Sierra stood above the High Fane, in an open aired passageway between two
great rooms, high above the people of Vivec while the requiem of St. Osiris
moaned in her mind. She trembled. It is said that being of magical
properties can withstand the singular context of time and can feel the
power and presence of things to come. She felt it, too.
The Archmagister had taught her that. He taught her many things in the past year. For one, there was the funeral hymn of St. Osiris, which one hears when one nears death. Then, there was the siren of Osiris, which one hears when many other people die. She heard that, too, from a corner of her mind a singular beat struck a gong, which then flowed its way to a thousand gongs, attacking each with more ferocity than the one before it. In her mind, so many gongs were present.
Death gongs.
So many, that instead of feeling each one, she felt them conglomerate into one single sound. A great, rumbling quake. So many that the sound became a quake. A loud, indefinite quake of indefinite bearing. Somewhere, out there, she could sense the entrapment of Vivec's children. As the Chimer had died, and became Dumner, so would they, but instead of a transformation that would protect the heart of Vivec's elves, the next would reshape their hearts, into stone. she cried inside. into molten rock.
Sierra feared. She feared because she was afraid of her own death. The smell of it trembled her. It crept up her spine and created that tingling sensation of a thousand blades running down her forehead, crawling it seemed, closer and closer to her inner mind. But doesn't everyone fear? He who doesn't has already lost his sanity.
She could not see the city from inside High Fane, but the air that flowed through the open aired passageway told her enough. Death. Death with each flutter of the wind. With each breath marked a new death. But not of pleasant death, but of a transformation. Sierra bowed down to the throne of Osiris. A mystical antique laid before her. She wondered if it could hear her prayers, for the Dumner people. In her mind's eye, she reached for inner peace, her mystical hands grabbed for that one great throne. Her gentle spirit - no, it was neither gentle nor anything else resembling spirit - her petrified apparition grasped for the throne of Osiris. Not to beg for the lives of the Dumner. No, she knew they would soon be gone, but to beg for the quick destruction of the dumner.
Please. She begged. Her voice within her throat resembling a quiver.
Her mind's eyes wondered through the passage of time, just like Father Archmagister had told her. She passed through winds of horror, torrents of fiery death, through deep dark sea of pain, and as she moved through each level towards her final goal to reach the throne of Osiris, she became more and more fearful. Now the quakes, painful before, were magnified. It throbbed her head and a vein in her temple almost exploded. She wished it did, for then she would be relieved of this responsibility. She truly wished she'd expire away into nothingness. No - that would be impossible. It would have been merciful.
And so, as she moved through every flail of the great dark sea, the drums appeared. From afar, she could read, for she was a truly gifted being. Her sense told her things to come, and whereas no one else, except perhaps the Archmagister himself could feel the quake that was around her, she was awed by that sudden dawn of drums. The quake. The Drums. The drums seemed like a melodious sound compared to the trembling of the thousand deaths - the gongs that made one singular quake.
She reached out, because there was nothing to do but move faster along her path to the Throne of Osiris. Suddenly, the quake was behind her, and the drums - melodious in sound - emerged in front in the form of a ship. A barge.
But she did not see the barge at first. She had, instead, saw its sails. The magnificence of the sails astonished her at first. When they first appeared from the edge horizon, she had thought the scene was awkward, but what wasn't? This was the passageway to the Throne of Osiris. It was still awkward, for the sails just didn't seem to match the waves of the sea. There was something in those sails. And then she realized when the beginning triangular tip of the sail emerged higher and higher still, like a pyramid that doesn't seem to stop elevating from the sands where it lay, that the sails that emerged from the edge horizon were by far too large. Like a mountain they were. A giant black mountain.
And then, finally after she'd seen the sails towering over the horizon, large enough to block the suns on that mystic ocean if there were one, a wooden base elevated from under. That, she knew, was the ship itself. The ship was a platform for the sails, like an island was a platform for an erupting mountain. In her minds eye, and in her mind's ear, the sound of drums beat onto her. It was perhaps, less intense then the quake of death, and for this she was glad. She moved through the ocean of Osiris, hovering, and made way for that barge that was by far too large. It didn't hurt her, nor petrify her if the barge was the greatest thing she had ever seen. It towered higher than the largest mountains. Its tips spanned great continents.
She came to rest on the barge. The drums stopped beating. And all were silent. She hovered through the corridors of the barge, surely on her way to the Throne of Osiris. She moved quickly, speedily, mellifluously through. Finally, she came upon a room with great doors; wider than all the other doors, certainly wider than her, for she was just a speck in the infinite continuum of the gods.
She slid through a hole in the opening, at first fearing that the opening would disappear, and she'd be stuck in between the gates so close to the Throne where she intended to beg for mercy; for the quick death of the Dumner people. And then, suddenly, like what she had dreamed in her mind in dreams that one could never remember except in times of odd deeds, she saw the enormous figure of Osiris towering above his own throne. And such a picture it was! For there was neither beauty nor dazzling jewelry in that frame. There was simply size, and nakedness, the symbolism of a dead corpse. She moved forward, forward, and when she was about to clear through the crack in the great doors, they began to move.
The doors were closing! The doors were closing she cried! The death god's eyes looked at the entire room, and did not see the speck she was. The doors! The blackening doors on both sides were becoming one! And she would be stuck between!
No! No! I had come for mercy! I only wished simple death! Stop!
And the doors closed.
Nooooo! No!!!
All was dark, pitch black. She felt no pressure at all. But neither did she feel anything else.
From somewhere a singular though crossed her mind that the doors were opening once again. But nay, they were not.
She became petrified once more. Death was not a fear for her no longer. Nor was it the sound of a thousand quakes. And then, hell erupted.
One does not know hell until he sees it. Hell is the fiery chasms that contain the demonic spirit that eats away at you for an eternity. No.
Hell was pitch black, Hell was the feeling of a place where death was not but all other evils were. Death was not evil. No, in comparison to other things, it was neutral. A quick death compared to an eternity of pain and anguish was pure mercy. That was what she wished for the Dumner. The journey she took to the throne of the death god was for that. But now, enclosed in this dark void, it seemed it wouldn't be true. She had failed. Why had she ventured this journey? As long as she thought it were possible, she would attempt it, futile as it was. But she feared now, more than ever, because she was no longer within range of that merciful death. Something else had befallen her.
A red small speck of light, a dark red light from a point in front of her appeared. The quake slowly trembled in her ears. It originates from this dark red light, she thought. From then on, she no longer breathed.
The red light expanded, neared slowly from the dark void that enclosed her everywhere. The sound magnified, too. The quake of a thousand - no, of endless deaths. Was it deaths? Or was it moans instead? Hadn't the drums of the great barge the sound of death? If those were. what were these?
It seems her Father Archmagister had taught her wrong.
What is this sound?
It was the sound of the living hell! She suddenly remembered! A page in the scrolls of time within the secret chamber of High Fane where the Archmagister had led her told her that! The Archmagister instructions had been quite explicit. She was not to touch or read anything from that room which he had not already ordained. But upon a twist of the Archmagister's neck, her eyes had flickered to the scrolls hidden by many echelons of walls, her keen eye which she had kept away from the Father Archmagister, her mystic eye had seen the words but discerned no meaning.
Now, they did. The sound was not of death. The sound was of the living hell, the burning of flesh, which has no end. Death would never seep here, no, the gongs wouldn't allow it. It was eternal hell; it was a great spasm of hate and cruelty.
The point of red light drew closer. And now - to Sierra horror! - she could see features of that red light. It was not a single point of light, but something even worse, something hated, something of eternal evil, but not death! Death here would be mercy!
It was the face of the devil. The triangular features of the great sin- eater emerged from pitch dark. The horns of the devil sprouted on its horrifying face. It petrifying features struck Sierra like a great bolt. Its teeth sank into Sierra's soul. Its grin wretched around its demonic cheeks, stretching the mouth wide on either side. Yet those features were not the most feared - if one could actually state which part of the devil's face was more fearful! Sierra might have laughed here if she was not baring witness to that which many - the ones who were given mercy - would not see. The most horrifying part of the devil's face was not the horns, not the great large chasm of a mouth with long rows of endless teeth, but the eyes.
She suddenly remembered a chant. so strange to remember a chant in the witness of the devil.
In here, is the place where all, See their death and perilous fall All those ill-fated souls have come to burn All will see their worst horrors churn
In here, is where the sinful die
Where is here? Why, here is the devil's eye.
But she had not sinned! She could not recall sinning in her life! Except. Except. except the flood? Had she really been the creator of that great flood? Were the storms really she? Could it be?
And the word from the devil was: YES. It laughed.
SIERRA. It called her name. SIERRA.
She screamed, but it worthless to scream in the face of the devil. It only drew hot fire from the chasms in its deadly - No, forever torturous - face.
And then, she asked the most naive question that could be asked in such a situation as her.
What do you want from me? Why me?
The devil grinned. The devil grinned!
Then it laughed. Spurning hot fire from its teeth.
Simple: YOU RID US OF THE SUN, Storm Weaver..
The Archmagister had taught her that. He taught her many things in the past year. For one, there was the funeral hymn of St. Osiris, which one hears when one nears death. Then, there was the siren of Osiris, which one hears when many other people die. She heard that, too, from a corner of her mind a singular beat struck a gong, which then flowed its way to a thousand gongs, attacking each with more ferocity than the one before it. In her mind, so many gongs were present.
Death gongs.
So many, that instead of feeling each one, she felt them conglomerate into one single sound. A great, rumbling quake. So many that the sound became a quake. A loud, indefinite quake of indefinite bearing. Somewhere, out there, she could sense the entrapment of Vivec's children. As the Chimer had died, and became Dumner, so would they, but instead of a transformation that would protect the heart of Vivec's elves, the next would reshape their hearts, into stone. she cried inside. into molten rock.
Sierra feared. She feared because she was afraid of her own death. The smell of it trembled her. It crept up her spine and created that tingling sensation of a thousand blades running down her forehead, crawling it seemed, closer and closer to her inner mind. But doesn't everyone fear? He who doesn't has already lost his sanity.
She could not see the city from inside High Fane, but the air that flowed through the open aired passageway told her enough. Death. Death with each flutter of the wind. With each breath marked a new death. But not of pleasant death, but of a transformation. Sierra bowed down to the throne of Osiris. A mystical antique laid before her. She wondered if it could hear her prayers, for the Dumner people. In her mind's eye, she reached for inner peace, her mystical hands grabbed for that one great throne. Her gentle spirit - no, it was neither gentle nor anything else resembling spirit - her petrified apparition grasped for the throne of Osiris. Not to beg for the lives of the Dumner. No, she knew they would soon be gone, but to beg for the quick destruction of the dumner.
Please. She begged. Her voice within her throat resembling a quiver.
Her mind's eyes wondered through the passage of time, just like Father Archmagister had told her. She passed through winds of horror, torrents of fiery death, through deep dark sea of pain, and as she moved through each level towards her final goal to reach the throne of Osiris, she became more and more fearful. Now the quakes, painful before, were magnified. It throbbed her head and a vein in her temple almost exploded. She wished it did, for then she would be relieved of this responsibility. She truly wished she'd expire away into nothingness. No - that would be impossible. It would have been merciful.
And so, as she moved through every flail of the great dark sea, the drums appeared. From afar, she could read, for she was a truly gifted being. Her sense told her things to come, and whereas no one else, except perhaps the Archmagister himself could feel the quake that was around her, she was awed by that sudden dawn of drums. The quake. The Drums. The drums seemed like a melodious sound compared to the trembling of the thousand deaths - the gongs that made one singular quake.
She reached out, because there was nothing to do but move faster along her path to the Throne of Osiris. Suddenly, the quake was behind her, and the drums - melodious in sound - emerged in front in the form of a ship. A barge.
But she did not see the barge at first. She had, instead, saw its sails. The magnificence of the sails astonished her at first. When they first appeared from the edge horizon, she had thought the scene was awkward, but what wasn't? This was the passageway to the Throne of Osiris. It was still awkward, for the sails just didn't seem to match the waves of the sea. There was something in those sails. And then she realized when the beginning triangular tip of the sail emerged higher and higher still, like a pyramid that doesn't seem to stop elevating from the sands where it lay, that the sails that emerged from the edge horizon were by far too large. Like a mountain they were. A giant black mountain.
And then, finally after she'd seen the sails towering over the horizon, large enough to block the suns on that mystic ocean if there were one, a wooden base elevated from under. That, she knew, was the ship itself. The ship was a platform for the sails, like an island was a platform for an erupting mountain. In her minds eye, and in her mind's ear, the sound of drums beat onto her. It was perhaps, less intense then the quake of death, and for this she was glad. She moved through the ocean of Osiris, hovering, and made way for that barge that was by far too large. It didn't hurt her, nor petrify her if the barge was the greatest thing she had ever seen. It towered higher than the largest mountains. Its tips spanned great continents.
She came to rest on the barge. The drums stopped beating. And all were silent. She hovered through the corridors of the barge, surely on her way to the Throne of Osiris. She moved quickly, speedily, mellifluously through. Finally, she came upon a room with great doors; wider than all the other doors, certainly wider than her, for she was just a speck in the infinite continuum of the gods.
She slid through a hole in the opening, at first fearing that the opening would disappear, and she'd be stuck in between the gates so close to the Throne where she intended to beg for mercy; for the quick death of the Dumner people. And then, suddenly, like what she had dreamed in her mind in dreams that one could never remember except in times of odd deeds, she saw the enormous figure of Osiris towering above his own throne. And such a picture it was! For there was neither beauty nor dazzling jewelry in that frame. There was simply size, and nakedness, the symbolism of a dead corpse. She moved forward, forward, and when she was about to clear through the crack in the great doors, they began to move.
The doors were closing! The doors were closing she cried! The death god's eyes looked at the entire room, and did not see the speck she was. The doors! The blackening doors on both sides were becoming one! And she would be stuck between!
No! No! I had come for mercy! I only wished simple death! Stop!
And the doors closed.
Nooooo! No!!!
All was dark, pitch black. She felt no pressure at all. But neither did she feel anything else.
From somewhere a singular though crossed her mind that the doors were opening once again. But nay, they were not.
She became petrified once more. Death was not a fear for her no longer. Nor was it the sound of a thousand quakes. And then, hell erupted.
One does not know hell until he sees it. Hell is the fiery chasms that contain the demonic spirit that eats away at you for an eternity. No.
Hell was pitch black, Hell was the feeling of a place where death was not but all other evils were. Death was not evil. No, in comparison to other things, it was neutral. A quick death compared to an eternity of pain and anguish was pure mercy. That was what she wished for the Dumner. The journey she took to the throne of the death god was for that. But now, enclosed in this dark void, it seemed it wouldn't be true. She had failed. Why had she ventured this journey? As long as she thought it were possible, she would attempt it, futile as it was. But she feared now, more than ever, because she was no longer within range of that merciful death. Something else had befallen her.
A red small speck of light, a dark red light from a point in front of her appeared. The quake slowly trembled in her ears. It originates from this dark red light, she thought. From then on, she no longer breathed.
The red light expanded, neared slowly from the dark void that enclosed her everywhere. The sound magnified, too. The quake of a thousand - no, of endless deaths. Was it deaths? Or was it moans instead? Hadn't the drums of the great barge the sound of death? If those were. what were these?
It seems her Father Archmagister had taught her wrong.
What is this sound?
It was the sound of the living hell! She suddenly remembered! A page in the scrolls of time within the secret chamber of High Fane where the Archmagister had led her told her that! The Archmagister instructions had been quite explicit. She was not to touch or read anything from that room which he had not already ordained. But upon a twist of the Archmagister's neck, her eyes had flickered to the scrolls hidden by many echelons of walls, her keen eye which she had kept away from the Father Archmagister, her mystic eye had seen the words but discerned no meaning.
Now, they did. The sound was not of death. The sound was of the living hell, the burning of flesh, which has no end. Death would never seep here, no, the gongs wouldn't allow it. It was eternal hell; it was a great spasm of hate and cruelty.
The point of red light drew closer. And now - to Sierra horror! - she could see features of that red light. It was not a single point of light, but something even worse, something hated, something of eternal evil, but not death! Death here would be mercy!
It was the face of the devil. The triangular features of the great sin- eater emerged from pitch dark. The horns of the devil sprouted on its horrifying face. It petrifying features struck Sierra like a great bolt. Its teeth sank into Sierra's soul. Its grin wretched around its demonic cheeks, stretching the mouth wide on either side. Yet those features were not the most feared - if one could actually state which part of the devil's face was more fearful! Sierra might have laughed here if she was not baring witness to that which many - the ones who were given mercy - would not see. The most horrifying part of the devil's face was not the horns, not the great large chasm of a mouth with long rows of endless teeth, but the eyes.
She suddenly remembered a chant. so strange to remember a chant in the witness of the devil.
In here, is the place where all, See their death and perilous fall All those ill-fated souls have come to burn All will see their worst horrors churn
In here, is where the sinful die
Where is here? Why, here is the devil's eye.
But she had not sinned! She could not recall sinning in her life! Except. Except. except the flood? Had she really been the creator of that great flood? Were the storms really she? Could it be?
And the word from the devil was: YES. It laughed.
SIERRA. It called her name. SIERRA.
She screamed, but it worthless to scream in the face of the devil. It only drew hot fire from the chasms in its deadly - No, forever torturous - face.
And then, she asked the most naive question that could be asked in such a situation as her.
What do you want from me? Why me?
The devil grinned. The devil grinned!
Then it laughed. Spurning hot fire from its teeth.
Simple: YOU RID US OF THE SUN, Storm Weaver..