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The World of Teréth End |
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"...[name] stood in the [name2] Hall, a hundred peers watching from the galleys above. She called her Provider's name, and all could feel the power she commanded. [name3] summoned his wards, but all that watched knew his efforts were in vain. The next name she offered was his, and the misery of [name3] was legend." translated from Dekàlan fragment found in ruins of Ilduùn  |
Portrait of Elésea the Eleventh Dates: 623-now DR I wake this morning to the smell of fragrant flowers wafting into my chambers from the gardens of Albùmor. The sun's light is warm on my face and the gentle sounds of stringed music rise on soft morning breezes from many courtyards below. I lay still for a time that is both long and not enough. The sound of an opening door is followed by the quiet pad of bare feet on polished stone. The morning's meal is placed at the bed's end and the feet scurry quietly away. My life is filled with the smell of flowers, the gentle sounds of music in every hall and chamber, and the unceasing pad of quiet feet rushing here and there that I might never need to lift a hand to help myself. This is not the life I chose. This is the life that chose me. Standing now at the east balcony with honeyed bread in one hand and a finely crafted glass of wine in my left, I look out across the city of Taldàna and see the smoke of a thousand chimneys, the people and their wagons and their horses and the bright sails of a a hundred ships that crowd sun-dappled harbor. The smell is not as pleasant here as it was in bed. The censers cannot keep the world at bay when the windows are swung wide and the curtains drawn. Among those below I cannot walk for I am the soul of this of this Temple and it is my body. I am the last of an ancient line but one day I will chose another to succeed me, as I was chosen a decade ago. Perhaps one of those that walk below will be the next to stand here, looking down. Behind a heavy curtain plays a stringed quartet. They are careful not to miss a note though I am their only audience. The water is hot and the flower petals that float atop have already begun to show their death. It is odd that the music they play is a variation on an old ballad about a man that hunts a bear. In a previous life I knew the words but I can't recall them now. This is more of my life. I share countless memories of things I have never done, have never seen, have never experienced; and yet I remember them all. When I turn my mind to something I can remove the veil that hides them, but I rarely do. I am content with the memories that I gained when I lived like the people below the hill. It seems wrong to delve into the lives of those that came before me. I do not delve into the thoughts of Meol, especially not my beloved Meol. When the sun is highest a priestess approaches. She watches her feet as she walks, stopping a distance from me. I used to look at people's eyes when they spoke to me. I used to smile and people used to smile at me. Now there is only awe and reverence. The priestess asks forgiveness for this intrusion. It is something she does daily. It is no intrusion but without forgiveness she cannot continue so I grant her this and she thanks me. My life is ritual. She then relates to me the day's news from the city below the hill and word from the surrounding cities and towns. She reads letters sent by local lords seeking permissions and support. She reads reports from the southern borderlands were the realm's children do blind business. There are those who do not believe that I hear these stories, but I do. I hear of everything that happens here, because I alone am responsible for their spirits, their souls. Through me they are blessed and sent on to the lands that dreaded Draun has prepared for them. It is I, they are told, that calls each name to the fisherman and orders that he draw each from the River of Death. This, the heaviest of my burdens, is true. Each month a list is prepared for me, compiled from temples and shrines throughout the realm. I sit then in the sanctuary and speak with my Lady and I tell her the names of the faithful that have passed on. She listens but says nothing. The southern unpleasantness have made the lists much longer. I do pray that it ends soon but I know in my heart that the true tragedy of our time is yet to come. Days ago I received word from the northern High Lord and his words opened me to great despair. I looked into the garden waters and saw thousands of men clashing on a hundred battlefields. I saw the widows of battle standing in their razed houses, looking out across their ashen smoking fields. I saw the pennants of ships from a dozen kingdoms and men sinking lifelessly into the deep places. I saw all lands and above them all the trident of the fisherman, and the sun was like blood. I recoiled from all of this. I tried to pull away from the images and visions brought to me. For the first time I opened my thoughts to those memories that are not my own and I searched them for the strength found by my predecessors in times such as these. With every chamber I opened I was greeted with the words, "I am sorry", for none could offer me comfort. But finally, with a hundred doors closed behind me I came to a very old one. Though it was dust-covered and opened reluctantly the Love remained inside. There I found a face I had never known. The face said to me, "The time is changing. The world will be reborn again. If you must know more, seek the Sons of Light for they remember the last change." With those words I was returned to the garden pool and left to wonder how I might meet with one of Light's sons. I looked up to see my messengers leaving, their shoulders heavy with the paths that had chosen them.
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Navigation Class Index Adept (Adp) |
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Ref. PHB (Player's Handbook), © Wizards of the Coast  |
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