The lights are on
Power Member - Level 6
2 Billion Mortal Years Passed...
The Creators went about searching for potential advanced life. Their universe had aged, and grown, however. There were billions of planets now, all with the possibility of life on them. Something else that surprised the Creators was something that Fara’Ley picked up on. The universe was continuing to grow. While this may not sound strange, consider this: what was it growing into? That question continues to remain unanswered. Perhaps that's why they left.
After two billion years, the Creators found this “advanced life” and were taken aback by the discovery. The animals certainly were more advanced than their wild counterparts. These beings lived in shelter and made homes for themselves. These beings communicated with each other and helped each other. But, these beings were divided. Some of them were of the same race, others were different beings altogether. Some were tall, while others were short, and some lived longer than others. It was out of this differentiation and care for these beings, that the Creators made their final installment: That, of The Gods.
The Creators then began to fill in the questions that these beings were asking. What happens when we die? Are there others like us in the universe? Why does the world work the way it does, and why does it seem like our world is against us? How did the Creators fill in these questions? Through The Gods. For every planet with advanced life on it, the Creators placed two Gods: One of Light and Peace, and One of Darkness and Justice. The Gods were small scaled Creators: They had control over the elements of the planet, and could ride the strings of their Star System at will. The Gods ruled over their respective realms of the dead, where the souls of the beings would go to rest or await rebirth into the world. The Gods, could also use and control Magic. The Gods, however, had to follow a set of rules that the Creators made to let the mortal beings progress and evolve on their own. The Gods were responsible for assisting the mortals, and rewarding or punishing their behavior. They would answer all of their questions, and make every mortal being aware of their place in the universe through the story of how it all started.
Fara’Ley, however, was not satisfied with their Universe, not yet. The last addition she made to the universe was something that wasn’t discussed with the other Creators. She, along with Bin’Maen, the Black agreed that this Universe, albeit equal in light and darkness, and order and peace, was bound to be Good in nature. They solely reasoned that the light would outshine the darkness, and that peace would eventually prevail. There was nothing to stop the light and so it would spread. The two used the aging process of the universe (dubbed evolution by The Elves) against it. On each world with sentient life, they planted a seed. This seed was no bigger than an acorn, but was planted into the depths of each planet near their core. This seed was made of darkness and Chaos, and were later named the Seeds of Destruction. They took root in the bowels of each planet and spread. The two Creators did not know what the seeds would evolve into. All they knew was that simply by being present, Chaos would unfold. Fara’Ley was satisfied, as was Bin’Maen. Shortly after that, the Creators, having completed their goal, left...
Through these conditions is where our story begins. We are brought to the planet of Haethrong, part of a small Star System, tucked away in a small corner of a giant galaxy. This galaxy has many more planets with advanced life on it, and many more gods as well. For a time after the Creators left, things were peaceful. But peace...never lasts. Chaos was set to arise from it, and peace cannot exist without it. It only takes a spark to start a fire...and fire, eventually, consumes.
Canald, the Human City of Steel
In the castle of Canald, things got very quiet as the sun dipped past the horizon giving way to the night. The Kings Chambers was the last room in the very top of the castle, and the most glamourous. Its steel plated stone walls reflected the firelight and caused the flames to dance about the room. The fireplace was to the left of the polmian oaken door and had arches made out of inscribed iron from the Dwarves of Roen’Gard. The royal bed was elevated on three slabs of stone; its green silken sheets made the gold lace gleam in the light of the fire. Just across the room flanking the bed was a desk carved by the Elves of Elian, and sitting on a cushioned wooden chair sat the King of Canald. Tilias Loyalman sat in quiet contemplation at his desk with his legs stretched and crossed. He wore a red silken robe and white linen pants. The Armor of The King was being held on a metal cross near the balcony entrance, watching him steadily. A quill pen with a bottle of ink sat on the desks smooth polished surface, beckoning him to write. He looked at both items and let out a long, drawn out sigh. His wrinkled skin resembled that of a leather book, whose frayed pages had turned yellow with age. His brown hair that flowed well past his shoulders was now just below his ears, and had turned a snow white long ago. The shadows under his eyes had grown a deep grey and threatened to swallow them whole. He gingerly set his three arched crown on his desk and ran his creaky stiff fingers through his hair. He then sat up straight with his hands cupped against his mouth and studied the crowns beauty. The crowns three arches represented the three cities of the human population: Canald, The City of Steel at the Sea, Rezuil, The City of Commerce and Wealth, and Mendara, The City of Wisdom and Knowledge. Each arch had a different color: Silver for Canald, Gold for Rezuil, and Blue for Mendara. The crown twinkled in the light of the two candles at his desk, but the emerald in the middle silver arch is what Tilias was studying. It gleamed at him and seemed to radiate its brilliance throughout the room. He lightly ran his thumb over its smooth surface and felt a slight warmth as he did so. At that moment, a sad reminiscent look swept through his face and a tear formed in the corner of his eye, Janelle... he thought. He wiped it away before it threatened the sanctity of his paper and then looked down. He felt a strong feeling of apprehension and anxiety as he stared down at the tan piece of writing material. Write a bloody book... He thought with contempt. Heat crept through his body like a fire does when the spark ignites it. The urge to vomit overtook him, even though his last meal was ten hours ago. Frustrated, he stood up and walked towards the balcony. The red drapes that hung on the arch way swayed gently in the wind as he walked past, and when he stepped outside, the salty smell of the sea washed away all the anxiety he felt before. He placed both of his hands on the steel plated railing and looked out into his beautiful city. Below him lied the grand city of Canald, and even though the sun had dipped past the horizon, the city streets were bustling with activity.
The city was built on a sloping hill, and the castle was built on the edge of the cliff that jutted out into the gaping sea. The Kings Chambers faced the city, but Tilias also had a room constructed to face the west, so his thirty year old son could be greeted by the rising sun each morning. Canald was protected by three hundred foot steel plated stone walls, mostly to keep out the wind, but also as a feat of strength. The walls had watchtowers placed at every thousand feet, and up to twenty Nightwatchers were stationed at each tower. The streets were lit by torches that the Nights Watch took care of before dusk. Throngs of people flocked to the various Inns and Taverns that dotted Panterns Lane. In the distance he could see the Marketplace beginning to come to life as giant pyres sprouted seemingly out of thin air. Thousands of steel-plated wooden houses ran along Canald’s various street, some as dark as the night sky, others lit and ready to begin their night. Tilias tilted his head east towards the Cestrian Sea, and looked on the port of Canald. All twenty of their trade ships were safely docked in the port, and he could see that some of the sailors were heading towards houses, while others joined the pyre festivals at the Marketplace. He looked up and stared at the two moons that were present in the sky, Aqueous, and Benthil. The two moons shone their usual light blue and deep purple.
Tilias looked on all of this with pride and satisfaction. He had managed to live long enough to see his beautiful city constructed and then some. As he watched the denizens of Canald go about enjoying the warm night, Tilias felt the air of the room grow lighter, and his mood began to grow happier.
“Do you always come in the quiet parts of the night?” his old voice was still strong, but age had begun to weaken its integrity.
“I come when my presence is needed, King of Humans. You of all mortals should know that well enough,” a commanding female voice said behind him.
Tilias turned around and faced the goddess of light and peace, Anu’Stal. She was donned in a white silken dress, her golden blonde hair flowed well past her shoulders, and a white blindfold rested over her eyes, white light oozing out of the fabric. Her arms were bare and tanned with white, glowing tattoos. She had a curvy and attractive figure; her face was slender and her lips were thin and pursed. No mortal could ever look upon her with lust however, lest that man want The Brand. Tilias knelt down on one knee and bowed his head appropriately. “Stand good King. You know I require none of the formalities that you mortals insist on one another. I am here because you are distressed. As King of the three great Human Cities, you can not be distressed,” she said in a calm, yet caring voice.
Tilias never was able to fully adjust to the fact that the gods could be anywhere at any given time. It made his skin crawl. He stood and faced his city once more. Without turning around he replied, “Aye. I’m distressed. You’ve decreed that my death is at hand, and told me to write my story to inspire future kings and citizens alike,” he said, his voice growing weak, “yet, my story does nothing but remind me of what I had, and lost. This task is too much for me to bear,” he said, with a depressed look on his face.
Anu’Stal looked on the weary old king with sadness and dismay. She would never understand what it meant to be mortal, and so she had no idea what he was going through.
“Why must I do this?” he asked, turning to face her, “Why?” tears now spilling down his face.
“You must do this for your people Tilias. This story will live with them until the end of time.”
“But how can I do this when all it does is remind me of her!?” he said angrily, his voice recovering the youth it once possessed. He faced the city once more and bowed his head, sobbing. Anu’Stal approached the old king and placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked into the blindfold searching for a sign of sympathy and found none.
“Your wifes memory lives on only in you Tilias. You must write your story so your people know your queen like you do. You must show them her strength, and the difference both she and you made together. Your wife awaits you in The Plane of Eternity, and death will not take you until you finish. I will not allow it,” she said in response, her face unchanging in emotion.
Tilias wiped away the tears on his face and looked upon the goddess, “Let me see her then. One last time.”
She looked at him for a long while, her gaze unwavering. She studied the Kings face and then replied,“If it will help you finish your story, so be it,” she said. Tilias felt his heartbeat race and he turned to face his city once more.
Anu’Stal’s entire figure began to glow a bright white light. Her eyes incinerated the fabric that once veiled her eyes, and the tattoos on her arms glowed intensely. She tilted her head towards the sky and closed her glowing eyes; the light oozing out from underneath their lids. Suddenly, a giant beam of white light came down from the sky and swallowed her whole. Tilias could feel the heat on his back but did not cry out in pain. After a few painstaking moments, “You may turn, King,” her voice commanded. When Tilias turned around, Anu’Stals white silken dress had vanished, giving way to her armor that was present on her the first day he met her. Her helmet had two points on the top of it, and was made of an otherworldly glowing silver metal. A black visor stretched across its brow, her glowing eyes staring out beneath them. Her golden blonde hair that flowed down her front, was now tied and flowing behind her back. Her Angelic wings sprouted out and glowed a golden light. She had replaced her silken dress with plated armor and two swords hung at her sides. As incredible as she was, Tilias was staring at the light blue figure standing next to her. The figure was a woman, with flowing hair and slender face. She was skinny with a curvy figure and when Tilias saw her, his heart skipped a beat. “Janelle!” he cried and ran towards her. She opened her arms and squeezed him tightly. They shared a kiss then; Tilias could feel nothing but warmth as he did so. After a few seconds she broke away and looked at him with her wispy eyes. Tilias knew they were green, but in this form, a light blue was all the color she could possess.
‘Tilias,” she said hugging him once more, “how I’ve missed you,” she said smiling. Tilias could feel the tears beginning to form in his eyes. “My love, its been too long,” he replied, burying his head into her shoulder. Janelle returned his hug with love, but then pulled away and looked sternly on her King. “Tilias, you must put aside your grief of my death and serve your people,” she said.
He looked at her, through tears, and responded in a saddened voice, “How can I? Every word I put on that paper will be of you,” he said.
“Nay,” she said putting a hand on his cheek, “Your story will be about all of us. Do not be selfish and think only of me. Your story will be told from the beginning of it all, when we were nothing but a log cabin harbor. You must remember those times Tilias,” she said with a voice as kind as The Gods. And he could. He could remember the cabins, and the rolling forests that once pervaded the landscape. He could hear the jays, and feel the sun, and remember the good days; the simpler days. He felt abashed as he did so; he had forgotten about them. He forgotten where his story truly did start. She placed her other hand on his remaining cheek, “You must do this, not for me, for them,” she said shifting her gaze to the city. He tilted his head towards the city and then to the ground. “It will be hard, my love,” he said kissing her brow.
“It was never going to be easy,” she said with dismay. She could feel her time growing short. “You must do this Tilias. Think of Brendan. He will need the knowledge for when he takes the crown, after your death,” she said.
Tilias closed his eyes and let the tears fall; he could feel her time slipping away as well. “Okay,” his old weary voice said through tears and dismay. “I’ll see you on the other side,” she said fading away into the room in front of him. “Janelle!,” he cried out trying to chase after her. He collapsed on his knees, his hands balled into fists, tears falling onto the floor. The Goddess of light and peace looked on with dismay. She knelt down beside him, her armor making not a sound, and put a hand on his back. “King of Humans,” she said, “Are you ready for the last great deed of your life?”, Tilias looked into her glowing eyes. “ I want The Sacrifice then. As soon as the last bloody word is written, I want The Sacrifice,” his eyes drilled her with anger.
“ So be it,” she said standing, “My work here is done.” Tilias turned his face and covered his eyes. An explosion of warmth and white light rang through the room, and when Tilias looked back, she was gone. Tilias sighed and stood up; his weakened bones popped and snapped like twigs in a forest. He returned to his chair, and dipped the pen in the ink. For a moment, he was unsure how to start. He thought back on the olden days and a smile crossed his face. He remembered the fields, and the sea. He remembered the Brezils, and the late nights spent debating philosophy. He remembered waking up the following mornings to those damned birds...the birds... Tilias thought. A flash of inspiration rang through his skull, and so began his story...