
Heaving bushel after bushel, beating the grain for hours on end to thresh them fully, preparing the sacrificial livestock. Each day was harder than the last, and he'd had several more 'episodes' even whilst standing and in the middle of action. Fortunately, Arrongar's preparation with simply and 'low danger' tasks had saved him from any more tragedy, and eventually, on the 35th, everyone managed to finish their work, and rest. The reaping was done, the harvest completed, and every single man who worked the farm was crammed into Orolic's Rest, tired but happy to be done. Delden had raised the price of his ales whilst the Norgraithians were around and had made a fine profit, and though he had tapped every barrel in his storehouse, he had sent for more from Perdale and had already began to refill his stock. And so, Zechariah sat again, in the corner of Orolic's Rest nursing a pint contentedly. Though Amir was not here to keep him company, his table was full, quite literally. Each seat was taken and several more individuals stood or leaned against the table chatting amiably with their friends. They only did this, Zechariah knew, because there was literally no more space left in the tavern, and though none addressed him, he felt content none the less.
Rings done. Harvest done. Preparations done. It was a good day. He had never managed to find the right time to talk to his father about his left hand. He had tried that one day but hadn't pressed the matter. He'd wait until after the celebrations he decided. No need to cause more distress at the moment. Let people enjoy their celebrations. The dreams were becoming ever more frequent, and all the more disturbing, though Zechariah had refused to talk about them. Really, Amir was the only one who asked. Arrongar was curious but lived in denial of Zechariah's condition, and had never asked for explanation. With Amir largely bed ridden, he hadn't had time to seriously talk with Zechariah about his dreams.
Zechariah pulled off a boot and began to scratch his foot idly with one hand while he drank his ale contemplating the conversation around him. As eve slipped into night, and after several drinks, Zechariah was about ready to leave. He'd have some more work to do tomorrow in preparation for the Festival and should probably get home and get some rest. Just as he was pulling on his boots once again, the door to the tavern opened and everyone froze. In strode a tall man wearing a brightly colored blue and green vest, a wide brimmed hat and a cloak of the deepest red. He swept into the tavern with a flourish, whipping off his cloak and hat, setting them upon a peg by the door with his pack and mandolin proceeding to prop a foot upon a farmer's bar-stool, leaned an elbow against the bar and ran his hand through his silvery white hair he said with quite an accent, "Don't suppose you got any Moon Blossom Mead my Goodman? Or Fireseed ale?"
Delden was frozen in place staring openly at the man who could only be Fjord Silverkin. Indeed, the man looked at Delden, then looked around the room, and back to Delden, a bemused grin upon his face. "Sooner than later would be appreciated. I've had a long journey by foot you see, and there's little that will quench the thirst of road weary throat than Moon Blossom Mead."
"Yes, of course sir." Delden said snapping out of his awe. "I do indeed have some. Finest in Hyran."
"I should think so," Silverkin said with a laugh, "You are the only tavern here."
"Of course, yes, that should be apparent." Delden replied not really knowing what he was saying, but pouring a mug of mead for him anyway. As he passed it to Fjord he added "Free of charge."
"Ah, mighty generous of you." Silverkin remarked as took a long and hearty draw of his mead. Giving a grunt of approval he added, "That IS the best mead in Hyran." A few other people around the tavern who had recovered more quickly than Delden laughed at this, as they began to talk excited but quietly to each other. The majority of them just sat patiently.
"Do you have rooms available Mr...?"
"Delden." Delden quickly finished, finally snapping out of it himself. "Yes, of course. We have rooms available. Not many people travel this time of year you see."
"Wonderful!" Fjord exclaimed with enthusiasm. "I presume that the rooms will also be free of monetary charge?"
"Of course sir." Delden replied. "I wouldn't dream of charging you for anything."
"Ha! That's good to hear, for I don't have a drop to my name! Came across some rather unfortunate bandits, and I gave them my draw belt you see. Poor sods needed it more than I."
"Bandits?" Delden asked with concern.
"Yes sir. A whole host of them. But you needn't worry. This was still in the Norgraithian lands and the Kiltar are not treated very well there. So banditry is often their only honest profession. Probably the most polite robbery that I've ever been subject to! They tend to just rely on their size and intimidation to rob people, but aren't actually eager for a fight. They'd likely do themselves more harm than their victims. But anyway, I ramble. Needless to say, though I have no Drop nor Draw, I will pay my by performance, three songs a night should suffice?" Fjord inquired.
"It would be an honor sir." Delden replied.
"Splendid!" Fjord declared as he launched himself upon bar, mead in one hand the other supporting his precarious perch on the roof, he turned to address the crowd.
"Ladies though mostly Gentlemen. Thank you for coming to greet me so heartily on this fine Autumn or Winter's Eve. As you may have been informed by my friend King Aurvan, the pompous old chap, I will be performing for you, the Harvest Festival Celebrations! However," He paused for some dramatic effect, "I have a few demands in return for this. Firstly, I will stay as long as I desire, and leave as abruptly as I arrived. I do not dally long nor do I intend to start doing so. Secondly, I will accept no offers of marriage. I'm sure you have the finest daughters in the land but I'm afraid that I have more important matters to attend." He said bowing to the crowd. "Finally, I will accept no dreariness in my performances! This is a celebration of life! So be sure to live. I'm looking at you rain cloud." He said pointing directly at Zechariah. Everyone followed his gesture and laughed heartily at Zechariah's expense. He felt himself flush with embarrassment at being so publicly mocked. "It's wonderful to be here Hyran!" Fjord said with finality and everyone cheered as he hopped down from his perch and began talking to Delden and those at the bar. The conversation was downed out by the room returning to conversation as they accepted Fjord's speech. Zechariah took Fjord's recommendation of 'no dreariness' and left the tavern to return home as he had intended to do before Silverkin's arrival.
November 8th
November 8th
Hyran was buzzing with excitement. The maypole was up, the sacrifices were gathered and corralled, and the competitions were in order, targets for archery, a ring of hay for the wrestlers and of course, the most important competition of all, the town center's grounds had been cleared of debris and stones so as not to interfere with the dancing competitions. Most importantly however, a quick stage had been thrown together from spare lumber for Fjord to perform upon. Usually, a few of the somewhat talented individuals in Hyran would bring out their drums and beat a rhythm for the dances, someone would dust off their old flute and a few people would sing some songs, and though it was well appreciated and thoroughly enjoyed, everyone was excited to be led by a real musician.
Seeming from nowhere, Fjord Silverkin had produced a small cart which he had left by the roadside a few miles out of Hyran for, as he claimed, 'it was getting late and he did not fancy another night on the road', and so had stashed his cart away to be fetched the next morning. The cart predominantly carried his assortment of instruments, from a wondrous theorbo and a nine stringed lute, though it didn't look like any lute Zechariah had ever seen, to drums, horns and a complicated flute structure with many pipes. It was like a circus show for only musical instruments, and he played each one masterfully. The night before the Harvest Festival, as he had promised, he performed three pieces of music outside the tavern on the makeshift stage, and the entire town came to listen. Word got to Perdale that Fjord was in Hyran, and on the same night, Hyran began to get a steady flow of visitors traveling all the way, driving their sacrifices and offerings before them, pulling tents and supplies behind, they made the journey entirely just to have the honor of meeting the strange man.
Zechariah didn't particularly like him. He hadn't appreciated the 'rain cloud' comment, but also realized that being sour about it only went to affirm the comment. It made him all the more frustrated, but there was nothing to do about that but try and not bring his cloud with him. Being the day of the Harvest, Zechariah gathered up his carvings, and especially carefully though he needn't be so cautious with them, grabbed the rings he had made preparing to try and sell some art at the Festival. Hopefully he would make some good coin, and though he wouldn't be able to make up his platinum drop, he could at least try to mitigate it's financial loss, though he certainly had no regrets about spending it. He went outside to hitch up a mule to pull his art into town. As he began to hitch it up, Amir approached him on his crutches.
"Heading into to town early?" Amir asked.
"Gotta try and get what I can from the Perduds." Zechariah said using a somewhat derogatory slang.
"You mind if I come with you?" Amir requested.
Zechariah paused, unsure for a minute. "You sure you'd want to go into town this early? The Festival isn't for hours yet and I'll just be shouting at people in the streets for the better part of the day, making a fool of myself."
"Maybe the crutches will loosen some Perdud's belts?" Amir suggested. "Besides, I'm tired of staying at home and thought you could use the company."
"As if I'm going to buy the idea that you're just coming for my company." Zechariah mocked.
"Caldna will be busy until later. What, you really don't want my company that bad?" challenged Amir.
"Well, I didn't want to say it..." Zechariah said with a grin on his face.
"You know Zech, I think I figured it out." Amir said as he tossed a crutch up onto the cart.
"Figured what out?" Zechariah answered taking the bait.
"Why you've continually turned down offers of marriage." Amir continued.
"Oh?" Zechariah said finishing the hitch and climbing into the driver's seat of the cart already loaded with his goods.
"It's cause you already got yourself enough ass here on the farm." Amir said taking the whip and striking the mule who, bored as ever, began to pull the cart dutifully forward.
"Hold up!" Zechariah said pretending to disembark the cart, "I forgot my scythe." He immediately regretted making the joke but was put to ease as Amir began to laugh heartily at Zechariah's humor.
"Never mind, I got it wrong. You are just the ass." Amir laughed, reaching into his coat and bringing out a pipe. He tamped it full of fresh tobacco and, setting a small bundle of char wool on the end of a stick, and struck a spark into it using the resulting flame to light his pipe. Sitting back and taking several long and deep puffs to get the tobacco well lit, he gave out a contented sigh.
"You got the bands done?" Amir asked. Instead of answering, Zechariah went to pull them out of the small wool packed box he carried in his pocket but Amir stopped him saying, "Oh no need to show me. I want it to be as genuine a surprise for me as my for Caldna. I'm sure you've done a wonderful job."
"Thanks Amir, and whilst I may not know what the fine art of kings looks like...I'd say that these would put up a fair fight in comparison."
"No lack of confidence in these?" Amir asked in surprise.
"None." Zechariah said. "They are beautiful."
Amir grinned broadly, "I can't wait to propose."
Zechariah's smile fell a bit at that.
"What?" Amir asked not being able to help noticing the change in Zechariah's expression.
"What? Nothing." Zechariah said quickly trying to recover, but it was clearly too late as Amir gave him the eye. Sighing Zechariah explained "I was thinking about all you said the day, that I nearly cut off your leg."
"Yes." Amir prodded.
"And how you said that everything is or will be taken care of." Zechariah continued.
"M-hmm." Amir said patronizingly.
"And I can't help but think, that you and Father don't have any need of me."
"Ya...you're pretty useless." Amir said taking another puff on his pipe. He looked at Zechariah mockingly, but saw that this joke landed too close to home. Zechariah turned back to guiding the mule silently.
"Every hand on a farm is useful Zech. You know that. But, I think you are right. After nearly cutting my leg off, Father isn't likely to put a scythe in your hands again for a while, he's also not likely to put a plow or hoe in your hands either. Whilst your are good at hauling things around the farm, there are plenty of hands available for that kind of work." Amir said, agreeing with the thoughts in Zechariah's head.
"Like I said, no one will need me." Zechariah reinforced.
"So?" Amir prompted.
"So...maybe it is time for me to leave." Zechariah concluded. Amir puffed on his pipe a couple more times before proffering it to Zechariah who took it and took a few puffs from it. Oh, that was a good tobacco. Must have got it from the Norgraithians, cause he certainly didn't buy it from Perdale.
"What do you think?" Zechariah asked.
"I think you need to make your own choices in life. But..." Amir said taking the pipe back and puffing on it, "I think you're probably right. But it's not because I don't believe you don't have a place to belong here Zech. I believe, instead, that your talents are better off suited elsewhere."
"Like my art?" Zechariah asked.
"Exactly." Amir agreed. "You can sit in a house somewhere, or even in a tavern, and whittle away for cycles on end, and make a living selling your art to the pompous fools who can afford it. Your episodes will be hidden because you can just have them quietly in the comfort of your own workshop, and you could still make a fortune. But you won't find any of that in Hyran, or Perdale."
"You think I can make it in Uthar?" Zechariah asked incredulously.
"I think you greatly underestimate your skill Zech. Maybe you won't be the best in the city, but I bet you'll make a pretty little drop, and you'll be able to find some strange ass of a girl who'll not mind that you're possessed by a demon and you can have little horned monsters together."
"Funny." Zechariah said flatly.
"I thought so." Amir said grinning. "But you won't find any of that here." His grin faded however as something else came to mind.
"Have you talked to Father yet? About your hand?" Amir asked.
"I tried...the day I took your leg off. But he just dodged the question and I didn't push it." Zechariah said.
"Well, don't ruin tonight with that conversation. Lets just enjoy the day." Amir concluded.
"I intend to do so to the best of my ability, and make a 'pretty little drop' in the process." Zechariah added as they continued their journey, talking amiably the entire way. By Aleen, Zechariah loved his older brother. The strength of character, the easy laugh, the deep thought. He must have some other blood in him that Zechariah missed somewhere along the way. He was just as good of a man as a man could be. You could nearly cut off his leg, and he'd just find a way to laugh about it. You'd be hard pressed to find another man who could do the same.
When they reached Hyran, Zechariah went about setting up a small stall, unpacking his art and displaying it upon the boxes he moved them in, and he stood behind them shouting at the visitors from Perdale saying "Come! Come! Come close and see the best amulets, jugs and ornaments that money can buy! You there! You want a broach to give to your wife or daughter this Harvest Celebration? Then come here and take a look at my wares!" He shouted and shouted. The trick was to find the first person in each crowd. Once someone came over and began to look, you went suddenly from a crazy person shouting in the street, to a legitimate business man in their minds.
November 9th
November 9th
After a short while, Amir began to limp, leaving one crutch behind in the cart. Zechariah was about to call after him, but Amir shushed him giving him a wink, and slunk off into the crowd. Confused, Zechariah continued his calling until, a short while later, Amir returned, from the other end of the road, and made his way over to Zechariah, picking up a pendent and holding it high to reflect the light as he began to ask Zechariah questions on how he had crafted it. Sly genius. All you needed was one person, to go from crazy to legit. A few other people began to take note of Zechariah's 'dealings' with the 'crippled man' and followed Amir in his 'shopping'.
The rises went by quickly, as Zechariah made several sales and began to start to worry that he would sell out. He didn't have that much to begin with, but he was selling things faster than he anticipated. As the Sun reached it's zenith, people began to go indoors to avoid the hottest portion of the day, and the streets quickly became relatively quiet. Amir and Zechariah sat under the shade of an awning they had put up a few hours ago, and rested, drinking tea that Zechariah purchased from another merchant.
"You still selling your wares?" someone called out from under a wide brimmed hat. Looking up, Zechariah saw that Fjord was approaching his stall.
"I am, but I doubt that I have anything you'd desire." Zechariah replied.
"Perhaps not, but it can't hurt to look can it?" Fjord asked as he sat himself down on the floor opposite the stall causing Zechariah to frown. Amir perked up, watching Fjord with keen and interested eyes.
"Well, is there anything you might like? I'm afraid that I've sold most of my wares already." Zechariah asked, placing a few more pieces on the table. Fjord picked one up and dangled it high above his head, leaning way back to look at it in what must have been a horribly uncomfortable position. He didn't seem bothered by it though, as he rocked back forward and returned the piece before picking up another one.
"Where did you learn to carve these designs rain cloud?" Fjord asked casually.
Frowning at the nick name Zechariah replied, "I'd hoped you would leave that in the tavern."
"Nope." Fjord said nonchalantly. "I don't forget things, nor do I tend to leave them be. Don't like the name, then don't be one."
"It's hard with you bringing it up." This Fjord guy was beginning to get on his nerves.
"Nah, you were doing a great job of being a rain cloud before I arrived. I just pointed it out. It's what I do...I point things out." Fjord explained.
"I thought you were a Skald." Zechariah said flatly.
"Hmm? Of course, I am." Fjord said placing another piece down and picking up a third. "But that's what Skalds do. We point out things people need to learn or remember through the veiled disguise of stories and songs."
"Sounds manipulative." Zechariah replied.
"And pretending to be an interested customer to deceive others isn't?" Fjord said, with a twinkle of humor in his eye.
"I...That..." Amir began.
"Don't worry about it Amir. All interaction is a form of manipulation of one sort or another." Fjord said.
"How'd you know my name?" Amir asked.
"Huh?" Fjord said surprised by the question. "Delden mentioned you after Zechariah left last night. Told me who was who around here."
Amir grunted in acceptance of the explanation, but Zechariah was just becoming more frustrated.
"So are you going to purchase anything or not?"
"Oh, getting tired of my company all ready?" Fjord asked mockingly.
"Just want to make sure that you're not trying to con me is all." Zechariah said, planting a fake smile on his face.
"Well...you never did answer my question." Fjord pointed out. "About where you learned how to craft such works of art?" answering Zechariah's unspoken confusion.
"He taught himself." Amir spoke up. "All of this is just by the skill of his own hands."
"Hands or hand?" Fjord asked as though he were clarifying whether or a recipe asked for tablespoons or teaspoons. However, before a reply could be given, he continued "How about a trade?"
"I forgot that you have no drops on you." Zechariah said.
"Oh, I've actually come into quite a few since last night. You'd be surprised at the rate we Silverkin can gather...well...silver. See?" He said pulling out his drop pouch and opening it up so violently, that his fingers slipped and he tossed the whole pouches contents all over the stall and the street. He jumped to his feet with a cry of surprise and quickly went about gathering up his lost drops. Zechariah sighed and bent over to pick some up that fallen near him and upon his wares. He was gathering them up with his right hand and storing them in his left. Fjord offered up his drop pouch to Zechariah who went to pour the drops back into the pouch. As Zechariah was making to remove his hand however, Fjord quickly reached out and grabbed his left hand.
"Hey!" Zechariah exclaimed trying to pull his hand free but was unable to do so. Amir began to stand, though slowly but Fjord just shushed them.
"Ah..." Fjord said released his hand after a quick inspection. "I see."
"What in Korvic's name do you think you're trying to pull!" Zechariah shouted rising to his feet.
"How did you get that burn? It's a pretty nasty one." Fjord asked avoiding Zechariah's rage entirely.
"No, I'm not answering your questions. I'm done with you, get out of here!" Zechariah demanded.
"I'll take this one." Fjord said as he selected a pendent ignoring Zechariah even more pointedly.
"Did you hear me!" Zechariah cried, but Amir, who was also standing now, placed a hand on Zechariah's shoulder.
"Peace Zech. Peace." Amir said calming his brother. When he saw that Zechariah had calmed down he stepped forward to deal in his brother's place.
"You'll leave after you purchase this pendant?" Amir asked calmly.
"I'll leave once I trade for this pendant. I'm not a fan of all this commercialization." Fjord said infuriatingly.
"I'm afraid that all we're interested in trading in is drops or draws. So if you aren't willing to part with any of those, then you should just be on your way." Amir explained.
"Oh very well then. I guess I won't get to share my story when the sky began to pour out it's blood." Fjord said standing feigning resignation.
Zechariah felt suddenly cold despite the noon day heat. What had Fjord just said? 'When the sky began to pour out it's blood?' Fjord began to leave.
"Wait." Zechariah said. By Almaran he hated people like Fjord. Getting you all tangled up in their agendas.
"The sky, like in your dream?" Amir asked Zechariah
"What story?" Zechariah asked facing Fjord.
"Well, no story is for free rain cloud." Fjord answered.
"But if your story is bollocks I'll have traded something for nothing." Zechariah said.
"I guarantee you friend, none of my stories are bollocks." Fjord said reassuringly, but it didn't reassure Zechariah. Zechariah snatched up the pendant that Fjord was inspecting earlier and held it before himself.
"You wanted this one right?" Zechariah asked. Fjord simply extended his hand below the pendent in answer. Zechariah held his eyes for along moment, trying to size up this odd man. He dropped the pendent into Fjord's hand, who immediately dropped back down to sit upon the ground. Zechariah settled more slowly, still wary.
"Are you sure about this?" Amir asked leaning forward, eyeing Zechariah.
Zechariah ignored Amir's query, nodding instead for Fjord to begin.
"Very well." Fjord said, getting comfortable. "You want to hear about why the sky tore it'self open and spilled it's bloody tears down upon I'athos, and the tragedy of Frode and Ameretat. Listen well Zechariah, for these stories are not often spoken of, largely being considered heretical by the God's who's names you so easily invoke."
Show Spoiler
November 10th
Show Spoiler
"Before the Barrens were inhabited, before the Artery was reforged to bring life to the Barrens, before Caelestan fell in all of it's glory, before there were a hundred kingdoms, and a hundred nobles, before the new races were born, and before the Greylands were ever known, before the heavens were even inhabited, there lived nine humans. Nine humans, four men and four women and one to lead them, wandered the surface of I'athos. They lived for eternity for they knew no death, and they lived many adventures, and many horrors. However, nothing lasts long on I'athos, for there are some things, that predated even the First of Man. One thing in particular, known as the Heart of Chaos. Man lived peacefully for a time, but the Heart of Chaos was fresh, it was powerful and it was strong, and it began to warp the world and in it's wake, it sowed madness. It sowed and it let grow, waiting patiently. The First of Man began to see what was happening, and spoke the need to stop this madness before it would spread, but their leader was already corrupted, and he forbade it. When the First of Man had spread their seed across the world, the Heart of Chaos was ready to reap it's harvest, and it turned man against man, woman against woman, and it destroyed the foundations that Man had built. Cast out of their home by their own children, the seven that survived the betrayal, went looking in different directions to correct the mistakes of the world."
"The Eternal Flames, Frode and Ameretat, named so for their fiery red hair, set out to find the source of all strife and to either destroy it, or find a way to stop it. Oh, their tale is a long and tragic one, full of misery and wandering and despair. They searched for many Revolutions, and Revolutions turned into Rhythms and Rhythms turned into Cadences, and all hope of finding the Heart of Chaos seemed lost. Their will began to wane, and their fire began to die, and despair consumed Frode until, in their despair, Frode could continue no further, and standing upon the edge of the world, he spilled his own blood into the void, accepting death. Ameretat, heart broken by her husbands death, held him as the life left his eyes and wept, cursing the tragedy of life. So great was her cry of loss that the Heart of Chaos was moved by her love and, for the first time in it's memory, the heart beat. The sky wept tears of blood, and the ground boiled in the agony of loss and the Heart of Chaos was revealed. In that moment, the heavens and earth met and all around it was being drawn into the pulsing Heart of Chaos. Ameretat saw that her husband was drawn into the vortex and saw that in the Heart of Chaos, is life. She understood that Chaos was a central part of existence. She made to enter the vortex herself, but as she drew near to it, Chaos was unleashed, and she was split into three entities. Her body was cast to a world anew, her spirit rejoined Frode, but her mind could not forgive what had happened, and became trapped on I'athos. Before she could remedy her situation, the Heart of Chaos cooled, and went still, sealing the vortex and fading again. Ameretat, as a wandering thought was trapped here, and her husband was remade on another world. She longs to go to him, to find a way through worlds or to make the Heart of Chaos beat once more, but she has no means to make either occur. So now she wanders the forgotten hours of the night, begging those of open minds to aid her in finding her husband, but no one has been able to commune with her. And so she remains lost, in a living hell of isolation, begging the world to have mercy on her. Eventually, she managed to find a magician, who had enough power to be able to commune with her, and she struck a bargain with him. She offered him the power of her knowledge in return for his magic to open the barriers between worlds. He agreed, and she gave him enough power to become the greatest magician the world has ever known, and in return, she finally found peace."
"This tale is a reminder to us, of two things. Firstly, to never loose sight of what you have for what you want, for Frode lost sight of Ameretat and selfishly took his own life, ignoring the agony it would cause his wife. But Secondly, to never give up in pursuing your dreams, for Ameretat could have lost hope, yet she found a way to be reunited with her husband."
November 10th
"How do you know about my dreams?" Zechariah asked.
"What?" Fjord said confused. "What dreams?"
"Why did you share that story, of the hundreds of narratives I'm sure you know, why that one, if not because you knew I was dreaming about that tale? Why share that story? What do my dreams mean?" Zechariah asked not believing Fjords confusion.
Fjord just shrugged nonchalantly and began to stand up. "Being a rain cloud, I thought you'd like the tale. That's all. Your dreams are your own. I know not the reason they plague you."
"Bollocks." Zechariah said standing as well. "You know more than you're telling."
"And what of it?" Fjord asked critically. "Shall I tell you also of how my mother abandoned my on the side of a road? I know many things Zechariah, and many things I do not know. My knowledge then, is my own. I share it as I will, and not by the will of another."
"Please!" Zechariah urged, "If you know anything about my dreams, about where they come from, please help me!"
"Zechariah my boy, if your mind indeed plagues you as much as it seems, then do something about it. That is all the help I can give you, for I do not know more on the subject. If Ashuriel were still around, I suggest seeking out his aid, but alas, that ship sailed before you were born. Perhaps there is someone out there who can help you Zechariah, but I believe the person that can help you best is yourself."
"But..." Zechariah stammered as Fjord began to walk away.
"Take control of our own life Zechariah. If you don't, you'll never stop being a little rain cloud." Fjord said in farewell as he strode down the road and out of sight.
"Well that might have been the strangest conversation I've ever witnessed." said Amir sitting in the shade of the awning still.
"More like the most useless conversation." Zechariah said sitting down. "And he took my pendant!"
"I don't know that it was entirely useless. You now know where at least one of your dreams comes from." Amir encouraged.
"Do I?" Zechariah asked. "Sure, now I know what the dream is showing, but it doesn't answer why I'm seeing it, or what it means."
"I suppose not." Amir said with a sigh.
"Damn him! Damn him and his stories. I'd have preferred to not know anything instead of being mocked like this!" Zechariah cried as he stood up and grabbed up his drop pouch.
"Where are you going?" Amir asked
"To get some ale...and to walk. My feet itch." Zechariah answered.
"Well, I'll hold down the fort for you." Amir said, taking Zechariah's position behind the wares.
"Thanks Amir." Zechariah said as he headed off. "I just need to clear my head." Zechariah bought a large sack of ale, and walked for hours, alone. He left Hyran, and walked through the fields, into the woods and further. He had to struggle to keep from running. He could barely contain it. What had it meant? He wasn't mad. He couldn't be. His dreams were of real things. But if they weren't figments, then they had a purpose, but what was it? What did his dreams mean? What of his...other dreams? The ones he dared not to share. Were those real also?
The severed flesh, the blood, the agony.
His stomach lurched at the thought. No. They couldn't be real also. There had to be some factor of his mind that was just crazy. Not everything he dreamt could be real, for sure. He couldn't accept that. He wouldn't. But if not everything was real, how was he to determine what was and what wasn't? And they seemed to be dreams of the past, what use was that? Did they have any significance? If they weren't dreams of the future, then he wasn't a prophet or an oracle. If they were just dreams of the past, did that make him as useless as he feared he was? Even if he found out all the answers he desired, would he be left just as empty as before?
In his frustration, he kicked at a fallen log and screamed his frustrations to the heavens. "Why have you made me like this?!" He shouted to the Gods. "Why does Krulnac keep the Ever Gates shut? And why does Shalzar plague me with horrors? By all the Gods why do they not answer?" He knelt in the woods, head bowed and swimming from the ale and confusion. There was silence all around him, but he found no peace in it. Only the mockery of the shadows beneath the canopy. He knelt there for many long moments, and watched as the shadows about him grew longer.
But something was wrong. The shadows, they were wrong. Alarmed, he jumped up from his kneeling place, and saw the shadows around him pointing towards the fallen log he had kicked earlier. It was getting dark, or at least, he thought it was, and could not see well under the log, for all the shadows conjoined at this location and the darkness was thick.
Panic sat in his heart and Zechariah stepped back, ready to bolt at the earliest sign of danger, and yet, for all his fear, there was curiosity also. Then a voice, like a deep seductive whisper came to him from the shadows of the log.
"Zechariah, do not flee." Zechariah froze. He...no, he didn't know that voice. He thought he should, but he couldn't place it.
"Who are you?" Zechariah asked voice tight, his heart racing.
"Who am I? Zechariah, you know who I am." the voice answered.
"No I don't. I don't know who you are, or what you are." Zechariah protested.
"Oh dear." the voice whispered. "He's more lost than we though."
"It's that cursed father of his." another voice answered.
"It's his fault that Zechariah is trapped." a third spoke.
"Should we remove him?" The second voice asked.
"Yes, we should remove him." The third agreed.
"Perhaps." the first voice said. "What do you think Zechariah, should we remove your father from the scene?"
"What are you talking about? No! I don't want my father dead." Zechariah cried.
"We wouldn't have to kill him." The third voice spoke.
"No, no, just take out a leg or two." The second voice said
"Cut out his tongue." Said the third
"Burn out his eyes." Said the second again.
"NO!" Zechariah cried recoiling in fear. "Leave my father alone. What business you have with me is between us. Whatever you are."
"But he's holding you back Zechariah." Said the first whisper. "He's always held you back."
"He's afraid of who you are." Said the third
"Of what you might become." Said the second.
"Go away!" Cried Zechariah turning to flee, but he found he couldn't. The darkness was too thick, like molasses, he could barely move, and the shadows just grew larger behind him.
"We're not going anywhere Zechariah." Said the first.
"We made a deal, long ago." Said the second.
"A deal we intend to see fulfilled." Said the third.
"Leave Hyran by the end of this Cycle, or we'll ensure there isn't a Hyran to leave." Said the first.
"Why? What do you want of me?" Zechariah asked, hearing the terror in his own voice and the pounding of blood in his ears.
"Because the world needs you, Zechariah." The first said.
"And we'll do everything we need to do, in order to ensure it's protection." The second voice said.
"Anything and everything. The world must persist." The third voice said.
"And you'll destroy all of Hyran for that?" Zechariah asked incredulously.
"We'll destroy all life for that, if that's what must happen." The third said with a tone of finality.
"A beautiful wave of black fire to encompass the all of I'athos." The Second said with wonder in it's voice
"Go, Zechariah, and leave before the end of the Cycle, for we are coming for you." The first said, releasing Zechariah...
Who jumped up from kneeling in the middle of the forest. Crying out he fell back from the log that was before him, and the long shadows that reached towards it. No...wait. Those shadows were normal. Looking to the Sun Peak, he realized that he must have been kneeling there for hours. He went to stand but only fell face first in the dirt. His legs were completely numb. He trembled all over. Tears coming unbidden to his eyes. He had to get out of here. He massaged his legs, and as soon as he could control them again, he began making his way out of the forest, limping and stumbling back to Hyran.
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