Pilgrimage

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

Spoiler

 

 

I - The Search

 

A lone humanoid figure roamed under the vast blue skies of an endless arid landscape dominated by tall, jagged rock formations that pillared out of the earth. Vegetation was sparse, and gentle breeze made the cawing of crows in the sky all that more poignant. Artimec was unsure where this was, if this was even still Atlas. The last few months had been like a dream to him. He had left Caras Eldar and all he knew, only to set out on a pilgrimage to a place he didn’t know, relying on only the whispers of the beasts of the land to guide him.

 

Artimec’s warrior silks and traveller’s cloak billowed gently behind him as he walked upwind. As usual he had his ornate druidic staff clutched in his palm, currently being used as a walking stick for the beleagured mali’ame as he traipzed across the empty, foreign mesa. He had been walking for nearly eight hours now. His body was aching and tired. He missed his home, worried for his people. How many of them had been suffering since he left home? Captured, or killed. How many had lost faith in their gods? He pushed down a sickly wave of foreboding back into the pits of his stomach. It didnt matter, he had come too far to turn back now, and couldn’t go home until he’d found what he was after.

 

Eventually, he came upon the base of a great crimson plateau. On a small outcropping of rock sat a watchful desert coyote, studying the elder druid curiously with its amber eyes, its tail giving the odd, idle swish. Artimec knew he had come close. He took in a shaky breath and closed his eyes, kneeling down upon his sore, aching knee.

 

“I seek the prince of desert hounds, the vision bringer. I seek to be free of my burdens. I seek his enlightenment.”

 

The coyote didnt seem to react outwardly. Instead, it simply opened his long, toothy maw to yawn, then rose, turning on its hind legs to gracefully and effortlessly bound up the red rocky plateau.

 

Most others would have seen that as a rejection, but not the Hawk Druid. He knew he was being beckoned to follow. Artimec looked up at the great climb before him and swallowed a lump in his throat. He was already so tired. Hungry. Sleepy. Then he growled, at his own weakness. If this is what was expected of him, he would do it. He brushed a matted lock of ginger hair from his bruised, grimey face, and began to climb. The rocks had been baking in the sun, and they seared his palms. Artimec wanted to whimper, but he didnt. Each inch he gained on this arduous climb was painful. He ignored the red inflammations in his fingers, grit his teeth, and soldiered on, as he always had. Always pushing aside the pain and soldiering on.

 

An hour later, he had reached the top, squirming and struggling like a fish out of water to drag his beleaguered body up to the top of the plateau. Gasping and panting. He looked at his trembling palms, they were covered in cuts and abrasions. He looked up. His vision was blurry, his brain roasted from the heat, but that same amber-eyed coyote was there, at the top, waiting for him. Artimec fondled weakly for his staff, which he’d slung over his back, and used it to push himself up to his feet. He staggered forward towards it, while the desert hound simply watched, idly licking its whiskery muzzle.

 

A loud clap of thunder snapped across the sky, causing Artimec to freeze, hairs standing on his arms. Only a few seconds later, a pillar of lightning crashed into the rocky ground in front of him with a loud ‘CRACK’, causing the earth to fissure beneath him. Artimec yelped, eyes growing wide with raw panick, and scrambled backwards, falling on his rear. It did him no good, the collapsing rocks caught up to him, and he plunged deep into darkness, into the cave below.

 

The coyote, unfazed and unaffected by this seemingly act of the gods, rose lazily on his haunch and bounded off the plateau.

 

Spoiler

 

 

II - The Trials

 

Artimec plunged into a deep body of water. The first thing he registered was the icy chill. Then the suffocation, he choked under the pool, air bubbles surfacing above, instinct kicked in and he clawed his way up, swimming desperately. When his head breached the surface, he gasped and spluttered, clumsily treading water as he slowly got a baring of his surroundings. It was some sort of cavern, an underground lake. There was little vegetation, but he could smell something in the air, like something was burning in the distance. A faint whiff of smoke, and a hint of parsley, sage, rosemary… and thyme? It made his head fuzzy.

 

The chill clinging to his skin seemed to fade. Then turn into an almost pleasant warmth, like a nice bath. It soothed Artimec, who in his exhausted state, began to lul. But it got warmer still, then hot. The edges of the pool began to bubble, steam began to rise. Artimec blinked again and a his heart began to pound, something wasn’t right. His pupils narrowed, and panic set in, he thrashed and pushed, frantically swimming his way to the lake’s edge as the water turned from hot to boiling, searing into his flesh. He let out a panicked and strangled scream, flailing like a drowning man until he reached the rocky edge, clinging to it and hauling himself out of the now cauldron-like lake. He gasped and held back a choked sob from nerves alone, his skin now bright red and peeling.

 

Artimec slung his druidic staff off of his back. The wood was warped and cracked from the water’s heat. He drew in a heavy breath and wiped his eyes, he had loved that staff. Yet, it didnt stop him from discarding back into the bubbling lake. It wouldn't help him now. He pushed himself up to his feet, leaning on the cold, stone wall. He sighed softly, letting the cool rocks sooth him, before he pushed himself down the long, cavernous corridor in front of him.

 

Artimec stumbled his way down the underground expanse, occasionally collapsing against the stalactite laden walls on either side to give his abused and broken body a rest. As he walked, bright green will-o-wisps flared into existence above his head, lighting up the cavern path. The druid didnt react. His nerves had been numbed, and he knew he was in a holy place, a sacred place. He did, however, notice thick thorn vines splayed across the cave walls, growing in prominence the further he staggered onwards. Soon they slithered across the floor as well. Soon they became so thickly woven together they blocked passage through the corridor entirely.

 

Artimec looked upon a new thorny barrier with heavy, sagging eyes. His pupils flared into a dim fae green glow, wisps of faerie smoke drifting from his eyelids. The vines shuddered, but did not move, actively refusing the druid’s influence. Artimec’s glowing eyes flickered away, and he squeezed them shut tightly. He wouldn’t be able to trick his way out of this. This was yet another trial. And thus his mind was split in two. His resolve, his bubbling anger said push through the thorns. You must. This is your duty. His survival instinct, his fear was less stoic. No. My arms hurt. My legs sting. I’m in so much pain. Don’t make me do this, please. I can’t take any more. Why do you put me through this?

 

Pain? What is pain? A privilege! Your body no longer belongs to you. You server a greater purpose. FULFILL IT.

 

That ended that argument. Artimec padded on, into the mass of sharp vines. The thorns were nearly an inch long each. And no matter how much he tried to use his poor, burnt hands to pry them away, the remainder of the corridor was so thick with them that every meter he progressed meant dozens upon dozens carved into his flesh, making small, shallow cuts, filleting him like a fish. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, his body felt like it was on fire. He no longer knew where he was going. Just forward, only forward. It felt like it would never end, but eventually, it did.

 

The messy web of thorns came to an abrupt end, and Artimec collapsed out of them, flopping right onto the cold, rocky floor like a limp ragdoll. Blood ran in small rivulets out of dozens of little, shallow cuts across his flesh. His ornate silk robes, which he had treasured so much, shredded into oblivion. Artimec knew he had more to endure, but for now, he could not. He allowed himself to sink his raw, serrated cheek into the cool, smooth stone, closing his eyes.

 

 

He finally opened his eyes to see where he had ended up. It was another open mouth of the cavern expanse, this one covered in soft, slimy moss which grew over the stalactites and boulders. Various small shrub-like trees dotted the area, with one large weeping willow dominating the centre. But what was most striking to Artimec was not what was in front of him, but who.

 

A wood elven woman. Short and lean, wearing nothing but white cloth binding her breast and hips, and baring an ironwood spear with a serrated tip in her left hand. She had healthy cinnamon skin, like Artimecs. Soft amber eyes, and hazel hair. Her features were delicate, she was beautiful.

 

Artimec pushed himself up to his feet. Slowly. With difficulty. The woman watched.

 

“Who are you?” He croaked.

 

“Your demise.” She replied, her voice just as chillingly soft as her features. And at that, she leveled her nasty serrated spear, and charged him down with core, cold precision.

 

Artimec was an abused, bloody and broken mess. But he still had his instinct. A rush of adrenaline coarsed through him, and his immediate reaction was to reach for his thankfully intact weapon’s belt, and yank out his ikurn’amonn blade. A dull ‘thud’ of ironwood hitting ironwood echoed around the emerald grove as he caught the edge of his blade against one of his assailant’s spear’s serrations. Artimec gasped as she doggedly pushed forward, aiming to overpower and spear him. His heels dug into the earth, and she managed to push him back a good foot.

 

“Please,” he croaked, as they remained in deadlock. “I’m mali’ame… I’m the same as you. I don't- I don’t want to kill you.”

 

“You are NOT the same as me.” This mysterious, wild woman of the sacred grotto hissed back, and launched a snap-kick at Artimec’s knees. The battered druid collapsed immediately, groaning quietly as he landed on his back. The woman planted a foot on either side of his body and positioned his spear, then thrust down at the druid’s neck. Artimec dropped his blade, and his hands lurched upwards to grasp the spear by its shaft in a desperation move to halt the killing blow. They struggled. She pushed downwards, he upwards. Another surge of adrenaline hit the elder druid, and he released a loud, bellowing roar. The roar of an abused man, a beaten dog lashing out at its abuser.

 

He hooked his legs around the warrior elfess, and twisted his body, forcing her to fall onto the ground beside him. She yelped, then her eyes went wide when Artimec climbed on top of her, baring a palm sized rock he had grasped from the cave floor. That look, it stalled him. For a moment, only a moment, he hesitated. Then he smashed the rock down into her face. Then did it again, and again. Tears were streaming from his face. The once beautiful mali’ame woman was hardly recognizable when he was done, twitching, then going limp. Artimec rolled off of her, going limp on the floor next to her corpse.

 

Artimec had not wept when his lovers died, not when his sons died, nor when his daughter had divorced herself from his life. But he wept now, loud, and violently. He wept for this dead wood elf maiden, as if he was weeping for his entire people. Why did it have to happen this way? Why did anything he had ever suffered have to have happened?

 

His sobbing stopped when the corpse next to him began to dissolve away into faerie mist, evaporating into residue finer than sand before blowing away in a breeze that wasn’t there, leaving him with nothing. He blinked away his tears and sat up, looking up.

 

At the base of the weeping willow at the center of the mossy cavern clearing sat a coyote, with eyes of gold, and pure, unmarred fur as white as snow. Its tail flicked idly as it eyed the beaten, bruised, broken, suffering elf with an air of indifference.

 

Artimec tried, once more, to climb back to his feet. No matter what happened, he would always get back on his feet. This time he managed to get on one knee.

 

“O Laetranis, Prince of Coyotes-...”

 

He was never able to finish his sentence. The albino coyote prowled towards him, and stopped barely an inch from the druid, still swishing his tail. Artimec realizes the futility of even remaining up on one knee. His body was done. Strength spent. He collapsed into the mossy ground, eye level with the coyote’s snout.

 

Artimec heard a gentle voice emanate from the white beast, as if communicating telepathically. The mani spirit pressed its long canine snout to Artimec’s forehead. The elf’s eyes immediately rolled into the back of his head, and he went limp, unconscious.

 

“Sleep now, elfling, and come on a journey with me.”

 

Spoiler

 

 

III - The Vision

 

Where am I?

 

Artimec awoke, but everything was different. He looked down, his body was spectral, transparent. He was in a familiar forest, he knew it, its idyllic oak trees and flowery meadows, it was home. The lands outside Caras Eldar. The only difference was the sky. An eerie, solemn sunset. Something about it seemed otherworldly, like reality had been warped. Beside Artimec lay the albino coyote, laying lazily on his belly on the twilit grass.

 

“The woman,” Artimec suddenly spoke out. “Who was she?”

 

“That’s not what your first question should be, elfling.” Laetranis, the Coyote Prince replied. Its muzzle did not move when its voice entered Artimec’s head. It was like telepathy indeed.

 

“Who was she?” Artimec pressed, his eyes taking on a deep, angered glare. For a moment, he forgot he was talking to a demigod. “Tell me who I killed.”

 

The coyote yawned, baring its delicate canine fangs. “Someone you didnt want to die, clearly. Now, try again, elfling.”

 

Artimec looked the spirit carefully in its animalistic golden eyes, then sighed.

 

“Where am I?”

 

“That’s better. Welcome to the faerie lands, Artimec.”

 

“The fae realm? But I know this place, this is just the lands outside Caras Eldar. It can’t be the fae realm.”

 

“There’s much you don't know about this place, elfling. Much of the faerie world is a reflection of your own. For now, your soul inhabits this plane. Your body, well, its currently bleeding out slowly in my nice, clean den. So let's get this vision done quick, for your sake. That’s why you came, yes?”

 

“Yes… I want to shed my burdens.”

 

“So you walked a thousand miles to find Laetranis, the Prince of Coyotes and famed vision bringer, and endured all his trials, mm?”

 

Artimec nodded numbly. “The stories called you elmyumier'sulier. They say you reveal a man’s greatest burdens to them in a way they can shed them, like a snake does its own skin.”

 

Once more, the coyote flicked its tail lightly. Perhaps it was amused, but Artimec couldn’t tell, as a coyote’s face was not capable of displaying recognizable elven emotion.

 

“Hm. You help one elfling chieftain one time, and his entire people harry you for thousands of years to come. Still, I can’t say I don't enjoy the attention. Your kind always amused me, elfling.”

 

“So, will you help me?”

 

The albino coyote pushed itself up to its feet, stretching its back into an elegant ‘U’ shape, before padding off. “Come.”

 

Artimec followed. He found himself able to phase through material objects like trees in his spectral form, but ended up avoiding them anyways out of habit. As they walked through the quiet, sunset-lit forest, Laetranis spoke in a lecterous voice.

 

“I know your plight, elfling. I have seen it scores of times before in all the elven cheiftains and princelings who came before you. I saw it in Malin himself. You cannot divorce your personal feelings from the lives of your people. You burden yourself with their suffering, and their deaths. And should they lose their way, you are the first to assume blame.”

 

“That’s how it should be. It is my duty.”

 

“No, elfling. It is your duty to serve your people,  not bog yourself down with the grief of a thousand men, women and children. Your heart has become too heavy to be the good leader of faith you aspire to be. When did you last preach with passion? With joy?”

 

Artimec looked down at his ghostly feet. He had no response to that.

 

“Look.”

 

The pair had walked a good deal off the beaten path, and under a young oak tree. Beneath it lay an old coyote. A normal one, but an old one. Its maw was almost entirely white-furred, its eyes reddened and glassy. It lay on its back, clearly dying. The bugs seemed to know this. Already it had rows of ants and termites crawling over its matted body.

 

Laetranis looked upon the dying coyote with no pity. “This is one of my people, is it not?”

 

“It is.”

 

“He is old now, he cannot hunt.  His pack abandoned him. He will die soon. Should his death sadden me?”

 

“No. He is old. His death will be natural.”Artimec gave the sacred albino coyote a pointed look. “I understand the metaphor, Prince. But my people are not all old. They die young. They die by unnatural, magical forces.”

 

“The world is what it is. Death, is death. Suffering is suffering.”

 

Before Artimec could rebut, Laetranis had already began padding onwards on its four soft paws. The druid followed, drifting through the surreal faerie atmosphere, until they came upon the mouth of a babbling brook. By the waterline, a steel bear-trap, caught inside it, a young coyote, jerking and struggling to get free. Surrounded by three pups, all pawing and mewling at their trapped mother.

 

“What do you see, Elfling?”

 

“I don’t understand, how can there be human hunting traps in the fae realm?”

 

“As I said, much of the faerie world is a reflection of your own. Now, tell me what you see.”

 

Artimec narrowed his eyes, gulping as he looked down at the scene. “A mother… her cubs. The rest of the pack, they’re gone. They realized there was no saving the mother, and the cubs would not leave her, so they abandoned them all. For the good of the rest.”

 

Laetranis flicked its snowy tail, which Artimec had come to understand as a way it showed basic affirmation or approval.

 

“Do you think the alpha of this pack had even a moment’s hesitation before making his choice?”

 

“No.”

 

“Will he take the death of this mother hound and her cubs as his own personal failure?”

 

“N-no… no. It was out of his hands. He had to make a choice.” Artimec gulped, beginning to choke up.

 

“What will he do?”

 

“He’ll… he’ll push forward with his pack. He won't have their deaths on his conscience. He can’t. He would be a lesser leader, to be consumed with grief.”

 

“A hound feels no grief in the way your kind does, elfling. But I am glad you understand. You have the ghost of many mali’ame in your heart. Set them free.”

 

“I-... I will try.” Artimec wiped some idle streams of tears from his eyes, trying to pretend they were never there in the first place. Go figure he could still cry as a faerie soul-projection.

 

Laetranis padded onwards. Artimec followed behind, and then came the spectral projections. Wisps of faerie fire that came together to form ghosts of familiar bodies that dissipated as quick as they formed. Veidan, Salhassan, Ash’ya, Toren, Caedwen, Mayilu, faceless spectres of the Ivory Order. The Sirame. The Virarim. Elves strung up on wooden crosses, elves whipped in the desert sand.

 

“Stop.” He hissed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

 

“Let them go.”

 

They walked up a hill, overlooking the city of Caras Eldar, glimmering like a jewel in the twilight. On the top of this hill was an Aspectist shrine, a simple deer’s skull adorning a smooth waystone with a swirling pattern carved into it, laden with marigold flowers and fresh pomegranates at its base.

 

As if out of habit, Artimec knelt in front of this shrine and closed his eyes, paying his respect through silent prayer.

 

“Your kind always honoured us in odd ways, elfling.”

 

Artimec didnt reply. He was broken mentally, and just took solace in his silent prayer.

 

“Do you really think that if all this…” The albino coyote gestured to the shrine, then the jewel of the elven city. “Were to disappear, that me and my brethren Mani would be worse off? That the wild would be worse off?”

 

Again, Artimec remained silent.

 

“Nature endures, elfling. To call yourself its protectors, claiming you preserve us by slaying petty wizards and lichmen… they are but drops in the pond. And it is nothing but vanity on your part.”

 

Artimec curled inwards further, murmuring prayer on his lips, seeking comfort in the only thing he could now, himself.

 

“And vanity of vanities, is you, towards your own people. You think that your preachings, your parlour tricks and your frivolous festivals are what will make or break the identity of your people? A people that were here before you were born, and will be after you die? You are not tied to your people, Artimec Caerme’onn, you have merely convinced yourself you are.”

 

Artimec lifted his head, placing a trembling hand on the shrine. “I know its true. It just… won't come easy, accepting it.” he croaked.

 

“Best begin now then. Let go of your guilt, and realize that the history of the mali’ame people did not begin with you nor will it end with you. Whatever form the forgotten folk take after you are gone, they will still be wood elves. Nature will endure regardless of whether they pray to us.”

 

“Should I give it all up then?”

 

“No. You have a pack. See them through till the end. But remember that what happens when you are gone is out of your hands. You have left your mark on this world. Your successors will leave theirs.”

 

Artimec finally rose back up to his feet. In the end, he always managed to rise back up onto his feet.

 

“Thank you.” he whispered.

 

Laetranis turned on its haunches. “You will not speak to me again, elfling.” It said softly, before bounding off into the twilight.

 

Spoiler

 

 

IV - Dawning

 

Artimec awoke with a gasp. He looked down, his body was physical once more. He was certain he was back in the mortal realm, but his surroundings were different. There was no more mossy grotto, no weeping willow tree. Only darkness, and an empty cave that smelled of stagnant pond water.

 

In front of him was a deer’s skull. The same one that had been placed upon the shrine in his vision with Laetranis… the coyote prince. Artimec rubbed his eyes. He looked down, his wounds were gone. No more burns, or cuts, or rended flesh. Had the vision bringer healed him? Had any of this really happened?

 

Artimec picked up the deer skull. It required some dusting off, but otherwise was clean. He placed it over his head. It was a perfect fit. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He would keep it, and use it to remember the Prince of Coyotes, and his final lesson. And with that, Artimec made his way to the light.

 

When he made his way out of the cave, and back into the open sun of that foreign desert mesa, he realized he was ready to go home.

 

And soon, a hawk soared the cloudless blue skies, homeward bound.

 

[Delmodan 855]

((That was a beautiful story. I very much enjoyed reading this. 

[NotEvilAtAll 10906]

((Take my rep, you’ve earned it))

[Burnsy 437]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.