| SILENT CRIES Third Creed By Corrigan For the right to be deemed Champion of Solaris, Galyn Dedaien had to brave the entirety of his pilgrimage, from Elldwin to the Shar Kal isles, and many fraught places between for the answers he sought. When they were found, he rejoiced with fast for two days before breaking on the third and returning home, Solaris’ symbol and divinity radiating from him, and he himself becoming a beacon of the Light. excerpt from The Champion Tale Jorad Tenn “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been almost a year since my last confession. I have committed an act of lust wi…” The words trailed away as Calliope glided by, ignoring the Elven man’s confessions. “So then, High Illumin, what will you do?” inquired the Solus, Diedrik. He was a lithe Sun Elven male with long, pale golden hair that ran down his back below his rear. The white robes with pale blue and yellow highlights adorning him signified his rank as only second to the High Illumin herself. If ever there was a need for her absence, he would mind the children of Solaris in her stead. He sounded sincere in his inquiries. “I’m not quite sure, to be honest, old friend…” Calliope returned heavily. In truth, she was at her wit’s end over this. A dead end had been reached and she was beginning to fear there was no mortal answer, that all that could be done was to wait for Their return. “Perhaps…” Both the Solus and High Illumin stopped, startled at the sudden word from Garrett. “If I may, High Illumin?” She nodded. “Perhaps something can be done, that has not been done in a great deal of time?” Solus Llilethelas quirked an eyebrow. “What do you suggest, Gallant?” “A pilgrimage, Solus.” Both Solus and High Illumin raised their brows in some surprise. “A pilgrimage? Well, you are correct that it has not happened for a great deal of time. Why, the last occurred nearly a millennium ago!” “Indeed,” added Calliope, “No one has felt the need for one in so long, there has been no pull for it. What would make you suggest that now, Garrett?” The Gallant locked his cold eyes with hers, though not cold of heart, but of duty. “High Illumin, I did not only gauge young Cant’s potential as a Zealot, but I too gauged his desire, ambition, and spirit. I believe, High Illumin, Cant is who we may look to in this time.” “Cant… Indeed…” Calliope drew in upon herself for reflection. “Cant Enyyale? Is he not a scribe? You suggest sending a lad not yet even beyond his first robes on a pilgrimage in search of answers not even the High Illumin can find?” asked Diedrik incredulously. “Quite so, Solus,” came Garrett’s simple response. The Dark Elf maintained his usual calm. Rather uncharacteristically, the High Illumin broke from thought and responded, “Why not? At this point, perhaps that is just what is needed.” ”High Illumin?” Diedrik asked, uncertain. “A shot in the dark, as they say, Diedrik. From the dark can only come light, no? We must find young Cant and have him prepare immediately,” Calliope continued, stalking on with purpose now. “Perhaps some caution? I think a thorough thinking through may be in order, High Illumin.” “The time for hesitation has passed, Diedrik. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are gods that need finding.” “By the Gods, wherever in the Abyss they may be, it is no wonder so many scholars are mad, Esmené! It is tomes and texts like these that drive people into senility!” cried Cant, throwing himself back in his chair. “Oh hush. Don’t be such a child about it. If all you are going to do is complain then kindly pack up and leave,” came Esmené’s cool response. She never even glanced up from the text before her; she had grown used to his breaches of silence. He scoffed. “We’ve been through this motion before, Esmené.” ”True.” She studied intently. “Shut up.” Mildly taken aback, Cant could muster no words. He returned to his studies instead. Again, silence surrounded them for nearly a bell before the sound of rustling armour echoed not far off. Cant was first to raise his head and his eyes quickly widened. “Esmené!” he whispered. “What?” she hissed, looking up. She noted him staring off towards the noise and followed his gaze. The High Illumin and her Gallant approached. Quickly, the two scribes got to their feet. “Please, relax, both of you,” said Calliope softly as the two bowed, hands pressed together before their chest as if in prayer. “How may we serve you, High Illumin?” asked Cant weakly, trying to gain some composure. “It will not only be me you’ll be serving, Scribe Cant, but all of Illcara.” His eyes widened further. “High Illumin?” Esmené seemed to be sharing his shock. “Come with me,” the High Illumin looked to Esmené too, “both of you. We have much to talk about.” Sleep had not come easily to Cant the night prior. Excitement threatened to rend him apart. All day he was aglow. “Oh come down from your cloud, fool!” Esmené was constantly saying throughout the day whenever she saw the dumbfounded look on his face. There was no more studying to be done as the High Illumin suspected they would not return in time for their testing. Instead she offered an ultimatum: return safely from the pilgrimage, preferably with answers, and they would be pardoned from their examinations and passed. Calliope had wanted them to be focused solely on their task, not distracting themselves with stress and studying. To that end, today was a day of rest and preparation for them. Rest for the pair of young scribes while their guardian made the preparations. Inquisitor Eran Illidis would watch over them in their travels. Apparently he was a noteworthy combatant and one of the best of Garrett’s pupils. They had yet to meet him, but that would come later that evening. For now, Cant stared at the clouds above, drifting lazily in the pure blue sky. The breeze that carried them, so high above, played with his blonde bangs. He had since left Esmené to her newfound stress over the journey to enjoy the feeling of freedom. Whatever fancy took him now, whether it be finding treasure, or fighting dragons, Cant let it come to him. The young lad smiled. Fourth Creed By Corrigan There’re many things out there I would want to see and do… Though, there’re many things out there I’ve seen and done, and wish I never had… ~ Parsis Cole, retired commander Calliope bowed low before the Queen, who bowed equally as low in return. In each other’s eyes was a being demanding great respect: The Queen of all Sun Elven kind, and the spokeswoman of Solaris for all First Born. “My Queen, it is a pleasure as always,” greeted Calliope politely. “And you, High Illumin. To what do I owe the honour of your grace this evening?” Areeal Silverleaf seated herself once more in the great oaken thrown at her back. It resided in the centre of a raised dais, shrouded in an indigo carpet that led a straight line dividing the grand chamber in two. It was of high, vaulted ceilings of a strange, mottled gold marble through which the night sky could be seen high above – sorcery in all its wonder. “We have made a move, this day, in search of our lost divinity, your Majesty.” “Do tell, your Grace.” The Queen quirked an eyebrow, intrigued. She waved a hand to a nearby velvet curtain, also of indigo, which apparently covered an entrance to some side hall, as a servant emerged and walked calmly to her side. “A chair, for Her Grace, if you will.” A sharp nod and the servant was off. Not waiting for the seat, Calliope enlightened the Queen of the situation, of Cant and Esmené’s pilgrimage – interrupted midway by her offered chair of plush velvet and oak – and finished with their morning departure. Not a long tale, and certainly not one requiring the seat. Regardless, the High Illumin sat in wait for Areeal’s response. “And you think they will find something, your Grace?” Calliope seemed to consider the question, asking it of herself, then nodded assuredly. “Yes, my Queen. My Squires will find something… I am sure of it…” So she believed she was. “By the Gods…” breathed Cant, eyes wide with awe. “It’s wondrous!” Eran chuckled. “It is only Crysm Lake, young Squire.” “I know. I mean, I’ve seen the clearing, but never the waters themselves… The way its catches the night sky… Like a mirror…” Esmené surveyed in silence, but seemed equally calmed and pleased at the sight. Indeed, the slowly fading dusk was captivated in the pristine surface of Crysm Lake, creating an exact breath-taking duplicate of the heavens. The leaves above and behind them rustled at the touch of a sudden breeze that kissed the placid waters, rippling them slightly. “Aye, it does inspire a sense of awe. Come, let us press on. We can make some more distance before total nightfall.” Nudging their mounts on, they rode around the north-eastern edge of the lake a few bells more before Eran called them to a halt. So unused to riding, both Squires needed aid dismounting due to stiff joints and buttock’s. Many a laugh came from the Inquisitor at their plight. “So this is what is like to adventure. Still loving as much as you did in your dreams, Cant?” Esmené stabbed out. Grinning broadly, Cant nodded. Sighing in disgust, she waddled off to stretch her muscles while the young boy Elf moved to Eran’s side as the Inquisitor unpacked. “Need help?” “Eh?” grunted Eran, heaving down his heavy saddlebags. “If you’d like.” He pointed to Cant’s horse. “Find the fire starting kit in your pack and grab up some tinder.” Looking around for a moment in the growing dark, Eran nodded in one direction and pointed at a clear patch of dirt. “Dig out a firepit there and get us a fire going, Squire.” “Of course, Inquisitor!” said Cant eagerly, rushing off to do as he was asked. Arms full of tinderbox, shovel and the flint stone, Cant slowly waddled to the designated fire pit and promptly relieved himself of his cargo. As he began digging in, Esmené ambled towards him. “What are you doing?” “Getting… a… fire started… Unh!” breathed Cant between grunts and shovel strikes. Clumps of dirt slowly piled behind him. “Cant, you have never struck flint in your life. What makes you think you’ll be able to strike a fire?” she berated, hands on hips. Panting and sweating, he stopped for a moment, leaning on his knees. “You know, Esmené, with all your condescension, you’ll probably turn into a far better man.” She stared at him blankly, brows raised; he’d never replied so much to the quick. Mouth open, as if to speak, but no words escaped her lips, thus they closed. After staring at one-another a few beats more, Cant returned to his work, Esmené sitting, knees tucked to her chest, watching in silence. At length, the beginnings were ready, and Eran arrived with tinder to aid with Cant’s attempts. After surprisingly few attempts and a brief tutorial by their guardian, the squire was able to get the fire burning. “Esmené, please retrieve the hatchet from Cant’s horse. Cant, I saw a log just off over there, please drag it over,” ordered Eran, pointing them off respectively. Both were quick to their tasks and returned promptly. Several quick chops later and Eran was adding logs to their now steadily burning fire. Surveying their work, Eran nodded approvingly. “Not bad for an unworldly squire like yourself, Cant.” “Thank you, Inquisitor,” replied Cant, blushing at the praise, though it was little distinguished in the darkness. “Now then,” grunted the Inquisitor as he stood, “who’s hungry?” Pain… Agony, anguish… So much pain! Where? Where is it? Oh the pain… I don’t know where it is? I can’t find it! I don’t want to find it… Not ever… The pain! Cold sweat. Heavy breaths. Heaving chest. Warm body beside. No love. Serenity did not know what she had just seen. No, not seen… So much as felt… But I did see something, only a glimmer… Didn’t I? She really was not certain. Slowing her breaths, the raven-haired beauty looked to her left, watching the calm rise and fall of the man’s breathing. Just another patron, this one. Thankfully, much more handsome than most. She always did prefer the travellers. Calm, quiet, and mostly in shape. But like all of them, there was still a certain coldness to their touch, caresses, lustful motions; it all felt so… detached… She leaned forward, knees to legs, forehead resting in palms, attempting to clear her jarred thoughts and shattered dreams. It had been the third night. What did a prostitute have to do with such troublesome dreams… Nightmares, rather… I don’t know… |
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