Post by Kage2020 on Apr 3, 2005 21:48:09 GMT -5
Only the stat of a piece this time...
THE TEARS OF ISHA
Ereneth came to this serosa’men, this ‘place of nature’, as she had done many times before. She had always found it comforting but, until now, had never before felt such a draw on her soul. The goddess called to her and, while she knew that the gods had been slaughtered during the birth throes of the Great Enemy, she also knew that every eldar could conjure up, if only for short periods, the god-hood that resided in all eldar. Their memories gave birth to the gods as they had done in the past and would continue to do so in the future: mar a bha, mar a tha, mar a bhitheas a bragh go.
The thunderous sound of the waterfall could be heard for “miles” around, shaking the very ground as she stalked closer through Kernuous’ realm of light, shade, forest and glade. The heartwood trees that composed the forest seemed to become more densely placed, growing larger than those that had guided her path before. Irrationally Ereneth could not help but feel that the gods still protected their most sacred of places, the stand of trees acting as a barrier against those who would idly pry. Rationally, however, she knew that the increased water vapour allowed the trees to grow that much more. The irrational versus the rational; myth versus objective reality, if such a thing could be said to exist. Such was the common conundrum that proliferated throughout eldar culture and the niche within which the Harlequins had settled following the Fall.
With a suddenness that hinted of the artificial the trees stopped and Ereneth found herself in the sacred glade. Natural satisfaction at the construction within the seorsa’men warred with an awe impressed with over a “century” of what could now only be called pilgrimages to this place, each visit allowing more emotion to filter through her self-imposed barriers. As she looked beyond the forest this time she knew that her visit was different, the feeling of pulling on her soul evidence of that, though those self-same barriers would not allow her to intuit a reason.
Even at this distance she could feel the water spray from the two mighty waterfalls which cascaded from the top of the wraithbone cliff to the rocks beneath. The cliff itself formed a semi-circle of roughened wraithbone, the two waterfalls equidistant from a raised prominotory at the centre. It was not known whether the Bonesingers had deliberately crafted the cliff into this shape or whether they were guided by the echo of the gods that the eldar felt. Regardless, all eldar could see in this mighty cliff the face of Isha, mother goddess of the eldar and thus the place had become sacred, attesting to the power of the old stories and the rhyme and rhythm of mythology and reality.
If the cliff was Isha’s face then the waterfalls became Her tears, cascading down onto the iron-rich rocks some “three hundred metres” beneath the two rivers that formed the Eyes of Isha. The water of Her tears changed from the sparkling blue of the youthful Maiden that gave birth to the Eldar to the tempestuous and frothing white of the Mother, only to become a cloud of water vapour that extended her grief to Kernuos, her lover and the forest above, and the smith-god Vaul in the rocks below.
Time had not worn a pool beneath the waterfalls, instead the water flowed like snow over the sanguine rocks, all but coming together at a single, mighty slab of wraithbone before forming a small lake that had become known as the Pool of Spirits. The slab of wraithbone was known as the Anvil of Vaul, for it was on this artefact that Vaul had forged the Tears of Isha into the spirit and rune stones which had allowed Isha to communicate with her mortal children, the eldar. Carved with the intricate eldar script, a moment of language frozen at the point of conceptualisation, the Anvil of Vaul surmounted a single, rather simple cavern that was thought of as His Forge.
It was to the Forge that Ereneth felt herself drawn. As she walked across the grass to the Pool of Spirits instinct gradually crossed her mental barriers, and she became certain that it was her soul that was to be forged at this sacred place, not some artefact. Yet was their truly a difference? The soul was merely an artefact of the forces of the universe, created by the will of the gods that were themselves created by those self-same souls. A paradoxical situation, true, but such was the way of sha’el.
Standing on the very edge of the Pool of Spirits, Ereneth divested herself of her outer robe, the symbol and iconography of the “Spider” Clan disappearing as it left contact with her skin. Underneath she wore a simple white tabard, split at the sides, which flowed down to her ankles. Clearing her mind of the superfluos details, Ereneth concentrated on the pool before her and, by association, the vital element of water. Then she stepped forward, the movement of her feet spreading ripples out into the Pool of Spirits…
And with that movement came stasis; a focus of the mind on the essence of the water around her. Like a whirlpool her mind focussed around her inner essence, the barrier between mind and emotion thinning though not entirely breaking down. As she walked further into the Pool and sank deeper into the calming waters, so to did her mind sink futher into itself until she reached the singularity at which spacetime and mind fold together. By the time her simple robe was spread out on the surface of the water, he fingers tracing the surface as far as her arms could stretch, she was at peace. With herself, with the world around her and with what was to come.
Looking out over the Pool of Spirits Ereneth let sight become Sight, her vision blurring slightly as she did so. Over the surface of the water she saw the manifold reflections of possibility, images shimmering from the possible to the probable and back again. She saw the faded auras of those that had visited this place before her, even saw her own and the path that she must now take.
Slowly sinking into the cool water she began to slowly swim across the Pool, her presence sending ripples and pulses of possibility and probability. In this she saw the simple truth: the presence of even a single eldar could alter the truth of reality and, by moving one way or another, could begin to shape that reality to desire. For an instant she grasped a greater shape behind the images she saw, links that extended through time and perception, but it rapidly disappeared the harder she clutched the image.
THE TEARS OF ISHA
Ereneth came to this serosa’men, this ‘place of nature’, as she had done many times before. She had always found it comforting but, until now, had never before felt such a draw on her soul. The goddess called to her and, while she knew that the gods had been slaughtered during the birth throes of the Great Enemy, she also knew that every eldar could conjure up, if only for short periods, the god-hood that resided in all eldar. Their memories gave birth to the gods as they had done in the past and would continue to do so in the future: mar a bha, mar a tha, mar a bhitheas a bragh go.
The thunderous sound of the waterfall could be heard for “miles” around, shaking the very ground as she stalked closer through Kernuous’ realm of light, shade, forest and glade. The heartwood trees that composed the forest seemed to become more densely placed, growing larger than those that had guided her path before. Irrationally Ereneth could not help but feel that the gods still protected their most sacred of places, the stand of trees acting as a barrier against those who would idly pry. Rationally, however, she knew that the increased water vapour allowed the trees to grow that much more. The irrational versus the rational; myth versus objective reality, if such a thing could be said to exist. Such was the common conundrum that proliferated throughout eldar culture and the niche within which the Harlequins had settled following the Fall.
With a suddenness that hinted of the artificial the trees stopped and Ereneth found herself in the sacred glade. Natural satisfaction at the construction within the seorsa’men warred with an awe impressed with over a “century” of what could now only be called pilgrimages to this place, each visit allowing more emotion to filter through her self-imposed barriers. As she looked beyond the forest this time she knew that her visit was different, the feeling of pulling on her soul evidence of that, though those self-same barriers would not allow her to intuit a reason.
Even at this distance she could feel the water spray from the two mighty waterfalls which cascaded from the top of the wraithbone cliff to the rocks beneath. The cliff itself formed a semi-circle of roughened wraithbone, the two waterfalls equidistant from a raised prominotory at the centre. It was not known whether the Bonesingers had deliberately crafted the cliff into this shape or whether they were guided by the echo of the gods that the eldar felt. Regardless, all eldar could see in this mighty cliff the face of Isha, mother goddess of the eldar and thus the place had become sacred, attesting to the power of the old stories and the rhyme and rhythm of mythology and reality.
If the cliff was Isha’s face then the waterfalls became Her tears, cascading down onto the iron-rich rocks some “three hundred metres” beneath the two rivers that formed the Eyes of Isha. The water of Her tears changed from the sparkling blue of the youthful Maiden that gave birth to the Eldar to the tempestuous and frothing white of the Mother, only to become a cloud of water vapour that extended her grief to Kernuos, her lover and the forest above, and the smith-god Vaul in the rocks below.
Time had not worn a pool beneath the waterfalls, instead the water flowed like snow over the sanguine rocks, all but coming together at a single, mighty slab of wraithbone before forming a small lake that had become known as the Pool of Spirits. The slab of wraithbone was known as the Anvil of Vaul, for it was on this artefact that Vaul had forged the Tears of Isha into the spirit and rune stones which had allowed Isha to communicate with her mortal children, the eldar. Carved with the intricate eldar script, a moment of language frozen at the point of conceptualisation, the Anvil of Vaul surmounted a single, rather simple cavern that was thought of as His Forge.
It was to the Forge that Ereneth felt herself drawn. As she walked across the grass to the Pool of Spirits instinct gradually crossed her mental barriers, and she became certain that it was her soul that was to be forged at this sacred place, not some artefact. Yet was their truly a difference? The soul was merely an artefact of the forces of the universe, created by the will of the gods that were themselves created by those self-same souls. A paradoxical situation, true, but such was the way of sha’el.
Standing on the very edge of the Pool of Spirits, Ereneth divested herself of her outer robe, the symbol and iconography of the “Spider” Clan disappearing as it left contact with her skin. Underneath she wore a simple white tabard, split at the sides, which flowed down to her ankles. Clearing her mind of the superfluos details, Ereneth concentrated on the pool before her and, by association, the vital element of water. Then she stepped forward, the movement of her feet spreading ripples out into the Pool of Spirits…
And with that movement came stasis; a focus of the mind on the essence of the water around her. Like a whirlpool her mind focussed around her inner essence, the barrier between mind and emotion thinning though not entirely breaking down. As she walked further into the Pool and sank deeper into the calming waters, so to did her mind sink futher into itself until she reached the singularity at which spacetime and mind fold together. By the time her simple robe was spread out on the surface of the water, he fingers tracing the surface as far as her arms could stretch, she was at peace. With herself, with the world around her and with what was to come.
Looking out over the Pool of Spirits Ereneth let sight become Sight, her vision blurring slightly as she did so. Over the surface of the water she saw the manifold reflections of possibility, images shimmering from the possible to the probable and back again. She saw the faded auras of those that had visited this place before her, even saw her own and the path that she must now take.
Slowly sinking into the cool water she began to slowly swim across the Pool, her presence sending ripples and pulses of possibility and probability. In this she saw the simple truth: the presence of even a single eldar could alter the truth of reality and, by moving one way or another, could begin to shape that reality to desire. For an instant she grasped a greater shape behind the images she saw, links that extended through time and perception, but it rapidly disappeared the harder she clutched the image.
