001 PROLOGUE: WITHOUT A NAME
002 CHAPTER 01: OF GODS AND MONSTERS
003 CHAPTER 02: AN UNLIKELY EMISSARY
004 CHAPTER 03: AN ADVENT TO SHADOWS
005 INTERMEZZO: WHITE NOISE
006 CHAPTER 04: SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION, THE BOY-AVATAR AWAKENS
007 CHAPTER 05: STORM ON THE CELESTIAL CASTLE
008 CHAPTER 06: THE PATH TO DECIMATION
009 INTERMEZZO: THE LAST PAWN
010 CHAPTER 07: EIGHT YEARS AGO
011 FINAL CHAPTER: THE WISDOM FROM FRIENDS
We are constantly at war. Gods and Monsters -- of which we are both. Divinity and mortal. It is a cruel jape, this thread the gods of Rohan has spun. Could Ohn have known of this before he disappeared? Is this why he has disappeared? Who could know, really. There are too many minds in this labyrinth, we have all but lost sight of where we came from -- and where we are headed. And perhaps it is better that way. Perhaps it is better if we merely lived life as it is, to take what we are given and make the most of it. Perhaps that is part of the wisdom I have yet to learn. I could almost laugh at the irony. I have always been proud of having undergone Severance -- being free from the shackles of Flox, believing in my own divinity. Never in the centuries that I have lived had I imagined crossing staves with myself -- and quite literally, too. I had been too proud, it seems.
"You will let me pass, Brother," a voice like mine -- but not quite like mine -- said. It was like looking upon a mirror, only the image I see is ghost-like. The paleness almost white, and the blacks are deeper than mine.
It was disconcerting, but I draw strength from one single thought: "You will not kill Alaric," I warned the specter, summoning a wall of hellish flame, wilder than I have ever summoned.
A wave of his hand and the inferno was gone. His casual impudence served only to fuel my rage. "You cannot conjure up enough flame to consume me, Zohariel. Nor can I defeat you," he said, walking towards me. "I see it now -- who I am, and what I must do. You must know it, too."
I do, to be quite honest. From the moment my staff deflected the killing blow the specter was about to deal Alaric -- no, Roha -- my mind exploded in a supernova of recognition. The specter was me. Or rather, the part of me that was taken away during the Severance. Several parts of me, as a matter of fact, as I had been reincarnated for centuries on end, going through many and many more instances of Severance, slowly and gradually building up enough power and magic until at last, it would be enough to rend the entire Weave of magic and destroy Rohan and all who dwell in it. A carefully laid-out plan by the Mad God of Blue Flames, which Roha had managed to intercept by Marea's intervention eight years past. I have been nothing else but a pawn my entire existence, and each Severance I have undergone has been nothing but empty, empty shells of what I thought were meaning. I was enraged. I released another torrent of flame to the specter that was myself.
He held out his hand and caught the river of fire. It snaked up his arms, circling his neck, his body, crawling into his mouth. "Yes, yes, Brother. Anger yourself more. It is maddening, is it not? It is intoxicating, is it not? Do you not feel the Weave bend and submit to your every thought?" His voice was melodious -- a sing-song chant to my ears, and I hear nothing else. Arcane spells lit up in my mind and my flesh was afire. At that point I consumed by pure destructive magic; I wanted to burn.
Somewhere in the chamber, I heard the crashing of steel, the pounding of rocks, and the roar of beasts. Alaric and the Guild Master, a part of my mind whispered. But it was quickly pushed away as I felt the breath of the specter on my neck. "This is what we were made for, Brother. To burn like suns and stars, to light up the Weave." And I felt the sensation of floating, of the ground falling from under my feet, of both ascending and descending. He took my hand and pointed to where Alaric and the Guild Master were crossing sword and zhen. "We must kill him, Brother. Roha. We must take the True Leaf of Ohn and cast our magic into it. Only then will All-Father awaken."
I looked at Alaric from where I was, and I felt the fire on my lips, down my tongue, and onto my throat. I remembered his insolence, deigning to walk the halls of my mind. His arrogance at appearing before me, assuming I would feel kinship towards one who was so terribly inferior. It was incredulous; it was maddening. I lifted a hand and pointed to where he was, feeling the fire singe by clothes, my skin, my bones. The pain was exquisite. For but a few seconds, Alaric's eyes met mine. "Do it," I heard my voice whisper. I released the spell.
There is a memory I fondly keep close to my heart, although I would not admit to it. It was a few years after I have undergone Severance, just before I secluded myself in the caves of the Vortex Shore for a century of meditation. Lhyria, the Dark Elf whom I have called mother, was sitting on the bed as I awakened from slumber. Her back was to me and she was looking out the windows, into the volcanic magnificence that was Ignis. She seemed to have sensed I have awakened. She began speaking without preamble. "I was mortally afraid the night you came to me in a dream, Zohariel," she said. I could not see her face, but I knew she was weeping. I kept still.
"I had lived for a trite two centuries before then, and I was due for the Ceremony of Severance, as Arianne was. She had lived to the fullest as a Mage -- exploring the continents with her staff, meeting strange and wonderful creatures -- whilst I stayed in Ignis, within its dark spires and magical walls, afraid to step out of its protective light. I'd thought my magic was too weak, too inadequate for what was expected of me. Instead I settled into politics, as my father was. Two centuries, Arianne never tired of asking me to escape from the cage of my duties and go with her on one of her grand adventures, but I never tired of refusing, putting duty above all else. I made myself content to let her tell me the stories she has gathered throughout her journeys. I was envious, true, but I was too proud to let her know how deep my envy went. She might have known, but she understood my apprehension.
"The night before our Severance, I had a dream," and she looked at me, eyes of crimson and cerulean sparkling with dawn tears. "The Crimson Fires of Life bade me go to Sinner's Inheritance to claim you, one I have named Zohariel. And I woke up in cold sweat, although the fire was burning bright in my mind. Arianne sensed this fluctuation in the Weave and she was by my side immediately. I told her about the dream, and it confused her even more so. The Crimson Fire has never Touched a female Mage before Severance. And even then, between the two of us, I thought it was Arianne who would most likely be Touched.
"No magic, dark or light could have dispelled my fear during that night. And your name scalded my mind as magma scalded the veins of the earth." Lhyria was trembling. I put my hand over her cold, clammy ones, letting my warmth flow through her. After a while, she continued. "It was still dark when I left the manse. Arianne insisted on going with me. Ignis was cold and the night was enshrouded in sleep when we stepped out from the front portal. Arianne and I moved as ghosts would, silently making our way to Sinner's Inheritance. When we got there, your name sounded even more persistent. The lava craters bubbled with scorching heat, enough to bake mortal flesh, but the need to find you was even greater. I pressed on, even when Arianne was left at the foot of the lava basin.
"Then at last I found the source of your voice, your persistent wailing. A small lava crater furthest from where Arianne was. I knew what I had to do. I submerged both of my hands into the red-hot lava to search for the nucleus of magic that was your spirit. The smell of burnt flesh invaded my senses, but I would not pull my arms out until I found you. And when at last I did, and when at last I scooped you out from the boiling earth, and when at last I laid my eyes upon the light that was named Zohariel and breathed shape into you, I knew that I need not be afraid anymore, nor envious, nor sad. I knew that having you would be the greatest adventure I will ever have, more than what even Arianne had experienced."
She was smiling now, and tears were freely flowing down her face. "I am very proud of you, Zohariel, as your mentor, as your mother. I have seen you grow and excel in the magical arts and the manipulation of the Weave. But in the centuries that you have lived, you have always been solitary, without friends. And now you are telling me you are going to leave to be alone even more..." She held my hand even tighter. "The Crimson Fire has touched me again, Zohariel. You are going to have a sister. Her name is Amaryllis."
The flame swallowed my outsetretched arm like the jaws of a mad dragon. The specter leapt away from me just before the fire singed ghost-flesh. "What are you doing, Brother?" he shouted, voice crackling like lightning.
"My life is real," I said, more to myself than to the specter, still looking into Alaric's eyes. Therein I found the affirmation I was looking for -- that I am not a pawn of the Gods, and I am not a vagabond sailing through the winds fate blows me to. I remembered Amaryllis, my little sister. I remembered someone else who had a little sister. "And so are you."
I looked at the specter and lifted my other arm to where he was floating. "I know what I must do." I cast the same spell on my other arm -- dragon flame searing away Elven flesh, working its tendrils towards the rest of my body. I feel its urgency, the painful path it runs as every finger of fire knifes through sinew, through marrow. I was becoming pure magic, melting into the Weave. My eyes never left the specter as it watched what I was doing in mute horror. I was pleased. I flew to him as quickly as my will would allow, mentally binding him in place, stopping only as soon as we were face to face.
I understood what he was. More than a concentration of energy, of magic, he was me. It was one thing Flox forgot about when he breathed life into my spirit many a century ago -- that Dark Elves can grow to more than his own, mad image. That Dark Elves, in the centuries they spend alive, remember. And seeing as I have been alive for more than one lifetime, I remember more than I care to -- bestowing me a spirit far stronger than I give myself credit for.
My body has all but burnt away. The specter is struggling through my bonds. Without another thought, I sailed on into the stream of flame coursing through his mouth, and entered his body.
I felt a hand on my shoulder as I was kneeling in front of Alaric's lifeless body. "He has gone beyond the reach of my magic, Brother Wizard." It was the young, green-haired Priest-Seer, recently recalled into living by Brother Sage.
"And mine as well," concurred Brother Sage, standing up from Alaric's side after healing the Guild Master's injuries.
"Brother Commander shall have a King's service," said Sister Templar.
It was the best one could hope for. Roha used Alaric's body too much. Mortal flesh -- even one possessing such power as Alaric had -- could simply not sustain the divine energies of a God. Even when I had succeeded in keeping the True Leaf of Ohn away from the specter, Alaric still died. A compartment in my mind took over my faculties as they had so often done after my heart has gone past a certain level of hurting. I stood up and took the True Leaf from Alaric's cold hands. "The mission is yet to be completed. Brother Sage, Sister Warlock, please teleport Alaric and the Guild Master to the Conclave. I, Sister Templar, and Brother Priest will bear the True Leaf through the Celestial Castle."
Each nodded their assent. In but a few silent moments, the devastation of Jainus Une Roha's chambers was behind us.
In a war of Gods and Monsters, Gods belong to one side and Monsters must die. This is what I have always stood for, ever since undergoing Severance. I was at the Vortex Shore once again, the place of solitude where I have spent a century away from the few people I cared about. Lhyria, Arianne, Amaryllis. And now, one more name has been added to the drumming of my thoughts. Alaric -- he who has gone beyond the call of magic.
The wind blowing from the sea was pregnant with memories. I had to close my senses to hinder the rush of them to my mind. Names kept pounding on me like tidal waves and each second, I come undone. I clench my jaw tighter to contain the painful swelling in my chest. Thicker and thicker I lay layers and layers of steel upon my heart. Further and further the sounds of the sea flew from my mind.
The Weave hummed, prickling my skin ever so slightly. I parted my senses to see what has caused the disturbance. A billowing of gauzy cloth and the smell of spring flowers. "Zohariel," a voice said -- more in my mind rather than in my ears. I knew who it belonged to.
"You do not have to speak; I can hear the cacophony of hatred in your mind," she said -- almost sympathetically. "Eldest is now in his Forticus. He succeeded in foiling my mad twin's plans, but not in the way he wanted. He did not get to kill you and aggravate Flox further. That was a defeat, to someone like him.
And I... Flox has love for me even less now," she laughed -- a merry sound, contrasted by a thin sliver of acrid bitterness. I wanted to sympathize, but my heart has locked its exists for Monsters such as her and her kin. "I suppose I got what I was asking for."
She was silent for a time, I could not hear even a breath, but the smell of spring blossoms is still there. I turned my head to look at her. She was... plain, I could say that much. Her dress was white gauze, light and in constant movement like sea foam, draped casually on her shoulders and cinched at the hip, but otherwise ordinary. Her golden hair was long and loose and being blown by the wind as her dress was. Her face was smooth and she looked young, but there was exhaustion setting beneath the skin, lining the folds of her face -- a world-weariness one can't quite fathom. Maybe it was the way she was standing -- weight on one leg, arms folded, hands absentmindedly rubbing her elbow. She looked like a sheet of glass, spiderweb cracks slowly creeping from its center. Her fragile body was just waiting to shatter. She looked at me and smiled. Her ageless, azurite eyes letting loose one errant tear. I looked away, ashamed -- I had forgotten she could read what I was thinking.
She spoke again. "Eight years ago, Flox abandoned me. He said his plan was nearing its fruition. I felt his mirth, being his twin. But he was mad, and further and further, his heart fluttered away from me like bats in a cave. I was left deprived and void of the warmth of his flames. We spent eons together, playing and scheming and making love. His love for me was peerless, save for his love of our All-Father -- no, of power, which took hold of him completely and there was no room left for me.
"Scorned woman I was, and thoughts of hurting him lit every cell in my body. I went to Eldest in his bedchamber that evening and sent him a most vivid dream." She laughed once again. "Or maybe it was not a dream. Regardless. I told him of Flox's plan. And I sent the same dream to a particular Dekan whose thread will eventually cross yours and Alaric's. I was determined to see my twin's complete and miserable failure." A heartbeat. "And I won."
"I have nothing to say to you," I said, with a voice of glaciers.
"Nor do I expect you to speak, sweet, silent, wise Zohariel. Forgiveness is too much to ask of you, so I shall not ask. Perhaps it was my wish to lay on you the fact that Gods hurt, too. We get jealous and spiteful, and we scheme and we get enraged. And we love, too, and it is our triumph, and it is our tragedy. Our love for All-Father is too much, sometimes. His absence is a yawning emptiness in our chests. It drives us to our own little pockets of madness more often than we care to admit."
I felt her shook her head, warding off thoughts like insects. She touched my arm. "I sense that selfsame emptiness in you, Zohariel. And it burdens me even moreso to know I caused it. The Tragedy of the Seven Swords, I caused it as well. Let this one act ease your pain. Let this one who lived through the Tragedy live again."
And as the Weave shuddered at her fading, the weight of her hands on my arm was replaced by another's -- warm, and familiar. The smell of spring blossoms is gone, but summer and earth and things green and wonderful have arrived. "Let's go home," a familiar voice said. Something caught in my throat. "Rosalind might be getting worried."
//END
CREDITS (As posted in the RohanPH Forums): Finally, consummatum est. It has been quite a journey, with me clumsily walking the path as it is. I am not sure if I had mentioned this before, but Zohariel's tale was originally not meant to be this long. I am pointing a finger to Liebesgottin, one whom I had fondly grown to call my sister, for giving me that much-needed nudge when she stumbled upon my blog and read that single Rohan-related piece I have written, oh, about three months ago now. I think I will never get tired of thanking her for it.
Also, Marea and Flox, for keeping me company during the quiet evenings when my muse seems to have grown bored of my incessant whining. It was mightily amusing crossing words with divinity, passing time until my muse comes back from a night of utter debauchery and finally showing up to work on her part of the deal and getting back to work on the story.
Level Up! Games and YNK, despite the bugs, this was a wonderful, magical game, filled with rich lore anyone could easily immerse themselves into. Thank you for bringing Rohan into existence.
A deep court bow to the world of The Forgotten Realms, for letting me borrow the concept of The Weave of Magic. It is something I have always been fascinated with, indeed, it is something I even believe that exists. Reality is nothing if we do not have a world of fantasy and romance to strive for. May we all feel the magic of the Weave around us, and may we see it for what it truly is.
The Historian Trenia and the Rohan Writers Circle -- Liebesgottin, Corvinus, Fascia, Jupitress, Caffeine, Lucy, Canaris, LiloNStitch, Vesuvius, Malice (who has just recently joined us), PurpleSaint, and Elysia Silvermoon (for the Tavern, please come back) -- for fighting the good fight and keeping the love for literature and creativity alive. You all have my respect just for taking up the pen and starting to write.
Keep the fire burning!
//podialejandro 091109
