Post by Astrael on Jul 18, 2012 3:08:32 GMT -5
((Written initially for the July competition, but ended up not being prose and not fitting the word length. Still, I'm pretty happy with how it ended up, so I'm putting it here. Still grooming the final stanzas to get them to flow, but it's 90% there))
The ruins of the city were as ominous as the pitch-black night. The moon was dark and the stars were choked behind the half-standing walls and crumbling towers. The historian shuffled through its streets with only a small lantern in hand, its light shaded so he would not loose his night vision completely. The old man carefully sidestepped around the boulders and debris that littered the cobbled street, wary for the holes that were masked by fallen leaves and twigs. The city itself was eerily quiet; not even the wilds could take back what had belonged to them. Every breath had a metallic taste to it from the residual spells that lingered, and the bones of the fallen left a clear message.
It was near midnight when the historian reached the center plaza of the city, where an untouched obelisk stood in stark contrast to the ruins that lay around it. He rested on the side of a crumbling fountain while he withdrew the necessary components for his task- a parchment and quill with plenty of ink. He had waited many years for this night; when the calendar aligned to the Night of Sorrows and only the fey moon would be in the sky. It was only on this night that he might be able to converse with the dead and finally get the full tale of how the city, once the largest in the land, had risen and fallen.
The fey moon rose with a pale green glow, casting the ruins in a decaying light. The obelisk took in the light and then began to cast its own, growing in strength as the moon rose to show its entire face. Then the light detached itself from the stone, forming the rough shape of a man in dark shrouded robes centered on the obelisk.
Without prompting, he spoke, his deep mournful voice echoing over the hard stone of the plaza. A green haze rose from the ground and enveloped the city, and as the shade spoke, the haze shifted to illustrate his story.
I rise this night to tell the tale
Of three brothers and their errs,
Who through their toil this city built,
And by their hands their own blood spilt.
Three brothers came unto this land,
Working together hand in hand.
Their vision was a people united,
In a world that stayed divided.
The First of three magic sought,
with mystic words and higher thought,
he built the wizard's spire here,
for all to see both far and near.
The second was concerned with wealth,
Through trade and wage and talk and stealth.
He brought with him the merchants here,
and fed their greed with ships and piers.
The third thought only of fame and glory,
And who would tell his greatest story,
To that he raised a glorious host,
Who would, for him, march forth and boast.
Thus they drew folk to this city,
with promise grand and buildings pretty,
until the edge of their lands grew,
and what would come no one knew.
The Elves lived in the forest next,
The human's growth their people vexed,
For their land, once vast, grew small,
and soon there was not food for all
To the city the elves did plead,
But their words did not take seed,
The humans' hunger was too great,
And so the the brothers sealed their fate
Against the humans the elves marched out,
With banners tall and warriors stout,
Across the people's farms and fields,
Killing all who would not yield.
Respond to them did the Third,
With trumpets and proclaims unfurled,
He marched out with his army great,
His people roused and full of hate
Their forces near the river met,
With battle lines and trenches set.
Three times they met to try to settle,
But both were married to their metal.
For five months their forces fought,
Both loosing warriors and strength for naught,
Until the Second did step in,
A tactical victory did he win
In the veil and cold of night,
Three dark men hid out of sight,
One was hidden while two were caught,
And so seemed spoiled Second's plot.
The elven general did appear,
A great smile from ear to ear,
But it did not last for long,
For he met the last man's prong.
Within a week the Third was done,
The last foes slain and victory won,
But into the elves' forest he went,
His vanity and rage not yet spent.
For weeks and months the army searched,
On every hill, vale, and perch,
But the elven nation he could not find,
except what they had left behind.
When the Third turned to leave,
One elven maid he did see,
With starlight hair and glittering eye,
He took her hand to be his bride.
So to the city the Third returned,
His bride and victory now well heard,
the citizens showered with words of glory,
but the First was saw a different story.
In his spire sparkling and tall,
He did not take it well at all,
For the Third's maid and wife,
Would to them bring naught but strife.
In his crystal he discerned,
With all the knowledge he had learned,
That the elves were close at hand,
A constant vigil they must stand.
His Brother's tale the Third dismissed,
For none of the wizards did enlist,
And in their tower they cowered and shunned,
They could not know what he had done.
In Third's place, his wife he sent,
To the First of the brothers she went,
And wove for him a tale of sorrow,
To ease his worries of the morrow
But First did not hear her tell,
For upon him she had cast a spell,
And naught but her could he think,
Once she forged the magical link.
Between the time of dusk and dawn,
The First became her mindless pawn,
And to her secret bed she'd call,
Where he became an empty thrall.
In this time the Second saw,
His profits rise, plateau, then fall.
For slowly his fleet disappeared,
And from the ships he would not hear.
The city quickly raised tumult,
For poverty had bred revolt,
And the Second plead to the Third,
To act before a coups was stirred
In response, Third sent his host,
To the plazas where gathered most,
And quelled the city of its strife,
Though famine and outrage were still rife.
To the Second the elf maid stole,
Her pockets and purses full of gold.
She proffered a deal he could not refuse,
For it was such an ingenious ruse.
Slowly and quietly the city's goods,
Came only to those who could,
With silver tongues and gold-laden word,
Make their pleas to the Second heard.
The brothers were too blind to see,
The city they'd made was full of need,
In the elf maid's spell they were,
And their people's pleas could not be heard.
When the city's need had peaked,
And in unrest the people steeped,
The elven maid set up her trap,
And covertly gave the Third a map.
On a tryst the brother broke,
And inside the Third awoke,
An anger strong and betrayal deep,
For with the First his wife did sleep.
For a moment the brothers stared,
Their rage, embarrassment, and outrage shared,
In a flash, Third bared his steel,
But First waved his hand and made Third kneel
Without a thought First took Third's life,
With a quick slice of his knife,
The elven maid just watched and smiled,
Her long-thought plans made worth her while.
His conscience borne with shame and guilt,
For the blood that he had spilt,
The First sought shelter in his spire,
Locked away from people's ire.
The city mourned their leader passed,
For of the brothers they loved the last,
But after all the tears and quiet,
Their anger simmered to a riot.
Into the Second's docks they stormed,
And on his goods the people swarmed,
Taking what was by rights theirs,
They left the Second with no wares
Penniless, broken, sad, and craven,
The Second saw for himself no haven,
Into a blinded haze he drunk,
And in the river he quickly sunk
The city did not mourn his pass,
And left his body for the rats,
For in the streets their anger raged,
Wild like a beast uncaged
Across the river, the elf maid smiled,
All her plans made worth their while,
The elven forces anew marched forth
To pillage the city of all its worth
The First saw through his crystal ball,
The maid who was to blame for all,
In a rage he found his feet,
To meet the elves out in the street.
Against the elves the wizards clashed,
With all the spells that they had cached,
And every magic that they cast,
Rocked the city with a blast.
In a night their work was done,
In the broken streets stood none,
But once the dust had settled and cleared,
Not one voice did the First hear.
After the night of pain and death,
No one elf or human drew breath,
In a moment of morbid clarity,
The First saw human and elven parity.
The elven maid from her hill looked out,
And in her rage at the First shout,
A spell of equal pain and wrath,
That locked him on a mournful path
In his tower all alone,
An old man fully grown,
The first died and left behind,
A spell to treat all others in kind.
So now you know of the tale
Of three brothers and their errs,
Who through their toil this city built,
And by their hands their own blood spilt.
[/size]
The shade's words echoed and slowly died and he lowered his arms and remained motionless above the pillar. The old historian shivered as the last sounds echoed away, the brother's tragedy now fully known. After some hurried scribbles to preserve the shade's last words, he blew on his parchment and neatly folded it in with the rest of his notes. He packed up his bags quickly as he realized how late was. The fey moon now was preparing to set, and the light from his lantern was running dim. The historian finally stood to flee the dread city, but the shade raised his finger and froze the old man mid-step.
The Shade's tone shifted, more pained and pleading than the chant with which he had told his story. Somehow, more human, though it made the words pierce like an icy dagger.
You came before me, but did you not hear?
The entirety of the tale I hold dear?
For now you have the truth been told,
And by my spell, I collect my toll.
[/size]
The shade opened his arms to embrace the historian, slowly gliding forward from the obelisk from which he had been anchored. In a saddening last thought, the historian realized why no one alive had heard the tale in its entirety.
The ruins of the city were as ominous as the pitch-black night. The moon was dark and the stars were choked behind the half-standing walls and crumbling towers. The historian shuffled through its streets with only a small lantern in hand, its light shaded so he would not loose his night vision completely. The old man carefully sidestepped around the boulders and debris that littered the cobbled street, wary for the holes that were masked by fallen leaves and twigs. The city itself was eerily quiet; not even the wilds could take back what had belonged to them. Every breath had a metallic taste to it from the residual spells that lingered, and the bones of the fallen left a clear message.
It was near midnight when the historian reached the center plaza of the city, where an untouched obelisk stood in stark contrast to the ruins that lay around it. He rested on the side of a crumbling fountain while he withdrew the necessary components for his task- a parchment and quill with plenty of ink. He had waited many years for this night; when the calendar aligned to the Night of Sorrows and only the fey moon would be in the sky. It was only on this night that he might be able to converse with the dead and finally get the full tale of how the city, once the largest in the land, had risen and fallen.
The fey moon rose with a pale green glow, casting the ruins in a decaying light. The obelisk took in the light and then began to cast its own, growing in strength as the moon rose to show its entire face. Then the light detached itself from the stone, forming the rough shape of a man in dark shrouded robes centered on the obelisk.
Without prompting, he spoke, his deep mournful voice echoing over the hard stone of the plaza. A green haze rose from the ground and enveloped the city, and as the shade spoke, the haze shifted to illustrate his story.
I rise this night to tell the tale
Of three brothers and their errs,
Who through their toil this city built,
And by their hands their own blood spilt.
Three brothers came unto this land,
Working together hand in hand.
Their vision was a people united,
In a world that stayed divided.
The First of three magic sought,
with mystic words and higher thought,
he built the wizard's spire here,
for all to see both far and near.
The second was concerned with wealth,
Through trade and wage and talk and stealth.
He brought with him the merchants here,
and fed their greed with ships and piers.
The third thought only of fame and glory,
And who would tell his greatest story,
To that he raised a glorious host,
Who would, for him, march forth and boast.
Thus they drew folk to this city,
with promise grand and buildings pretty,
until the edge of their lands grew,
and what would come no one knew.
The Elves lived in the forest next,
The human's growth their people vexed,
For their land, once vast, grew small,
and soon there was not food for all
To the city the elves did plead,
But their words did not take seed,
The humans' hunger was too great,
And so the the brothers sealed their fate
Against the humans the elves marched out,
With banners tall and warriors stout,
Across the people's farms and fields,
Killing all who would not yield.
Respond to them did the Third,
With trumpets and proclaims unfurled,
He marched out with his army great,
His people roused and full of hate
Their forces near the river met,
With battle lines and trenches set.
Three times they met to try to settle,
But both were married to their metal.
For five months their forces fought,
Both loosing warriors and strength for naught,
Until the Second did step in,
A tactical victory did he win
In the veil and cold of night,
Three dark men hid out of sight,
One was hidden while two were caught,
And so seemed spoiled Second's plot.
The elven general did appear,
A great smile from ear to ear,
But it did not last for long,
For he met the last man's prong.
Within a week the Third was done,
The last foes slain and victory won,
But into the elves' forest he went,
His vanity and rage not yet spent.
For weeks and months the army searched,
On every hill, vale, and perch,
But the elven nation he could not find,
except what they had left behind.
When the Third turned to leave,
One elven maid he did see,
With starlight hair and glittering eye,
He took her hand to be his bride.
So to the city the Third returned,
His bride and victory now well heard,
the citizens showered with words of glory,
but the First was saw a different story.
In his spire sparkling and tall,
He did not take it well at all,
For the Third's maid and wife,
Would to them bring naught but strife.
In his crystal he discerned,
With all the knowledge he had learned,
That the elves were close at hand,
A constant vigil they must stand.
His Brother's tale the Third dismissed,
For none of the wizards did enlist,
And in their tower they cowered and shunned,
They could not know what he had done.
In Third's place, his wife he sent,
To the First of the brothers she went,
And wove for him a tale of sorrow,
To ease his worries of the morrow
But First did not hear her tell,
For upon him she had cast a spell,
And naught but her could he think,
Once she forged the magical link.
Between the time of dusk and dawn,
The First became her mindless pawn,
And to her secret bed she'd call,
Where he became an empty thrall.
In this time the Second saw,
His profits rise, plateau, then fall.
For slowly his fleet disappeared,
And from the ships he would not hear.
The city quickly raised tumult,
For poverty had bred revolt,
And the Second plead to the Third,
To act before a coups was stirred
In response, Third sent his host,
To the plazas where gathered most,
And quelled the city of its strife,
Though famine and outrage were still rife.
To the Second the elf maid stole,
Her pockets and purses full of gold.
She proffered a deal he could not refuse,
For it was such an ingenious ruse.
Slowly and quietly the city's goods,
Came only to those who could,
With silver tongues and gold-laden word,
Make their pleas to the Second heard.
The brothers were too blind to see,
The city they'd made was full of need,
In the elf maid's spell they were,
And their people's pleas could not be heard.
When the city's need had peaked,
And in unrest the people steeped,
The elven maid set up her trap,
And covertly gave the Third a map.
On a tryst the brother broke,
And inside the Third awoke,
An anger strong and betrayal deep,
For with the First his wife did sleep.
For a moment the brothers stared,
Their rage, embarrassment, and outrage shared,
In a flash, Third bared his steel,
But First waved his hand and made Third kneel
Without a thought First took Third's life,
With a quick slice of his knife,
The elven maid just watched and smiled,
Her long-thought plans made worth her while.
His conscience borne with shame and guilt,
For the blood that he had spilt,
The First sought shelter in his spire,
Locked away from people's ire.
The city mourned their leader passed,
For of the brothers they loved the last,
But after all the tears and quiet,
Their anger simmered to a riot.
Into the Second's docks they stormed,
And on his goods the people swarmed,
Taking what was by rights theirs,
They left the Second with no wares
Penniless, broken, sad, and craven,
The Second saw for himself no haven,
Into a blinded haze he drunk,
And in the river he quickly sunk
The city did not mourn his pass,
And left his body for the rats,
For in the streets their anger raged,
Wild like a beast uncaged
Across the river, the elf maid smiled,
All her plans made worth their while,
The elven forces anew marched forth
To pillage the city of all its worth
The First saw through his crystal ball,
The maid who was to blame for all,
In a rage he found his feet,
To meet the elves out in the street.
Against the elves the wizards clashed,
With all the spells that they had cached,
And every magic that they cast,
Rocked the city with a blast.
In a night their work was done,
In the broken streets stood none,
But once the dust had settled and cleared,
Not one voice did the First hear.
After the night of pain and death,
No one elf or human drew breath,
In a moment of morbid clarity,
The First saw human and elven parity.
The elven maid from her hill looked out,
And in her rage at the First shout,
A spell of equal pain and wrath,
That locked him on a mournful path
In his tower all alone,
An old man fully grown,
The first died and left behind,
A spell to treat all others in kind.
So now you know of the tale
Of three brothers and their errs,
Who through their toil this city built,
And by their hands their own blood spilt.
[/size]
The shade's words echoed and slowly died and he lowered his arms and remained motionless above the pillar. The old historian shivered as the last sounds echoed away, the brother's tragedy now fully known. After some hurried scribbles to preserve the shade's last words, he blew on his parchment and neatly folded it in with the rest of his notes. He packed up his bags quickly as he realized how late was. The fey moon now was preparing to set, and the light from his lantern was running dim. The historian finally stood to flee the dread city, but the shade raised his finger and froze the old man mid-step.
The Shade's tone shifted, more pained and pleading than the chant with which he had told his story. Somehow, more human, though it made the words pierce like an icy dagger.
You came before me, but did you not hear?
The entirety of the tale I hold dear?
For now you have the truth been told,
And by my spell, I collect my toll.
[/size]
The shade opened his arms to embrace the historian, slowly gliding forward from the obelisk from which he had been anchored. In a saddening last thought, the historian realized why no one alive had heard the tale in its entirety.
