Post by Dûncariel is Dead. on May 18, 2005 22:52:56 GMT -5
New OF. Brace yourselves... it might get confusing.
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Chapter 1: The Windows of Sight
She stood at the very base of the great tower in the center of her great city. The White Spire never ceased to amaze her, no matter how many times she ascended its flights of stairs and looked across the plains of the Reshings from its highest window. This place, on the pathway before the simple entrance to the Tower of the First Moon, was the most beautiful place in the world. In he morning, before the sun rose in the bitter east and the stars yet danced in the heavens, its beauty could have overwhelmed the strongest of warriors; the hardest of men in the world. At this moment, battles could stop, and women and men alike, foe and friend, would gaze at the stars in wonder before the sun rose in all of its burning glory, and the slaying began again. But, in that one moment, none of those disagreements mattered; all was well and as it was originally meant to be.
But nothing would keep it that way. Of all the men and women of the Mandorian race, Leisan al’Dreyn, Highest of the city Raendan, would know. The midnight blue robe of her office, complete with the silver embroidered sleeves that completely hid her long hands would be recognized by all, even the smallest child. The wind picked up again as she stood gazing upwards, swirling the Autumn mists in eddies around the bases of the Seven Towers, blowing her hair up into her eyes. The Highest shook her hair out of her face and swept her robes in awkwardly around her. The air was cool and damp, but it wouldn’t rain for moons yet, for which Leisan was grateful. The stars were hidden now by the disturbed mists, but the mirrors set high in the surrounding mountains still reflected their silver light through the mist in shafts that lit the city wherever they landed.
The Highest turned with a sigh from the silver-wrought clouds and entered the first level of the Tower of the First Moon. The chamber was wide as the tower itself, and ever her lightly shod feet echoed as loud as if she were trying to bring attention to herself. She doubted that even the priestesses of Shaina could move through the First Chamber without being marked. The ceiling rose high above her head, painted from wall to wall with runes and depictions intricately displaying the histories and lore of Raendan. The large portion dedicated to the First Wars between the Mandorians and Reshings always sent a shiver running down her spine, like ice. To look at the artists renderings of the two races, an uninformed and unlearned observer would be unable to look past the gilded armor of the two forces, and see the separate people and personalities underneath. The armor of he Mandorians glinted with silver, seeming to reflect the light of the stars though the sun still ruled the sky and Shaina, goddess of the Four Winds, stood the sky above them, silver hair and garments streaming in a wind that touched she alone. The Reshings were horrible to look upon, or dwell on long. Their armor was black as the darkest night, and their blades seemed to drink in the light as readily as the blood of their foes, so black was the iron. In the sky above them stood a being as dark and terrible as Shaina stood for the light. He was shrouded in shadow, of form like a man, but terrible as the great Dark he spawned. Resh the god of Death, reigning his thralls in fear and blood. If the battle between the mortals was terrible, the battle in the sky above was unlike anything seen on the earth. Wind and lighting of silver tore at the shadow, from which a blade the color of blood dealt death as it appeared and lashed across the sky. She took many wounds, the bright goddess, but in the end she threw down the death god. According to the histories, his fall broke the mountains and brought to end the war.
Leisan shook her head. There was no glory in battle, nor had there been sun. Rain had fallen for days, before and during the battle, and the rain soaked the earth and made it thick with mud. No gods fought for the mortals on that day. Healers rushed throughout the melee, fulfilling their duty, many cut down where they knelt, to die under the cloudy sky, forgotten and alone. Despite the rain, fires raged, alight through use of the Elements, men dying and screaming as they burned. Many on both sides died by the hand of their comrades; shadow, mist, and rain obscuring faces and emblems; all equal. There was no glory in battle. No glory at all.
There were other tales and lies written of the walls of the high chamber, but none stuck as deep as that First Battle, the battle she saw so often in her Dreams. She left the First Chamber and mounted the stair leading to the Highest Chamber, trailing her finger along the wall as she climbed. Step. They were really not that different, the Mandorians and the Reshings. Step. The thought visited her often, and it cut deeper than all else. Step. Their ancestry was closer than many of either race knew. There were obvious similarities. The hair, the eyes, the height. Step. She was always shocked by how close they were. Many saw he Reshings as fearsome creatures, devils without faces. Leisan knew differently. She had seen them. Step. The only real differences were the personalities, the thought patterns of the peoples. Where the Mandorians were generally peaceful, the Reshings had built their society on war. Step. She couldn’t understand that. Why any mortal would wish to raise a hand against another in anything other than self defense the Highest could never understand. Step. And their gods. Shaina was a goddess of justice. The Reshings followed the god of Death, their namesake, Resh. The highest honor in the culture was the blood sacrifice of a Mandorian.
She had come to the last flight of stairs, her route become so familiar as to be followed without conscious thought any longer. It opened to a room filled with the mingled light of the new rising sun and the fading stars. The walls morphed from the pale mountain rock to thick glass, without seams visible to the mortal eye. Through the glass she could see for hundreds of miles, aided by a magic older than the rock itself, spawned of the pure use of a weaver of the Way.
Immediately to the left of where the Highest stood rose the Wind Temple, home to the priests and priestesses of the goddess Shaina. In her mind Leisan could picture the winding stairs that rose through the center of the hollow tower, leaving the expanse of the Temple itself to the Winds of the goddess. They were silent today, Shaina’s Winds, though that didn’t bother the Highest. They would build up again, as the always did, and the sound of their rushing would fill the city. The priests and priestess’ were housed on platforms in the center of the staircase, in huts open to the Winds and the depths of Shaina’s guidance.
The other Towers rose to heights only a little less than that of the Temple. Each had its purpose, though none of them mattered a whit to her at that moment. She moved to the very center of the room, to the center of an intricate circle marked with ancient runes, and concentrated deeply. It was not on the ancient towers she focused, nor on the mountains surrounding the city. He mind turned rather to the plains at the base of the mountains, to the huts and forges of the Reshings. Long she searched the plains, the different clans, for a face she had seen only in her Dreams. Every morning as the sun was rising, for as long as she had held the title of Highest, Leisan had climbed those stairs, stood amidst the ancient runes, searching for a man that could change the fate of two races, or doom them both forever by mismade choices.
The Highest saw much from the Windows of Sight, for that was the name they had been given. In the Old Tongue, unknown by most and nearly lost with misuse, the name meant something close to The Glass of Far-Seeing. Its most common use was for keeping an eye on the dangerous Reshings, but it had other uses as well, that were known to few. The room could be used by any willing to use it, though it was more difficult for those without training in the Way. For one with the use of Seeing, he possibilities were nearly endless. In some cases, the Highest was able to see character, intention. Much that she wished never to know.
But she had yet to find the one she was searching for. She knew his face almost better than her own: the narrow features, the shock of silver-black hair, the sharp grey eyes not uncommon among even her own people, the harsh, almost pained expression. The axe strapped carefully across his back. But there was something in his countenance that had made her pause, that Leisan had not seen anywhere among that People. The one thing that set him apart. Something in his eyes, in the way he stood and moved, that spoke of a reluctance, a discomfort with what and who he was.
Finally, when the sun was well on its way over the mountain and climbing its curved ladder across the sky, the Seer opened her eyes and stepped out of the runic circle, the face that had haunted her Dreams eluding her still. His face was all that she saw as she descended the hundreds of stairs to the city floor. Though, in truth, had she seen him standing at the base of the stairs, with his silver black shock of hair and the look that pained her, she probably would have killed him with her bare hands. But Leisan al’Dreyn knew that those eyes would haunt her forever if she failed to find him, and something else in her heart told her that he was more important than her mind would lead her to believe.
____________________________
Chapter 1: The Windows of Sight
She stood at the very base of the great tower in the center of her great city. The White Spire never ceased to amaze her, no matter how many times she ascended its flights of stairs and looked across the plains of the Reshings from its highest window. This place, on the pathway before the simple entrance to the Tower of the First Moon, was the most beautiful place in the world. In he morning, before the sun rose in the bitter east and the stars yet danced in the heavens, its beauty could have overwhelmed the strongest of warriors; the hardest of men in the world. At this moment, battles could stop, and women and men alike, foe and friend, would gaze at the stars in wonder before the sun rose in all of its burning glory, and the slaying began again. But, in that one moment, none of those disagreements mattered; all was well and as it was originally meant to be.
But nothing would keep it that way. Of all the men and women of the Mandorian race, Leisan al’Dreyn, Highest of the city Raendan, would know. The midnight blue robe of her office, complete with the silver embroidered sleeves that completely hid her long hands would be recognized by all, even the smallest child. The wind picked up again as she stood gazing upwards, swirling the Autumn mists in eddies around the bases of the Seven Towers, blowing her hair up into her eyes. The Highest shook her hair out of her face and swept her robes in awkwardly around her. The air was cool and damp, but it wouldn’t rain for moons yet, for which Leisan was grateful. The stars were hidden now by the disturbed mists, but the mirrors set high in the surrounding mountains still reflected their silver light through the mist in shafts that lit the city wherever they landed.
The Highest turned with a sigh from the silver-wrought clouds and entered the first level of the Tower of the First Moon. The chamber was wide as the tower itself, and ever her lightly shod feet echoed as loud as if she were trying to bring attention to herself. She doubted that even the priestesses of Shaina could move through the First Chamber without being marked. The ceiling rose high above her head, painted from wall to wall with runes and depictions intricately displaying the histories and lore of Raendan. The large portion dedicated to the First Wars between the Mandorians and Reshings always sent a shiver running down her spine, like ice. To look at the artists renderings of the two races, an uninformed and unlearned observer would be unable to look past the gilded armor of the two forces, and see the separate people and personalities underneath. The armor of he Mandorians glinted with silver, seeming to reflect the light of the stars though the sun still ruled the sky and Shaina, goddess of the Four Winds, stood the sky above them, silver hair and garments streaming in a wind that touched she alone. The Reshings were horrible to look upon, or dwell on long. Their armor was black as the darkest night, and their blades seemed to drink in the light as readily as the blood of their foes, so black was the iron. In the sky above them stood a being as dark and terrible as Shaina stood for the light. He was shrouded in shadow, of form like a man, but terrible as the great Dark he spawned. Resh the god of Death, reigning his thralls in fear and blood. If the battle between the mortals was terrible, the battle in the sky above was unlike anything seen on the earth. Wind and lighting of silver tore at the shadow, from which a blade the color of blood dealt death as it appeared and lashed across the sky. She took many wounds, the bright goddess, but in the end she threw down the death god. According to the histories, his fall broke the mountains and brought to end the war.
Leisan shook her head. There was no glory in battle, nor had there been sun. Rain had fallen for days, before and during the battle, and the rain soaked the earth and made it thick with mud. No gods fought for the mortals on that day. Healers rushed throughout the melee, fulfilling their duty, many cut down where they knelt, to die under the cloudy sky, forgotten and alone. Despite the rain, fires raged, alight through use of the Elements, men dying and screaming as they burned. Many on both sides died by the hand of their comrades; shadow, mist, and rain obscuring faces and emblems; all equal. There was no glory in battle. No glory at all.
There were other tales and lies written of the walls of the high chamber, but none stuck as deep as that First Battle, the battle she saw so often in her Dreams. She left the First Chamber and mounted the stair leading to the Highest Chamber, trailing her finger along the wall as she climbed. Step. They were really not that different, the Mandorians and the Reshings. Step. The thought visited her often, and it cut deeper than all else. Step. Their ancestry was closer than many of either race knew. There were obvious similarities. The hair, the eyes, the height. Step. She was always shocked by how close they were. Many saw he Reshings as fearsome creatures, devils without faces. Leisan knew differently. She had seen them. Step. The only real differences were the personalities, the thought patterns of the peoples. Where the Mandorians were generally peaceful, the Reshings had built their society on war. Step. She couldn’t understand that. Why any mortal would wish to raise a hand against another in anything other than self defense the Highest could never understand. Step. And their gods. Shaina was a goddess of justice. The Reshings followed the god of Death, their namesake, Resh. The highest honor in the culture was the blood sacrifice of a Mandorian.
She had come to the last flight of stairs, her route become so familiar as to be followed without conscious thought any longer. It opened to a room filled with the mingled light of the new rising sun and the fading stars. The walls morphed from the pale mountain rock to thick glass, without seams visible to the mortal eye. Through the glass she could see for hundreds of miles, aided by a magic older than the rock itself, spawned of the pure use of a weaver of the Way.
Immediately to the left of where the Highest stood rose the Wind Temple, home to the priests and priestesses of the goddess Shaina. In her mind Leisan could picture the winding stairs that rose through the center of the hollow tower, leaving the expanse of the Temple itself to the Winds of the goddess. They were silent today, Shaina’s Winds, though that didn’t bother the Highest. They would build up again, as the always did, and the sound of their rushing would fill the city. The priests and priestess’ were housed on platforms in the center of the staircase, in huts open to the Winds and the depths of Shaina’s guidance.
The other Towers rose to heights only a little less than that of the Temple. Each had its purpose, though none of them mattered a whit to her at that moment. She moved to the very center of the room, to the center of an intricate circle marked with ancient runes, and concentrated deeply. It was not on the ancient towers she focused, nor on the mountains surrounding the city. He mind turned rather to the plains at the base of the mountains, to the huts and forges of the Reshings. Long she searched the plains, the different clans, for a face she had seen only in her Dreams. Every morning as the sun was rising, for as long as she had held the title of Highest, Leisan had climbed those stairs, stood amidst the ancient runes, searching for a man that could change the fate of two races, or doom them both forever by mismade choices.
The Highest saw much from the Windows of Sight, for that was the name they had been given. In the Old Tongue, unknown by most and nearly lost with misuse, the name meant something close to The Glass of Far-Seeing. Its most common use was for keeping an eye on the dangerous Reshings, but it had other uses as well, that were known to few. The room could be used by any willing to use it, though it was more difficult for those without training in the Way. For one with the use of Seeing, he possibilities were nearly endless. In some cases, the Highest was able to see character, intention. Much that she wished never to know.
But she had yet to find the one she was searching for. She knew his face almost better than her own: the narrow features, the shock of silver-black hair, the sharp grey eyes not uncommon among even her own people, the harsh, almost pained expression. The axe strapped carefully across his back. But there was something in his countenance that had made her pause, that Leisan had not seen anywhere among that People. The one thing that set him apart. Something in his eyes, in the way he stood and moved, that spoke of a reluctance, a discomfort with what and who he was.
Finally, when the sun was well on its way over the mountain and climbing its curved ladder across the sky, the Seer opened her eyes and stepped out of the runic circle, the face that had haunted her Dreams eluding her still. His face was all that she saw as she descended the hundreds of stairs to the city floor. Though, in truth, had she seen him standing at the base of the stairs, with his silver black shock of hair and the look that pained her, she probably would have killed him with her bare hands. But Leisan al’Dreyn knew that those eyes would haunt her forever if she failed to find him, and something else in her heart told her that he was more important than her mind would lead her to believe.
