Empty Slopes

[Myleres 1658]

Spoiler

 

 

[via Arthur Herring]

 

 

 

“And the lack of power you will feel - perhaps for you, it will feel terrifying, sad, frustrating. But for others - it is a release.” 

 

     She had thought it was a mirage when it first came into view. The heat was never kind to her, filling her mind with delusions. She saw, heard, and felt things that should not have been possible in the hellish terrain she was commanded to search. Yet there it was. A descendant-made structure that was unmistakably unnatural – stone walls erecting out of the bubbling lava. Her eyes came to a close, breathing a long sigh of relief as she believed her days long search had finally come to an end. A lonely trek through the wilds was nothing challenging for the woman, experienced through her years of self exile so long ago. It was the talk that came before it that made it so hard. His words filled her with unease, a powerless sensation that she sought to escape.

 

“When you ponder on what you are, ask yourself why. Even when it seems you are at the root of things, wonder why. You will realize just how clueless you are.”

 

     She stood inside the altar, twirling the black–petaled rose between her fingertips. The pads of her feet and palms of her hands were singed, yet she felt no need to cry out in pain. Here she stood, drenched in sweat and burnt from head to toe, but for what? Despite doing what was asked of her – finding this altar with naught but the clothes upon her back – things felt incomplete. There was no happy ending. No treasure or fortune, no ancient fable. Only her and the rose. It would have been easy to lie to him. To leave the flower and march back home, recalling some feigned profound realization she had come to. With a shake of her head and another long sigh, she turned to sit upon the steps she had just ascended moments prior. 

 

“Mora brought you here, no matter what you might think.” 

 

     There was no telling how much time had passed. Her mind was clouded with little regard for the hours ticking by. Mora lay there, watching the stars in isolation with the rose upon her lap. Only when a hand reached up for her bandana – seeking for a brief reprieve from the unrelenting heat – did she realize what she must do. Back at the center of the altar, she lay the cloth down first, with the rose following shortly after. The mark upon her brow now lay uncovered, an eye finally opened. Satisfied, she descended the steps to begin her journey back to him – back to Tor-Azdroth. She felt no need to run from it anymore.

[Jentos 6839]

"What does it mean to posess an identity, when you can never possibly know yourself ?",

wondered a thing with a burning eye at its forehead.

 

The wind picked up.

 

It bowed low, forehead dusted with ash.