War of the Eli'ouds

 WAR AGAIN

(The Coming of the Eli’oud)

In the years before the Great War, there was a man named Udva’dare, a Bedouin rug maker, in the land of Harad. Even among his own Nasilian people, Udva’dare was considered by many to be a willful man, who defiantly made up his own rules. His belligerent nature often got him in trouble with his second cousin, the Shadol Ada’mul, who was the tribal ruler over all the Nasilian people. The Shadol desired to drive his camels and people further into the Southlands of Harad, because of the rumors of the imminent war between the east and west, but the rug maker said he was being unwise. Udva’dare went against the Shadol’s word and took a band of followers northward, and then entered into the western lands as immigrants.

On their journey, they came across a small group of elven travelers and waylaid them upon the road. Wanting only food and coin, his companions aggressed and accidentally killed two elves before they themselves were killed. Amid that chaos, Udva’dare raped an elven maiden who hid behind a wagon. After the deed, other elves fell upon the Nasilian men and captured them. The six ruffians were tried, and to avert a war with the newly allied race of Men, the maiden’s father made her wed the man, Udva’dare.

“This foolish appeasement for the sake of war would have better been silenced with the death of this man!” Nelwyn’s youngest brother shouted to their father.

“Nay brother, hush. Father, I shall do as you bid. Enough blood has been shed, and it seems we shall all witness more before the doom to come is over.” Nelwyn conceded her fate over that of a larger plan.

Nelwyn tried her best to put aside Udva’s assault on her, for the sake of peace, but she could only recall the brutal experience over and again. From their first encounter, then in due time she gave birth to twins and instantly fell in love with her two sons.

Udva’dare then said to his new bride, “Seeing you smile at them, now you know what I felt when I first beheld you, my love.”

Nelwyn replied coldly, “Nothing I feel in seeing them is like the day you raped me. I accept them as a gift for enduring your torture and pray the Vala to bless them for who they are; not you.” After that, Nelwyn never lay with Udva’ as a husband, willingly.

She named her twin boys: Symo’ (Sunshade), and Nu’len (Moon friend); yet their father gave them his name: Symo’dare, and Nu’lendare; (dare means to embellish). They were of two houses, elves, and men; but their origin was forged from the brutality of lust. The twins themselves grew to be nothing alike as Symo’ favored his mother, and Nu’len favored his father’s bitter demeanor most. Symo’dare grew up seeking only to know the ways of the elven kind, as his brother followed the ways of men, desiring to be adventurous and bold unto himself even among his peers. A contention grew between the twin brothers as their parents grew further apart, but for her son’s sake and stability, Nelwyn sought contentment. Yet ever did she see the growing arrogance and lust welling up in Nu’len, and how he dealt with those about him. He desired only the praise of his father and nothing from her. Sadly, in the fullness of time Udva’dare came to understand, too late, what his passions had brought forth, and he began to turn a bitter face toward his own son. But Nu’len blamed his mother because of his father’s turning away, and he became all the more unruly with her.

As the years passed, the rug maker, Udva’dare’s time among the elves became constrained by many disagreements and his unwillingness to learn or share. In time Udva’ took his family from among the elves of Greenwood to settle among the hilltops of the Blue Mountains. Weeks later his two sons gazed out upon the world, Nu’len said, “Come now brother, let us leave this place and return to our father’s homeland among the Haradrim in the east.”

But Symo’ looked to the west, “No, brother, for we are so very near the Havens from which so many are departing this world, soon this Great War that has begun shall be ended, and the people will be leaderless in need of purpose.”

Nu’len shook his head, “Such foolishness has always been your mind’s distraction, brother. Maybe the teaching they need is of - a more personal nature.” He said this smiling back at his mother.

Symo’ felt himself becoming upset, “Nay brother, for I know the inner workings of your mind all too well, and these people are broken enough already, and more so when this war finds its conclusion.”

Nu’lendare laughed, “Shall we bed them as we like or dutifully wait for the years to pass before the concept enters their feeble thoughts in waiting – to be taught, that is.”

Symodare stood tall, “Neither, for they belong unto themselves for the age of Men has come and that Dark Lord’s ending shall soon pass as well.”

His brother smirked, “You see as well as I do brother, his influence on Men is only as one uses a tool for their advancement. Dark lords or not, Men are men, as you say, and they have always belonged unto themselves. Darkness is their nature even without a lord.” With that Nu’len struck Symo with his fists, and then drew his father’s blade and fell upon him.

With a cold expression, Symo’dare threw his brother off and they both stood face to face, “Shall you slay me, that every part of yourself that you have come to hate so much? I could never kill you brother, even with this contention between us. Stay or go as you like, but I for one shall not abide with this continually.” With that Symo’dare embraced his mother Nelwyn, for she was unwilling to depart from her ailing husband, fragile upon his dying bed. She knew in her heart that it was with deep regret that her son sought out the lowlands, for he could no longer reside with his brother Nu’lendare in the Blue Mountains.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

   After the Great Departure of the Faye Folk, from their western gray Havens, a remnant protested against leaving and watched the last fleet of Swan-carved ships sail away into the sun. Of those Watchers, three became the realm’s longest-lived Kings. With the passing of the fourth, a Nephilim Lord, named Koral, came his son Eli’Gadreel to wear the Mitharian Crown.

   One day, horrid news reached the fifth King’s ear that many in the distant village of Sinjar had been mysteriously murdered during the night. A party had been sent out from King Eli’Gadreel to investigate what had transpired, but the party had failed to return to his Lordship in the tower of Varlendur. By now Gadreel had become more than suspicious that a foul hand was at work. Arming himself and two companies of his finest men they ventured forth to Sinjar, so the King could see for himself what evil was afoot. The tent village at the base of Mount Sinjarus was burnt to the ground and indeed all those in the cave dwellings as well. They had been slaughtered and lay dead for many days already in decay, still laying where they fell upon the ground with their throats cut. No exceptions were made men, women, and children were dead with no pity shown. Then King Gadreel saw for himself that his own men were among the bodies, and he became all the more enraged at the atrocity!

   “Sire, none live but us in this encampment of death,” said a soldier.

   Looking up at the cliffside with squinted eyes, Gadreel said, “It is whispered there are tunnels and caverns in the depths of the mountain's belly, go seek them out, and Lieutenant Minfalus destroy all those who lie in wait. With blades drawn, and by your King's orders shall you uphold your oaths this day, share that with your men.” From there Gadreel began heading up the worn steps alone. Moments later the King’s men surpassed him as squads poured into every opening and indeed into each discovered tunnel. Piled bodies blocked each of the passageways the deeper they went in until once again the Mitharian Guard had assembled at the base of the stone-carved city.

   Gadreel ordered the men to line the bodies of the dead where the tent village had once stood, “Count them all, and then incinerate their remains.”

When the last of the unexplored tunnels was being cleared of the bodies that had previously blocked their advance, they suddenly unleashed Wild men who burst forth from every opening. The horde came rushing like a great torrent of flood waters down upon those below. In the labor of their grave duty, a sudden attack fell upon the King and his men, even as the shades of night fastly approached. Vicious men did the swift work of cutting down any they met! It was King Gadreel who retreated with only two squads of his men trailing behind. Near the tents of Slavath, they gave a warning to its people to alarm the Shadol and be called to arms! Falling back to the Mitharian keep the bells rang everyone to the defense of the city!

   From that sudden retreat, none were being followed, to the bewilderment of the Slavathian villagers; yet the bells of Mithar still rang out! On the fourth day, the bells fell silent when another horror struck at daybreak. The watches upon their high walls spied the raging fires and plumes of smoke as Slavath was engulfed in ruined tents, leaving her people and livestock chard! No spokesman ever came forth, or banners waved, and no message of any kind was declared; only the terrorized threat that more was to come.

   Now, about the southern part of the twin cities there ran Mithar’s unfinished second, outer wall. Begun many years before by the dwarven masons but never completed, it stood to protect only half of the lower farmlands, or pin them in.

On the dawn of the fifth day, what proved to be the only messenger stood before The Hideous Dwarven-Wall, and shouted, “This day shall the fallen King see his last breath taken for –“ An arrow pierced through his eye and silenced any worthwhile message he might have delivered. Moments later, to the left and right, and as far down afield as one could see a great multitude came rushing upon them! Those behind the Hideous wall were filled with panic as flying arrows set their fields aflame.

   Earlier, King Gadreel had sent word for the Pagan Lord of Lindol’s, Mayor Ishmak to send reinforcements. His only reply came in the form of a dirty-faced street boy, “Sire, the Goblins have breached the northern wall.” The boy then fell over dead, revealing a dagger in his side.

   Gadreel was overheard, bemoaning, “The world ends in fear this day.” Then came the thunderous pounding of a battering ram against the closed brass doors of the Sibling’s Gate. Moments later it began to rain decapitated heads of the Sinjarian dead! From among the masses beyond the gate, a lone voice was heard shouting, “You betrayed our fathers, then left us for dead, eat now the fruit of those planted seeds!” Bewildering words only the King seemed to have understood, for he went pale.

   “No, sire!” Minfalus shouted as he ran for Gadreel.

But his blade was too quick in slicing his own throat before his men, even as the gates burst open for the hordes that rushed in. It was within that very hour that Mithvalon fell, both its upper and lower portions ceased to be the grand city on the Bay it once was. After those raiding forces had secured the tower of Varlendur, the Wildmen saved some of the younger generations from slaughter, and then – strangely, halted their monstrous deeds. Those children who crouched in submission knew their lives hung upon any whispered word of displeasure.

   From that throng of brutish men there stepped forward a nearly naked foe dressed in tattoos, “Hear now you defeated whelps; those who brought you to this very end no longer draw breath, for the city lays in ruins and the streets run red with their blood. From henceforth your only purpose is to serve as thralls or lie with these bleeding dead. It makes no difference to me which you chose.”

   No one questioned or breathed a word in defiance. The speaker smiled, “I am Me’geth’dare, the grandson of Nu’lendare, the brother of Symo’dare – ah, so you know that name, I see. Good! We are the Eli’ouds, sons of the Nephilim lords, a bastard race of whom you called Founders. Now, now you may be at ease from all your fears of not knowing who rules over you. For the Bastard son is king now!” With that his barbarous troops triumphally chanted his name, stomping their feet, pounding fear into the hearts of those frightened captives.

   At that moment the eldest of them, a thin boy about twenty years of age stood up, and the army hushed, “If only you would have –“

   “Would have what? Declared who we were beforehand, and we could all be one happy family? Oh, how childish is your outlook on the world boy! You have all grown worse than the ones who fathered you, arrogant even among yourselves. You are not the anointed elite, to the exclusion of all others in the world, that your parents pretend themselves to be. Those who really are seeking the truth and wisdom are not as beneath you as you think. Look at the Lindolian Pagans, they are far better people than your pretentious, meaningless words, so freely spouted, would have them be. You deserved to be wiped away for being the mindless ant-drones who have festered this long. But do not fear, change is here, to lovingly wake you up from that tedious slumber, with its cruel reward you brought upon yourselves with this end.”

   The boy bravely asked, “What end is this, that we should be grateful to have awakened to?”

   “THAT, that right there! That is what I mean!” The tattooed man shook his head looking around, then added, “Boy, what makes you think you even have another breath to waste in questioning me? What makes you more special than others?” Me’geth’dare’s eyes squinted.

   “I am nothing if not better than you, for we have never slaughtered –“

   “Nev - Never slaughtered? Outrageous! Most interesting. With every deceitful word that slithered off your wagging tongues, you have all done nothing but slaughter someone else’s ability to have any independent thought of their own. You wholeheartedly embraced and willfully accepted the twisted lies, spoon-fed you as the truth, without ever once blinking to ask for proof. Ha, yes, you have slaughtered everyone’s potential lives when they followed you into this despot Tower! Even the very name Varlendur is but a sick joke played upon the unsuspecting, for that dungeon is far from being a tower of ‘Friends’. The very ones you condemned as prophets, theirs should have been your own questioning voice, asking if what you were told was the truth or not. How dare you have such a superior, self-righteousness presence about you boy, when it was you who brought this end upon yourselves. Too asleep in your own drunken stupidity to understand that blindly following horrifically deceitful men led you to this end.”

   Drawing a breath, the bitter tattooed man let a slow smile creep onto his face, “What is the name they call you boy?”

   “Sethman.”

   “Sethman - I will allow you to continue drawing breath until you do not. Every blink you have could very well be your last. Today I give you a new name boy, I shall give you the opportunity not to be the dirt under my feet, but at the whisp of a second thought you will be like these bleeding at your feet. Ba’nal (Second Chance); that is your new name.” Me’geth nodded to another tattooed man who stood beside him, who then put cuffs on the boy and handed it long chain over to his leader. Me’geth nodded to another soldier, and the remaining children were rounded up in chains and led off.

   “Where are you taking them?”

   “Again, with the arrogance of thinking, you can question me. Come.” Me’geth led the chained boy away to Varlendur.

   Climbing up the body-littered steps to the opened doors of the realm’s seat of power, the captive witnessed for himself the cruelty of the invading forces. The lavished hall of the Gray Tower, which Ba’nal-Sethman had never seen the inside of before, was in utter disarray. The mural of the Great Departure’s Last Elven Swan-Ship was scared with hacked marks, and its ax was left in the swan’s head. Splattered with blood and smeared handprints from the Lords and Ladies who had failed to escape the slaughter. They still laid where they had bled out upon the floor amid the ravished furnishings tossed about. The leashed boy was led to step over these with disregard for who they had been. Helplessly, Ba’nal was pulled along as Me’geth headed for the downward staircase. The darkened well was lit by the infrequent placing of hung torches. The pitch-black flickered back against the last torch, which Me’geth claimed. From deeper inside the void a broken, faint voice barely called up, “Brother?”

   Me’geth’dare answered back, “I am here.”

   

   Then the amber light revealed the pungent smell to be that of forgotten prison cells. It became apparent that the Priests of the loving religion fostered none for the creatures who were left to waste away in the dank dungeons below the King’s meeting hall above. Several ghastly figures crowded the small cells. They were too beleaguered to speak as the two visitors passed them by. Without comment, Me’geth’dare headed for the other set of downward stairs. As the stench of the darkness grew, the boy choked back wanting to vomit, holding his nose and mouth, but his captor pulled on the chain all the more, “Come now and learn the truth for yourself.”

   “Here, brother, I am the last alive among the feeding rats.” The blinding torch light validated the claim as the two visitors saw the scattering of rodents, except the most starved who lingered upon the dead body still chained to the wall. “Me’geth!” The whimpering was heartbreaking to the wide-eyed boy in seeing the thin, ragged prisoner crying for himself.

   His savior withdrew a dagger and picked the rusted, locked door open, then did the same in removing his brother’s cuffs. “Ba’lim!” They embraced as the boy began vomiting on a rat-infested body. Moments later one prisoner was aiding the other to his feet, heading for freedom.

   As they struggled to emerge from the dungeons below, back into the brilliant light of the throne room, Me’geth demanded, “Now you understand my words boy?”

   “Yes, yes I do. The Apostates were correct about everything.”

   Ba’lim’dare began choking, but the noise strangely sounded like laughter, “Only now do you see who was truly blind.” The emaciated man’s eyes were tightly shut. He had the appearance of a walking skeleton thinly draped with skin. His bony legs and arms had multiple bite marks. He was bald, with dark sunken eyes. In the light of day, Balim’dare looked frighteningly close to death.

Me’geth held back the overwhelming urge to weep, “What a handsome fellow this one was in stealing all the ladies from me. Balim, you are not done for yet my brother.”

   “Free air to breath, you gave me that brother, before I died.” Looking up at three soldiers who came near at the sound of their voices.

   “Water!” Me’geth’dare demanded one of the bottles off their belts. Then offering it to the freed prisoner, “You are not gone yet, fool.”

   “No, I am not done yet,” Balim’dare felt the boy’s hand helping him to drink from the flask. “But Me’geth, you must know this boy is blameless.”

   The leader’s eyes looked into those of his chained captive, “They will brand him an Apostate, then he will really understand.” Me’geth’dare sighed, “Brother, I love you.”

   The frail figure whispered, “I know, and I love you – brother.”

   The three men carefully place their Captain’s brother on a cape and carried him on his oversized bed out into the light of the city below.

////////

LIFE CHAIR

 Lift Chairs at Al's Furniture Denton Texas (shopals.com)

Origins of the Freemasons

.....

THE CROWN AND STAFF

 THE CROWN AND STAFF

   The ruling Kings of Eriduah were: Vendumar, Legandriel, Nuthcorlan, and Koral, his son. 

  It came to pass, after the fourth king had died, that his son Gadreel took up the father’s mantel. After the crown was rested upon his brow, King Gadreel stood up and interrupted the traditional ceremony, to the surprise of all. He took hold of the Lord High Priest’s staff, in the presence of that great court, then sat down upon the throne, saying, “Behold, now is the day this noble office shall be declared both King Protector and Lord High Priest as the former is relieved and discharged before the realm. The Protector and Mouthpiece are now one and the same, and henceforth shall be viewed as the physical representation of Eru-Illuvatar before men, their one true Lord.”

   “Blasphemous outrage!” The Lord High Priest shouted at Gadreel before everyone, adding, “Never before in the history of our people nor since the Founders has such been said or done!” With him, the entire court burst into astonished murmuring.

   “GUARDS!” The new king ordered, and immediately his knights snapped to stand before him, and those along the walls stood with swords drawn at the ready. Then the newly ordained Priest-King said, still seated on the great chair, “In three days the realm shall stand where you are now, and as a symbol of their acceptance that person, one at a time shall offer up a pinch of sweet incense. However, if they, as you refuse, my guards are commanded by the crown to detain them. When all the people of the realm have been offered this opportunity to pay me homage, then those detained shall be given a second chance to keep their heads where they rest. Great and small, three years and up; my word will be obeyed.” The room fell silent, then Gadreel continued, “We come to the example before us, Lord High Priest Wyndryel of Mithar, how shall you honor Eru before the people, this second time?” The king watched as did the silent court.

   Against his will, the former Lord High Priest pulled back the large sleeve of his robe, then sprinkled a pinch of incense upon the hot coals that stood between two knights, before the Priest-King. Wyndryel shook his head with disdain and walked away.

   “That was not so difficult after all, now, was it?” Without a sound uttered, the Priest-King added, “In three days we shall see who desires to play the role of martyr upon this court’s very floor. Begone and tell the populace they have a new wearer of the crown and holder of the staff.” 

  Moments later the hall was emptied of all but the Priest-King and his knights, “Malonus, gratitude, you and your men are dismissed.” 

  The Captain of the Guard yelled the orders, then bowed before Gadreel, “Your, majesty.”

   As the doors shut behind him another opened with the sound of his queen clapping her hands, “Protector and Priest, how impressive, my lord.” She smiled, with a slight head bow, “How long, Gadreel do you think this endeavor of yours shall last?”

   “For as long as I do, I am sure. What say you, Astreva?”

   The eight-year-old girl sitting on a mat beside his throne looked up at him expressionless, answering, “Mine is to record only.” She then resumed making her Scribal notations.

   “Let us see if that is true,” whispered the Queen to her husband, then to Astreva, “Child, obey your King, or by his Queen’s very hand shall we see your head lying before us on the floor.”

   Without urgency, expression, or word the young girl crossed over and sprinkled the incense onto the still burning coals. Astreva resumed her position and took up making notations, again without word or expression.

   “Beautifully done, my dear,” Gadreel said.   “Gratitude, my love,” His wife whispered. 

  “I was speaking to the Scribe.” At which the upset Queen stormed out the door she had entered, leaving the two alone in the quiet hall. 

    Three days later, in the grand meeting hall of tower Varlendur, the Lord High Priest was notably missing from the gathered court. The Overseers, Guardians and all their ministers, Mayors of the seven cities and their administrators, Merchants, Farmers and Fisherman alike; great and small, young, and old came and one by one to pay homage to the new King they called Lord Priest as well. Of all the realm, only one refused the symbolic gesture demanded. A woman with bright red hair stood alone in the realm, undaunted before the throne of the Priest-King.

  “Who is this lone holdout that defies the Lord’s decree,” asked Malonus, the Captain of the Guards.

   “I am Areiah, servant of Eru-Illuvatar, not this imposture who is a mockery before the land.” The woman stood her ground, with no raised voice. 

  Gadreel smiled, then winking at his quiet Queen, “Areiah, my generosity offers you a second chance or the last breath, which shall it be?” The great hall was as silent as a winter’s day, and so was the woman.

   Gadreel signaled a wave, and a block was brought out. The woman was made to kneel, with hands bound behind her back.

“Don’gilfellas!” The captain called for another more skilled in the art. A butcher by trade came forward to be the executioner as the Knight grabbed her red hair to keep the woman from moving away. Gadreel nodded for the act to be carried out and done with. Lifted and swung, as the blade of the two-handed ax fell, heavy upon the large block, the woman vanished. Before that watching crowd, she was gone. The King leaped off his throne even as the smoked ash settled from the air where the woman had knelt just moments before. Gadreel yelled, “WITCH!!!” He ran down to the Captain of the Guards, shaking him by both shoulders, “I do not care who else gets slain, find her or your head will be taken by my hands!” He ran off shouting for his men to follow in compliance with his majesty’s public orders.   

Straightway one hundred-and-twenty armed knights marched to the cliffside village of Sinjar, known for its Witches and Pagan idolatry. Arriving there, the forces of Mithar surrounded even the tents, Malonus called out, “People of Sinjar, by order of the King, surrender the woman Areiah! She is named a traitor of the Crown. Anyone harboring her as well shall suffer her fate.” Ignoring them, the people of the village went about their daily lives as if the soldiers were not even there. Being outraged, the captain shouted a second time as the troops slowly continued to move in. Still, the people ignored the armed forces.

Suddenly the soldiers began hacking away and mascaraing everyone in the tents below as the people began running to the refuge of the caves above. Tents were torched, and none were left alive. By the time the armored men of Mithar had entered the cliffside dwellings reports came to Captain Malonus that Sinjar was empty!

   “Where have all the people are gone? We saw them run for cover-up into these caves.”

   Two men came up to the captain. But his Second in Command insisted, “I can only tell you what we did not find, sir. The people are nowhere to be found. All the homes have been destroyed in search of anyone, not even a child was discovered.” 

  Thinking out loud, Malonus said, “We are hunting for a Witch, one who disappeared before a full court.”

   “You suspect a concealment spell?” Seljon, the Second suggested. 

  “This is why you have the rank you do, my friend. Good work! You, return to the Priest-King and tell him of what has transpired and our thoughts. Tell him also of our need for a priest familiar with such enchantment, for we know they partake of the mystic arts, now go!” 

    An hour and a half later, two riders on horseback arrived. “I am Guardian Gelbrik, a mystic of the Third Circle.” Getting down from his stead he found Malonus. 

  The captain walked the priest to the base of the steps leading up to the carved dwellings, telling him of their suspicion of spell craft, “For there is no other way the entire village entered their homes and not even a child is found, or babe heard crying.” 

  “You are quite correct, and your instincts are rather a wise captain, as well as the man who first told you.” Entering through the first ornately carved, sandstone archway they began to explore the home. Belongings were in complete disarray, “Yes, there is no place to hide here, and you say all the homes are as this very one?” 

“Yes, some smaller, some larger, but none of them with hidden chambers in the floors or ceiling,” Cavon, the Captain’s second said.

   But the priest, Gelbrik smiled, “There! There, is your hidden chamber, and I dare say that every home has this same marking and unobstructed doorway!” He waved his hand across a deeply carved EYE-circled symbol etched in the wall. “These are the sigils of the Cicadites, and their Seers mark for portals,” Gelbrik smiled at knowing something the two men beside him were ignorant of. The priest whispered something several times, each time getting closer to the wall. Just as his lips were almost touching the two soldiers alongside gasped aloud. “LOOK!” 

  Suddenly the stone face of the wall was gone revealing a long, tunneled hallway. Indistinct sounds instantly told the two knights that movements that lay beyond their light betrayed the villager’s location. Soon watches were posted as troops poured in one after another into the dark tunnels. With torches and blades drawn their intentions had already been declared as they continued to pursue the witch Areiah.  

   “Your Majesty.” The Captain of the Guards stood in the doorway of the great chamber.

   “Come, Malonus,” Gadreel, his tone less severe than before. 

  “Sire. The Witch Areiah was nowhere to be found, my Lord.” He could tell the Priest-King was not pleased, “Sire, Sinjar’s tents were burned to the ground, their ashes searched. With the aid of a Mystic priest, we found a wide chambered hall within the Blue mountains deviled deep beyond their carved homes.” 

  “And?”

   “Sire, every man, woman – and babe in arms were put to the blade, your majesty. Seven hundred and fourteen and the witch was not among there, my lord.”

   The King’s eyes remained unimpressed, “Still no witch to be found, Malonus?” 

  “No, my Lord King.”

   “What is to be done to rectify this problem do you think?”

   “I shall pursue her throughout the realm, every hamlet, village, and –“

   “Yes, yes, I know you will, my friend. But let us first cast the other net at our disposal, before your men -.” Gadreel stopped himself as a thought came to mind.

   “Sire?”

   “Through the Brotherhood’s own messengers, the word will be sent. Rest your men, and be well supplied ready to make siege and wholesale  slaughter of the realm one city at a time, so that the people may know –“   At that very moment, a page ran into the room, “My lord, My lord King!”

   “What is it, boy?”   Kneeling, “Sire, the Witch who fled execution, she was witnessed passing along the road from Elosh. She told a woman in her garden, Uhm.”

  “Out with it boy, you are here now, tell me!”   “She said, ‘Tell the Arrogant Apostate on the throne that he himself shall find me at the Standing Stones of Orid.’ My lord, forgive my words.”

   “Gratitude boy, they were not yours,” Gadreel waved the messenger away like a fly over his meal. “Malonus, this one treats me like cat and prey.”   “My lord, perhaps instead she aims for Mount Ipstha?”

   “I – I think not. The dwarves hide their own secrets and have no great love of sorcery themselves. No. No, there is something evasive about the Prophet’s Stones, something akin to her own liking. Make ready and come the morning we shall go to Orid to find this creature and learn its real purpose for defiance.” 

  “Yes, my lord,” The Captain turned to go.

   “Malonus, and no more second chances.”

   “Understood, my king.” 

THE BLIND KING

 THE BLIND KING

 

   Shimzabar had left all he ever knew behind because of a broken heart. Though they were never lovers, E’linacyl was his dearest friend. He had known her since his childhood of living in the caverns, of the razored Iron Hills of the west. When the hideous orcs had begun to return to their dank holes after the war’s end, the people fled in droves once again. E’linacyl was there with Shimzabar when they entered the abandoned elven city of Lindol hand in hand, for neither of them had parents.

   Shimzabar was terribly distraught the day he lost E’linacyl on the streets of the city. After two weeks of endless searching, he braved enough courage to cross the Great River’s walkway to search for her in the lower part of the city called Mithar. After joining the Mitharian tower cult, Shimzabar’s heart leaped for the greatest of joys upon finding his dearest friend. For E’linacyl too, was gravely distraught in having lost him and went searching as well. Like brother and sister from that time onward they never left the other’s side. Through many adventures, they grew up together and faced the most trying of experiences. They relied greatly on each other and in time even fell in love with one another. The day came in his heart that Shimzabar desired to take her as his bride. One day he confessed his love for her to his mentor Baalyick. They went to the Grand Gazebo, as his friend has seen her there earlier and desired to witness their union. But upon their arrival saw a gathering who were swooned in shocking grief for the young lady who lay dead in a pool of her own blood. Great was the weeping of Shimzabar! Long into the night, they tried to remove him from his embrace till exhaustion and grief left him numb. The King himself called for a day of mourning as all had lost that dreadful day.

 

   Before the mountain face of the dwarves’ triple Mount Jebul washed the Bay of Dim-bar, where the Blue River emptied. The Blue ran north for several leagues with four branching streams into the east. All of these were in the depths of the Norwood Forest. On the greater northern edge of Norwood, the Blue River began, and after its entry into the woods, an ancient people had once begun to weave vines from one bank across to the other. Generations of the unnamed later came and went who continued that which had once been started so long ago. The Vined Bridge of Norwood served to connect the road which cut through the forest, but in more recent times it became disused as better roads were constructed. Before the woodland’s edge a dry ravine ran for some distance and then became a trickling stream, and over this stream, that spanned the old bridge did Shimzabar find himself standing, still numb in his grief.

 

   “Welcome to the land of the blind, my name is Jared, and this sad lot of misfits call me their King! The lost wander here into this forgotten land, where the discarded are left. None are turned aside, and the dead never leave. I am the best of the worst, and we are the scrapes of whatever remained after the Great War to end them all. Come if you must, stay as you like, and help when you can.”

  “You seem to have that memorized.”

   “When memory is all one has anything new is called a good day.”

   “So, these are survivors of the war?”

   “If mere existence can be called surviving, we are just a few dregs who washed up here. There are far many other dregs who filtered off into the cities. Those who are far worse than these humbled folk, for they are called Kings, Mayors, Priests, and lords whose deep scares influence others with their own versions of pains unhealed.”

   “I am beyond sorry that you have all endured so much. It is understandable that the unlovingness of others leaves only bitterness.”

   “Bitterness makes one unapproachable, we have all moved beyond the pettiness of the old reality into the realm of acceptance. Well, except for Denarius over there, the poor fellow was disfigured by his wife for cheating, and he is just passing through.”

   “So, much for passing through, I have been here thirty-seven years with these cads!”

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STORY: THE DARK RITE

 THE DARK RITE

Four days after the Queen’s burial, King Koral sat upon his throne deep in thought. His grief was hard to endure. He felt an eroding change come over him, one that could not be undone. For his very being grew dark and his countenance fell in that unlit hall.

The Lord High Priest approached, “My lord, you sent for me.”

The shadows of the stained-glass windows gave no comfort to the seated man, “How we have gone astray, Jairus. Dark and corrupt, without even false hope to comfort us as are the dreary ways of men. For everyone seeks his own purpose at the neglect of others.” Then the King looked at the man standing before him, “Where did our fathers lose faith, and their fathers before them lose their confidence?”

The High Priest saw the King’s grief lay troubling on his face, “Sire, to return to the teaching of our forefathers – “

“Our forefathers were smarter than us for they clearly saw their goal ahead, so we were led to believe. We failed to board those ships to the celestial shores and stayed behind on these shores instead, yet in truth, I dare say it was with no clear agenda in mind, but the folly of fearful arrogance.” Koral’s inner struggle surfaced as his words were seasoned with bitterness, “Seems that we have all bought into the drifting sands of illusions, my friend.”

Shaking his head to the contrary, “Sire, ever does the doom of mortal death confront each of us to question our foundations. But it is, that which remains sure, that counsels us to be.” Jairus tried his best to console Koral’s heavy thoughts.

But the King felt he had been deeply betrayed, “We must find that which the Founding fathers once imparted to their children, and yet it somehow seems to elude us. If only we – I, could regain that bearing once more.”

“That is but the journey of all men to walk in growth, my friend” The priest’s words felt hollow.

“Yes, yes, I have heard all these things before, told to others and they fell short there too. Those are only trite words and poorly constructed distractions, given at the expense of the bothersome who weeps. If it is not for your own urgency to find answers, you sloth with bantering words about like sprinkled rose peddles, then heaping praise upon yourselves later for the good deed you have done!” The King took a drink of wine, adding, “I would rather you go off and conduct whatever your business was before than waste your breath on me. Enough of this pretense, Priest! I am full of such useless comfort for it sounds more like empty platitudes, like sand offered to a thirsty man.” Then with a darkening red face, Koral slowed to a whisper, “Consult the dead instead.”

The Priest felt uncertain about what he meant, “My lord?”

The King poured himself another full chalice, “Do not stand before me again until you or your Priesthood has devised a way to communicate with them.” Koral’s words resonated with authority.

“Them, sire?”

“Are you deaf now?”

“No, no, my king,” The High Priest stepped back sounding humble, “I ask only for clarification’s sake, my lord.”

“Then listen clearly to this, Jairus. Devise a method for contacting the dead Founders of this abandoned city, so that I may question them for myself and see my way ahead. For my heart is broken and life is meaningless.” His confidence returned briefly in the firmness of his voice.

The voice of the High Priest responded equally forceful, “Necromancy is a forbidden act that none may perform, no matter the one asking –. “

“It was not a request. I un-forbade it, and mandate it till accomplished,” Koral’s eyes blazed, unblinking in his gaze.

“That path is laden with manipulations and deceptions, my King. We must instead pray that Eru himself would aid us.“ The priest’s words were turned against him.

“We Kings allowed you, Priests, to thrive, and you, in turn, crafted the gods from thin air to control the weak-minded. I say to you once more and then am done, come to me only after you have devised a proven method of communicating with the dead. Tell me in detail about this method and then in one week thereafter show me that it works. I will judge for myself if I am being deceived, and if so, I will revel at your beheading, knowing the manipulations have ended! Now, be gone from my sight.”

Immediately, without a spoken word, the bowed man walked backward leaving the chamber.

Hours later, having confined in those he trusted most, Jairus made it clear that the King’s change of mind was serious and most unsettling, “No matter how this course of action is to be resolved I fear his reign shall be unlike his predecessors with ever dark days ahead.”

The stars, bones and stones, books and scrolls were all consulted, but no answer came. Even secret messengers were sent out in disguise to learn what they could. Weeks went by with no answers.

Then the Shaman, Kaf-anon from the village of Sinjar secretly replied to the Mitharian’s letter. He summonsed the Priest with an invitation. Indeed, a sure and proven method was known, but the last Mitharian King, Nuthcorlan, had placed a ban against what he called ‘The Dark Arts’. Though scarcely performed, it was known throughout their long history. Kaf-anon said,” It was a private ritual that came at a high cost, for the answers always held unforeseen consequences.”

Six weeks to the day after the Queen’s passing, the bells no longer sounded as the formal time of mourning had ended, but not Koral’s loss of her. It was then that the Lord High Priest of the Watchtower came and stood before the King of Eriduah, “My lord.”

“Come,” Koral’s demeanor seemed less grim than the last time they had met.

“You said to come only when a proven method was devised.”

He shook his head, “I am conflicted in my own mind.”

“Conflicted, sire?”

Koral ordered more wine to be brought in, “I am reconciled to remain lost. Foul dreams afflicted me too many nights since my harsh words to you, my friend.” He drained the chalice only to refill it again.

“Yes, my lord,” Jairus remained quiet trying to read his friend’s mood.

“Ah now I recall the terms, but you said a method was devised?” Koral sat forward on his throne with squinted eyes reading the man before him in turn. “What were the results?”

“The Sinjarian Shaman shared a long-used ritual and the details of the properties needed, which are many, sire.”

The King sat back, and waved his hand dismissively, “Let us forego the boring intricacies, for they can be used as easy distractions. Have you done this - thing?

“After a private messenger returned with news, I seek out this Kaf-anon for myself. I gave him thirty pieces of gold and your King’s pardon from the ban. Only then he did perform it in my presence.

“A woman of his village had many husbands, and each, in turn, had died leaving her to the next brother in line. She sought from the Shaman to know if her first husband approved of all the following marriages, and where his hidden gold lay. The Shaman-Witch called for a goat to be slain and its ashes poured out upon a naked child who was severely beaten, and unrelated to the woman. After many rounds of drumming, the child fell to the ground in a horrible, frightening fit, my lord. Then, with a man’s voice, the child told the woman where her first husband had buried their household goods. He had sworn his brothers into caring for her. The first husband was most pleased that she had born a son to each of his following brothers.”

The King sat for a moment and then, “So, you need a goat and child, then?”

“Sire, such cruelty must not,” the priest’s words were cut short.

“Are you able to perform this challenge in my presence, and to my satisfaction or not?” The King’s words demanded a reply.

“Sire, the mechanics of the ritual – yes, my lord.” The High Priest saw Koral desired only one answer, and it, without excuse or delays.

“Well done, Jairus. Bully for you indeed, my friend. Set it all in motion for me to observe in – say, four days’ time. Remember, priest, longtime friendship or not, your neck remains in question. Do you understand me?”

“Clearly understood, my King. In four days shall you witness it and question the Founding fathers for yourself. My neck has always been yours, sire.”

Three days later a summons had been sent out to each one of the seven major cities throughout the realm, hand delivered by Guardian Overseers themselves. It was to be opened precisely at the noon hour. The mandated invitations were addressed to the Key Elders alone, with strict reminders of their sworn oaths. Within that very hour, they were accompanied by the Guardians for a return trip to Varlendur. None were told the purpose of the trip, not even the Guardians were made aware. The Seven Elders summonsed were: Nadan of Mithar, Dollenshan of Elosh, Giladon of Mishvek, Saha-ishden of Uruk, Ba’Nashma of Sinjar, Bollo of Kathos, and Gil’galashman of Lindol. Each of the men came wearing the Tome-Key about their neck.

The market of Mithar was lined with city guards, and when the call came the streets were cleared for the seven wagons as they followed one after the other, rushing toward the Watchtower of Varlendur. The Guardians escorted the Key Elders to an empty throne room. From there a single Knight lead the Elders alone through the staircase to the Round Chamber, just below the topmost deck where there burned the eternal flame of the Watchers.

Three other Knights, of the King’s private guard, stood in the hallway. The Key Elders saw that their chosen ministerial servants had been summoned ahead of them. They stood silently along the wall, in order, and each one held out a folded black, and gold trimmed robe for the Elders to don. While they dressed, the Knight reminded them to remain silent, “I will knock on the door, only after you hear three knocks in reply may you enter in silence.” The Elders waited. The Captain of the Guards knocked, then resumed his station.

A long while passed.

Three knocks came, loudly and slowly.

Opening the door and acting as their guide was the messenger of the Lord High Overseer, Gelos. Upon entering the chamber, they immediately saw his majesty, the King sitting in a chair, and his female scribe, Lydia beside him on a floor mat. Scribes never left their King’s side and were ever writing on their tablets, even the most insignificant of things. Those who entered realized this was to be no small event as even royalty had come to preside over the secret ritual as a witness.

Without a word, Gelos gestured for the men to follow him. Seven high candle stands were lit, and a circle of salt had been drawn on the floor with the lamps just outside the line. Silence and candle flame thickened the mood as the door was shut behind them, well-guarded. Each of the Key Elders had their names drawn before the lampstands and were directed to stand in place. Beyond where they stood were two more circles, also drawn in salt. In the middle of the chamber’s triple circles there stood a stone table, mid-chest high, with a strange multisided box in the middle.

After the Elders had taken their station, Minister Gelos spoke, “Gathered here in the sacred space let our hearts plead to be heard, that the smoke of this incense is as those prayers ascending unto them who listen to all things.” With that, he took the oil lamp from the alter and lit a bowl of incense. Its sweet aroma pillared up in a thin stream.

It was then the Lord High Overseer spoke for the first time, “Welcome Key Elders from each of the seven cities of the realm. This is a summonsing rite by which the invocation of the ages may be heard.

“Brothers, one after another and by your sworn oaths, come with the key in hand and turn the lock denoted by its icon.” The seven-sided box resembled an upside-down gemstone. Having done so they returned to their station as before. “The locks of this chest were designed by the same smith who crafted those of your Tomes.” When the final key of Lindol had been inserted and turned serval clicks were heard, and its lid opened.

The Lord High Priest Jairus slowly opened the lid removing it altogether. Within it was a smaller chest made of dark mahogany, inlaid with silver vines and leaves. It was then Jairus removed a key from within his own shirt and opened the smaller box. Opening it he then removed yet another box that was the size of his hand, from tip to heel. It was very ornate and shaped almost like a huge oval. The Lord High Priest Jairus announced, “Behold! The Almond Seed. Within is all that remains of the Holy Dead, the ashes of our most beloved founding fathers.” He then slipped off the cover and carefully sprinkled a delicate portion into one half of a white shell that sat on the altar. From a brilliant brass bowl, the High Priest used the side of a knife blade to take a portion of powder and pour it onto the ashes, “These are the ashes from the spent, funeral incense mixed with new.” Then he poured from a jade vessel blood mixed with olive oil, “The blood of the High Priests before me, and the virgin press from the King’s tree. These we mix together, the old and new, from them to us, unto the here and now. By the unspeakable name of Eru-Illuvatar, I thus invoke their voices through time to be among us now!” Everyone in the room, except the King and Scribe covered their faces in their hands. It was then the High Priest ignited the incense mixture using the flame of a lamp on the altar. The herbal smoke streamed upward and dissipated. Jairus glanced over at King Koral, then up at the ceiling above the alter, and said,

“Unto you ancient Fathers, Mothers.

come now you Watchers before these others,

manifest your voice before our eyes,

prick our hearts with solemn cries,

that we plead our gravest needs!”

It was at that very moment the flames of the seven lampstands blew out. Yet its ascending smoke took on the radiance of a pale moon’s light, as did the incense smoke on the altar table. Everyone watched in awe as the smoke formed a great dome over those gathered within the salted-protective circle. They remained with wide eyes even as the indistinct voices of several people whispering could be heard. From the streaming smoke of the incense, a rotating pillar began to form and grew in stature. Its light pulsed with the whispering words. The many voices blended to become the single voice of a woman, “Wh, wh, why, why have you so conjured us back to this side among the living? Why have you disturbed the grace of our serene peace in unimaginable bliss with Him? Who hath done this crime against the reward of our bliss?” The smoke was undecided on how it should appear, as a male or female. Then the body and face of a woman took shape and resembled the beauty of the ancient Lady! Her voice and tone grew in reproach and scorn, “Come forth, you instead, and reveal thy form and explain the abomination of this mockery you have shamed us into becoming! Know well that we will not be your slave, beck, and call! Speak, why?”

Jairus tried to sound confident, but everyone heard the dread in his voice, “Nay sacred mother, Lilikiss! Forgive this intrusion upon your favored reward, our only boon is to know where falls our next step in the goal of your vision for your children, we prayerfully ask?”

It was that ancient mother, in all her glory! Yet miss shaped as a whisp of glowing smoke. Her beauty had succumbed to her wrath with a face admonishing in terror, “Shame on you for this defilement of what remains of that shell wherein we once walked, in that now passed away realm! Forbidden such matters are, unthinkable to conceive, yet I will not bow unto your demanded request of us. When in our living state did, we not leave words penned for you to recall? Did we not live lives by which examples were laid? Yes, on both accounts, and if you disregard them, this mode will do you none the better good. You are but a heedless lost generation, vile among yourselves in having thrown away all that we once were for a world turned upside down! Foolish children bother us no more as these seeds shall see what befalls you now. Be gone and study what has left you or forget us altogether, but in all things leave us to our time.”

It was then King Koral stood up, “But my Lady!”

She shouted, “NEVER AGAIN!” A tremendous wind rushed down vanquishing the dome of smoke. The windowless chamber went black, then echoed with noise. A breath later and all the lamps and candles blazed to life once more. Bodies lay strewed about, moaning. The seven Elders had been thrown backward, landing on the floor and up against the walls with bleeding heads. The salted-protective circles were blown away, littering the floor in disarray. The Ministerial Overseer and High Priest lay toppled on one another. Even the King himself lay on his side with the collapsed remains of his broken chair beneath him. It was only the nine-year-old girl who stood, uninjured beside the King’s feet.

Koral called out, “Guards!” The four knights instantly burst through the unlocked door with swords drawn. “Kill all the priests leave none, alive!”

But it was the soft voice of Lydia who disarmed them all, “Stop - being the man, and be the king.”

All were frozen where they entered, Koral looked from the girl to the startled soldiers, “Belay that command.” At which they complied, sheathing their weapons and began helping the robed men to their feet. No one spoke a word as they heard Koral’s voice crack, “I have my answer now, and I – your king, was wrong in his asking. Forgive a foolish, grief-stricken old man. But I am sorely afraid that I have brought down wrath upon us all. The very walls themselves shall not go unchanged.” Gathering himself off the floor Koral nodded to the High Priest and then left the room. His Scribe and private guards followed close behind in silence.

STORY LINE

Strangers who entered the realm of Eriduah [in the west of the world], were quickly noted for being different. Immigrants were referred to by the residing people as the worldly, goat-like, wayward, the unknowns; but those who became citizens of the realm were called The Remembered of The Gathering. If a citizen refused to continue in the religious system they would be scorned, and shunned for being “Apostates”, betrayers of the faith. To be a citizen one had gone to the city of Mithar [the Remembered] and stand before the King to publicly request salvation. Of one’s own free willingness they had to attend the Houses of Learning, built at the base of the Lighthouse called Varlendur [Tower of Strong Friends].

Only having ascended through the Watchtower’s Four Houses could a person earn the possibility of eternal salvation from the Doom to come. The diamond tattoo on the left hand denoted the completion of the four degrees, which declared Eru’s favor upon their merits. Only through this divinely ordained system were new immigrants taught: the language of Sinquinto, the history, and religion of Mithar, basic trade skills, and tutors to teach them to others. Of these servants, those who were serious about obtaining passage through the end of the world to come accepted the Rings of Fellowship. To the uninitiated, the rings were mere symbols of devotion, but from that class were the spiritual leaders chosen. These were the Anointed Candidates of the higher calling. They first began as Scribes, who would meticulously reproduce copies of the oldest documents, these in turn would be known as Holy Text.

The Holy Texts were all of the original documents and letters of the Founding Fathers. They wrote and spoke of creating a new people after the end of The Great War, and the mass exile of the ancient elves. Later these, along with oral traditions and celebrations were mandatorily gathered and re-edited; in what came to be known as The Great Purge. These heavily standardized copies were represented as especially bounded Seven Volumes of Truth. These were gifted from the King’s Priest to the seven largest cities of the realm of Eriduah, those being: Mithar, Elosh, Mishvek, Uruk, Sinjar, Kathos, and Lindol. It was the second King, Legandriel who commissioned a Meeting Hall to be constructed in each one of the seven cities. The Halls were to be exact duplicates of The Great Hall in Mithar. They housed the sacred library, where everyone in the city or realm could come read, study, and discuss the works openly for themselves.

Under the reign of the fourth King, Koral came what was to be called The Second Purge or The Organization of the Order of the Brotherhood. It began with replacing the seven ancient volumes with a single tome. It also came with a new structure of leadership which was greatly diminished to just a few men, as women were to be submissive with no teaching role. Women could only be Scribe, and in their youth only. The ritualistic tattoo markings were done away with, yet the Rings of Fellowship were retained. Few of the old, the anointed class were reappointed into the new organization. The Order had Ministerial servants, who answered to the Council of Elders, who answered to Guardian Overseers, who reported to the High Overseer, who was the second to his Lordship High Priest. The Lord High Priest was the spiritual advisor to the King, Eru’s hand upon the land.

Every three years the Order of the Brotherhood held their Great Assemblage within the city of Mithar. Other cities desired to hold these mass gatherings, yet none could house the whole of the seven Halls. Uruk could have but its Lord, Katamel-hada sought plans of his own rulership, but that is lore for another telling.

The time of the Assemblage became more than continuing to retain or appoint new members of the Elder’s Council and Overseers but making changes called doctrines and New Light. Only in the Meeting Halls did the local people gather, but during the great Assemblages, everyone was thrilled to meet others in the Truth of Varlendur. Songs were sung, and over time these and the special talks delivered by Silas, the Master Quill, were heard and recorded. The detailed clarifications that Silas espoused as a new light, in view of recent understandings and events were like exciting news for the people to share. These, Pages of Silas, were later produced and added to the Sacred Tome. They greatly encouraged the study of Varlendur’s own growing history and re-interpretations of ancient lore. The God Eru slowly shared with Men, through His sole Channel of communication called, The Mouthpiece of Eru a progressive and developing view of his grand plan. But the vile influences of the Dark Lord had stained the hearts of men much like the lands had been desolated in war. A final cleansing by Eru himself was coming and only the faithful would be saved from his wrath, with the guidance and leadership of his Mouthpiece! Such is the Mitharian truth.