TEMPERING & TEMPTATION

[milkyi 1503]

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

ℑ spent months in strange temples, water was scarce, and when I did not labour to unearth a hidden puddle from the arid clay, I would descend into delirium. The nature of my visions haunted me, and I questioned if they were mere illusions, figments of my mind, or a muddled reality.

 

Out of the dark—out of the unknown—came a serpent slithering along the temple's catacombs and pillars, dancing upon the wall amidst the smoky tendrils that billowed from my torch, as if the flames themselves had charmed the creature. It whispered, “Be ye readied to ignite thyself within the flames of thine own inner-hearth; how mayst thou ascend anew ere thou hast been made to naught but ash?” Its fanged maw shared secrets, revealing that His magic was unlike the sea's gentle waves, but of a darker sort. It spake of honey and wildfire, both painted with the same gold, and foretold that I would be transformed into a spawn of Dragon, akin to you. I mourned and lamented, questioning the wisdom of submitting to a King I had never encountered.

 

It recounted what had prompted my change of heart upon that palisade, “I wish to serve, Brother,” as if it were me, as if the words escaped on their own accord. Anything holy enough could sense my falsehood.

 

Yet, you provided reassurance with the words, “Duty is vital, understanding is not,” even though a pit settled in my chest, and the talons of flesh and fire became all too familiar. “Do not fight the Light,” the two flames peered at me with their ire and glow. “Endure. Doubt not thy strength…” Your words echoed louder than any anguished scream of mine.

 

With a pained flinch, I recoiled, cursed by the very thing I had come to worship. I closely studied “His Boon,” the bestowment I would soon revere.

 

Not a day had passed; the sun still bathed us as we walked. Despite the warnings that any man or King that bowed to the Titan would be cast into the depths of the nether, toppling the sun from its heavenly perch until its magma spilled over them, you led me to your stronghold—beyond good and evil. The altar fires had witnessed whispers, “Only He can stopper the bleeding heavens,” etching the words upon my tongue and mind, a permanent mark. 

 

Only he, I thought in my half-awake mind, could stopper all the wrongs that I had known. Time and time again, the foolish machinations of mortal man had cracked upon the anvil of worlds. Yet the serpent reassured me once again, its soft underbelly sliding along the stones as if it belonged so much more than I. Its words flowed like wine, “The blade of man shall be tempered in the flames, and thou art coals for the embers.”  I felt its bite against my ankle, and the light faded from sight.

 

Emerging from slumber, I found myself in a cracked and crumbled tomb, my sanctuary from the ashen shroud that veiled my sight. The serpent, a frequent visitor, would often disperse into the stone floors of the temple, vanishing into a crack within its foundation, while pitch-black nights seemed to reside deep within my very bones. It was unclear whether I experienced a dream or a vision; the distinction remained elusive.

 

And of your riddle, the answer became clear to me. As your words left your lips and met my ears, I had always known the truth, the truth of time. But what I did not know, had you believed in another gospel before?

 

I felt I knew. I knew that you did not ask me this riddle to glean my understanding of time. No, you asked so that I might reforge my understanding in the melting heats of this land. Time is a furnace. It is an unending cauldron from which things are filled for eternity. It is a great stew that we call existence, that which devours all things that are placed within its reach. We will die, and we will be incorporated into the waters.

 

But we must ensure that our legacy changes its flavour.

 

 

 

 

 

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Spoiler

[!]

DO NOT METAGAME ANYTHING IN THIS THREAD. 

This note rested in the depths of Ahnakriel’s drakeshrine and is only in his possession. Please refrain from commenting if you were not shown it.

 

[Milenkhov 4522]

Spoiler

[!]
METAGAMES EVERYTHING IN THIS THREAD.
This forum post has been effectively metagame'd by Milenkhov.

 

[Ryanark 1946]

Ahnakriel smiled, sipping an ash-tinged cognac within his Drakeshrine, enwreathed in flame as he read. Then, the page burst into flame.
"Exquisite."