Prologue – The Fall of the Garden
There stood a bent man within the unearthly swirl of mist – guarding and watching it seemed. In his hand he held a feather and in the other he held a horn. With a heaving sigh he smashed the two together in the clap of cosmic thunder, the sound echoing for what seemed to be eons. The sound drew a sharp intake a breath; he needed to be wary. He watched the dust crumple around him dancing away into the mist. This was not supposed to happen. Not long ago his left and his right would have been one and the same.
The old man looked up at the great oaken tree seeking comfort; however all he received was a shadow which swept over him. The tree stood there ne'er changing having since lost its glorious light. Memories drew tears from the blind man's eyes. With another wave of his colourless cloak the scene changed. The ever-present mist was sucked into oblivion and what was left was completely different.
Light-trapped crystals surrounded a young oaken tree, flickering and flaring different hues of blue, green and yellow, producing a harmony of colour and light. The sky and the earth resonated with a different vibe; it was thick and static with power. It was not only 'the place' that had changed. The man stood there no longer old and no longer bent, but instead young and full of vitality. He shook his head as if awakening from a long sleep and a fog had been lifted from his mind. Lovingly he touched the oak and whispered, 'I will be back my sweet, stay strong and free,' while infusing a lock of his coarse brown hair into the tree. Hearing the drums of the approaching army, he left without a word, calling the wind to his aid as he Stepped to confront the intruders.
'Halt, trespassers. You shall not pass, deserters of The Way!' the man commanded as he appeared in a dervish of dust. A vast army stood before him, blades glistening in the evening sun, stretching to the horizon and beyond. A tall figure at the head of the mass of soldiers slowly approached. Golden hair framed angular features and ivory-white skin, marred only by a thin scar on his forehead stretching the length of his hairline. Silver-white armour, its plates lightly built yet functional, was matched with a long marble staff topped with a long straight blade, a shining blue aura at its base.
'I am Adam, Emissary of The Lord,' announced Adam, 'in his name I command thee to let us pass, guardian!"
'Ye shall not pass,' the guardian replied softly.
'Your time has ended, vile guardian. End this insanity and perhaps then I shall be merciful.' Adam slowly walked towards the guardian as the aura surrounding his staff turned a bright orange colour and intensified.
The guardian replied by muttering a few faint words, a whip of green light materialising in his hand, wriggling as though possessed with the spirit of the Snake. The slight flicking movement of the guardian's first two fingers was all that signalled the appearance of a rain of white ethereal arrows, felling dozens of ranks of soldiers. Adam roared, charging towards the guardian. White glowing feathers materialised behind his back, stretching twice the length of his body on either side in the shape of three paired heavenly wings. His sword-staff burst into fiery flame as it parried the frenzied strikes of the guardian's whip. Adam struck back with a flex of his wings, the air distorting as a flame of unimaginable heat erupted at the guardian's feet, engulfing his form.
'You cannot defeat me with power granted from that which gave me this form,' the guardian replied from within the flame. The flame died.
'By the New Power granted to me by The Lord, I shall defeat thee,' Adam proclaimed, 'and entomb this corrupting power within the Holy Spirit.' Adam's eyes glowed with energy as he produced an ornate golden sceptre. The metal of the sceptre appeared to warp as it caught the eye, as if to avoid having its form being observed. It was topped with a large empty spherical cavity, as though a gem should be fixed in the facet.
Adam raised the sceptre. It shone momentarily with a fierce white light, blinding all in the vicinity. As the energy cleared, all that remained of the guardian was a dusty brown robe and fine grey dust that blew with the wind.
'Goodbye, Ismael,' Adam muttered, 'the tree shall be ours in your absence.' The empty recess blinked with a small dot of light, unnoticeably, as though mourning the passing of Ismael, the Guardian.
The Prophecy of Ismael the Bear, Fourth Guardian of the Tree
The stasis is shifting with two powerful leaders at opposing sides.
The old way will die, and from it will come a division of time.
The world of the tree will become the bloody deed,
Surging from the blood will raise the empire of four-and-ten.
Sands of time will shift through the glass,
And caught in between are those forsaken.
Oh woe are the lives of those who abide,
The longer the line the harsher the cry,
Wherefore our saviour or shall there be none?
Shall we be loved or shall we be left,
Heed my cry, for thirst brings no tide.
Will there be a cry of Hallelujah,
Or will the mighty roar of flames consume all?