Post by Firey on Oct 17, 2006 3:25:38 GMT -5
Reposting this on Proboards, partly to try out if the centerizing thingy works. xD ((Bleah. It didn't work...))
F Æ B L E
Dues Ex Machina
It is a dark, dark auditorium. A simple room, lacking of extra furnishings, besides several rows of the kind of chairs you see in theaters. No light is to be seen, save for that teeny crack at the open door. But it isn’t empty: the bulky outlines shifting here and there minutely prove otherwise. Humans are here. Oddly enough, almost all of them are in the middle of adolescence.
They are perched upon crimson leather seats(worn and vandalized upon), and in front of them, all around them, are noticeably different silhouettes .They are not human shadows.
They’re daemons.
Most of them are animal shaped: a rabbit here, a tiger there. A lone lemur swings somewhat haphazardly from a solitary crystal chandelier; the glass of the gently swaying light is cracked into a mosaic of patterns, it gives light no more. And a minority are the stuff of myth and legends: dragons, phoenixes, griffins and all.
The smaller creature companions perch on wherever their humans have space to spare: shoulders, scalps and laps. The larger ones either sprawl lazily at their human’s side, or sit alertly erect next to their friends, depending on their natures
The peculiar mix and match of human teens and not-quite-so-human fellows, engage in a broad range of activities: some glance about expectantly, others inspect their grubby fingernails intently, while some others snore happily away.
But there is one thing for sure: all this idle waiting isn’t for nothing. There is a rapt aura about the group, some sort of anticipatory air that adds resolve to the otherwise useless chemistry of tension and that “on the edge of your seat” tingling.
Like what you’d feel if you were about to watch an action-packed show in a cinema.
Coincidentally, there is such a confection at the front of the hall, to be used for that exact purpose: that of playing films.
It is something that resembles an antique box camera in shape, only that it seems to have violently regurgitated its innards, after a torturous spate of indigestion. The end result is a tangled mass of angular gears and snaking, crooked cables.
Even more queerly, the old fashioned projector(for that is what it is)is propped upon what appears to be a much tinkered with art easel.
The wooden stand is rickety with age. Termites seemed to have taken residence within the peeling wood refuge once; you could tell from the multiple pockmarks upon its fading sienna visage.
What is more, the easel had been modified once, twice, for many uses ; how it holds together after all this time…is anyone’s guess.
Both easel and projector are battered with much use and age; they blend in perfectly with the dank and dismal hall.
Suddenly, there is a loud, piercing creak and someone steps in, through the door. Making her way down the stairs, a young woman, her black coyote soul leaping just several yards before her.
Instantly, there is a flurry of movement from the small audience, as they rouse themselves and each other.
There is a straightening of backs and everyone sits upright, watching on with an intense interest, as the young woman and her black coyote daemon reach the front of the room. The ring tailed lemur drops down gently from the candelabra, to hop into his human’s lap. A black dingo sits up at attention.
The young woman gingerly perches herself on a small box composed of wooden planks and nails. The black coyote daemon sits at her feet, tail wagging furiously, looking on proudly at his human.
From her vantage point with the projector behind her, the young woman looks around at her fellows. She takes a deep breath before opening her mouth.
And this is what she says:
”Welcome to our opening class of the Daemon Academy. As you should know, daemons, are the animal half to our souls. They are our friends, our guides, our companions. Or conscience.”
Here, she pauses for a brief moment, to let her words sink in.
There is silence, save for the few murmurings of daemons.
She goes on again:
“As you should all know, most daemons take the forms of animals. But others also take on the shape of mythical creatures-”
The door forces itself open again, this time, the wind whistles sharply past, as a middle aged woman bustles in. She is far older than any of them all, but her eyes twinkle sharply; she is no fool. Her bird daemon shifts edgily on her shoulder, from foot to foot.
The young teen who had been speaking, hopped off her stand, approaching the woman, asking curiously what she is here for. The woman brandishes a feather duster somewhat threateningly, saying something under her breath to the young lady.
The young woman turns to the rest of her young crowd of “students”, excusing herself and heading quickly out of the door. Leaving them to stare at the other lady, who is now dusting the projector player.
One of the teenagers stands up and asks boldly: “Um…what are you doing?”
“Deus ex machine.” Is the odd sentence that the lady mumbles softly. “This saved my life once, that and this stupid easel.”
She turns back to the younglings, who stare at her somewhat strangely.
The woman wears a crooked smile on her wrinkled face. “I’m sorry. Recalling old times…” She is now treading her way back towards the door, she looks in a hurry all of a sudden.
There is a final crash, as the door swings shut.
The teenagers and the daemons are alone again.
This time, they do not stay put.
One of them, a girl and the aforementioned black dingo daemon, edges their way down to the projector, wondering what had just taken place.
And why all this fuss about a broken down projector and an easel?
And they’re about to find out.
When one goes, all go.
The rest of the teens pace themselves just several feet behind, their daemons hopping in anticipation.
When they reach the projector, all don’t quite know what to do.
They’re going to try anyway.
A white tiger daemon prods it with a huge white paw. The easel rocks back wildly, clacking about, sending up a muffled plume of dust.
The rest of them hurriedly shushes the white tiger, who slinks back.
Meanwhile, the aforementioned ring tailed lemur daemon toggles the projector with his opposable thumbs.
Thump.
Whirrrr….
There is an intake of breath from the group, as the reel in the projector starts playing; the image cast on the wall is splotchy, black and white film.
But it plays on…
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
A series of text filter across the backgrounds of a blistering, endless desert.
There was a time when the world was
Perfect
Then the text recedes into the background; both fade and a pair of eyes, cat slitted with malice and treachery fills the wall.
But it never lasted.
The text and the set of eyes blink and disappears with a lunatic cackle. More text appears, this time faster than before.
It was all long ago,
A shattered soul.
A broken home.
Unmerciful kings.
Three papyrus scrolls.
There is a swish and a tip of a feline tail stabs the wall, before it flickers away in a heartbeat.
It was never meant to be.
It. Was. Sheer. Folly.
A piece of ragged parchment surfaces steadily, up and forwards , until it is near enough to be read ,the projector slowly scrolls down; the writing upon the letter is scrawling and fancy:
Oh, now, here we go,
A race for the scrolls.
A quest for a king.
To rebuild a home.
To knit back a soul.
Replacing them all is a chain of images, flashing rapidly, from one to the next:
A yowling cat, racing for his life-
A shrieking man, crown wobbling on his head, feet slapping the throne-
A bird of prey and a pig, looking deep into each other’s eyes-
A sulky adolescent, kicking beer cans down an alley-
A burning pyramid-
Finally, all blacks out.
The last words display themselves
Promises are meant to be broken
And the words dull back into oblivion.
------------------------------------------------------------------
+Prologue+[/u]
And. It. All. Burnt. Down.[/u]
Just as the bronze, ranges of desert was fading into the late evening and getting chilly, the city of Canoli was alight with a bonfire of blazes, and furnace heat.
The sun was a bleeding crimson outlined starkly against a descending, grey dusk. The wind howled a ghastly aria to withering skies. Sable rooks scaled the horizons; their wings carved sharp furrows through air, they wheeled and plunged in dare devilish flight. Above the keen of the gale and avian shrieks, distant wailing cries and lone redundant screams could be heard, from the city of Canoli. Plumes of smudge grey smoke could also be seen , rising behind the stone walls of the immense capital. Acrid curling wisps of smell hung about the battlements in banners.
Every Beginning
Canoli was like an overturned cauldron of magic gone awry: like a floodtide, sheer screaming panic had swept away all visible logic of the civilians. Their daemons were there, in every possible form of creature, chivvying their humans away from the advancing conflagration. But it wasn’t the daemons who kept the humans on their toes. Only the cold, lingering threat of death harried weary feet. The devouring flames danced and pranced through the capital at a frantic pace, swiftly toppling buildings like ninepins. Towers, blocks and homes… What did it matter?
The once proud and prominent city was burning.
Has an End
((There was, however, a distinct lack of fashion in this extermination: I personally felt that a simple meteor shower would have done a snappier and neater job. But: “Oh, no, lets set the whole place on fire!” Although I had to admit, it was a blaze that would have done small time arsonists proud.))
Sprinting across the Canoli Citizens’ Square, feline paws taking great leaps and bounds, I skittered away from the heat of the advancing flames. The fire spattered, crackled behind my back; I could almost feel it sizzling my pelt, could almost feel molten waves melting the grey cobbles. The smoke I inhaled with every breath was choking my lungs. But it wasn’t the flames and fumes that taxed me. Even if I escaped this mad charnel house of burning corpses and grilling buildings, a worse fate awaited my burdened self.
This being the epicenter of Canoli, plus the fact that the fire had kindled at the city gates, resulted in me escaping un scorched. As to the rest of the capital… Frankly, it was a unsightly mess of terrified humans and daemons scrambling for cover. The streets were littered with the dead: burnt to a crisp or suffocated by strangling plumes of toxic smoke.
The buildings were in a similar state, if not worse. Reputable buildings famed for their “elegant structure and poise” now closely resembled crumbling masses of congealed wax and hot fired brick.
((Picturesque.))
Meanwhile, tongues of crimson-amber flame lashed the city. It would be impossible to put out the turbulent holocaust now.
As fatigued as I felt, I still drearily wondered how to came to all this: A once simple scheme, a bribery of power, three enchanted papyrus scrolls. A bet of gods: between my master, Seth the evil one, and Ra, the sovereign god.
That pact had been made was so long ago, it seemed so totally alien to me. Like one of those quaint little fables grandparents would tell their pint-sized brethren. But still, I could recall…
Seth had gambled with Ra that greed in humans was stronger than all rounded decency(or common sense). Seth said yay. Ra said nay. So all they needed were some humans: the Canoli settlement, the first and sole human run establishment on Earth. And a tempter. I, being the most capable entity of Seth’s servants, had been given the not-quite-so simple task of luring the humans to their supposed doom.
the crisis
The trouble had started when three papyrus scrolls had been magicked, and hearing word of it, I stole them in the dead of the night, handing the goods over to a faction who had bribed me with a satisfactory amount.
The scrolls, in the hands of the aforementioned opposition, caused quite a heck load of ruckus in Canoli(this is where Ra lost the bet, I deduce), and to cut a long story short, Ra, being the eternal sore loser that he was, decided to cut his losses. A plus being that he wouldn’t have another mortal induced headache. At least not for another millennia anyway.
((Not to mention the noise pollution. Humans are loud, and their language could be so crude that it pained me.))
So that, was why Canoli was being razed to the ground, understand?
more than you do
Now. Where was I? Oh, right. Running for my life while an antagonistic god, by the inconsequential name of Horus, was after my blood. My paws felt like they were about to drop at any moment, but I couldn’t stop now.
A blistering roar of fury crashed above the clamor of hysterical wailing and blustering flames.
If Horus thought a deafening bellow was enough to halt me, he had another thing coming. I was far too shrewd and experienced in narrow getaways. The cat kept up a persistent pace, knowing better than to resort to flight: Horus being a lord of the air, could have easily swatted me from the air like a human slapping a mosquito.
It all meant that I could only run ahead, feathery ginger paws scraping the ground; buildings crammed my left and right; blocks of burning granite blurs skimmed past. But sooner or later, the cat knew, it would have to face the music. Horus was slow, but persistent. He would catch up to me, sooner or later.
My predictions came true in the next eye blink. A small gaggle of what looked like sooty ink daubs nipped in before me, forming a teeny barricade. They bobbed about laboriously in midair, small black heads with crimson dots for eyes, trailing ghostly tendrils like tails.
Puny, abhorrent minions of the gods, no doubt, sent by that conniving Horus.
((Oh, you might have been astonished at how many assorted specimens there were of us.[[Spirits created by the gods to serve them, in other words. In my opinion, the gods were just lazy.]] And by “us”, I meant that in a broad sense. There were so many spirits frolicking about that it would be a thankless task of classifying us all.
Fortunately, there was an easier way: viz. through the powers we had.
For example, I was a nobler sort of spirit, having the ability of shape shifting, and the little dark blots were just irrelevant scribbles that could do something paltry such as squirting venomous acid, and thus, were hardly worthy as sentient life forms. They were generally regarded by higher entities[Example: me]like unsightly blemishes upon an acne ridden face.
However, as varied as we were, humans just didn’t know we existed.[[How very odd.]]And don’t try that “Seeing is believing” banter. The majority of humans are just too dense or have no desire to spot us.))
I bristled at the living barrier of tiny imps. First a fire, then Horus and now these puffed up midgets thought they could stop me? Well, they would soon be singing a radically different tune. The burnt umber hued cat stepped forward, ready to dish forth a sound beating: preferably including the ringing concussions of cracked heads and split brains.
((Excluding my own, of course.))
A sudden scrape of leather against gritty earth made the cat do a quick hundred and eighty degrees. I gulped. The teeny creatures behind me quavered in limp awe.
Uh oh.
There stood Horus, lord of the skies, chief caretaker of the Canolian king. Horus the mighty, the “attack until enemy is crushed into a juicy pulpy mess and make cocktails from their squished bones” Horus.
He was a hulking brute of a god, finely sculpted human muscles bulging about his mortal frame. Even though he was standing a decent distance off, he still loomed very effectively. But it mostly wasn’t his hulking physique that made you gawp.
It was more the sleek falcon’s head nestled cozily upon Horus’s hominine shoulders, that called attention.
((The gods usually liked going about with human bodies and the heads of animals who symbolized them. Just don’t ask me why…))
The glossy sable-white falcon head feathers made a sharp contrast with Horus’s dark ochre skin, as he turned his sole eye to inspect me with a piercing gaze. He was clothed in a simple loincloth, with leather sandals adorning his feet.
((Horus’s other eye had been ripped out in a battle with Seth. That had happened when I was still a baby critter in the cradle.))
It was a beckoning black hole, ironed in that sleek ebon falcon's head.
deep, dark, dell
But Horus’s spooky glare wasn’t the main cause for concern: A tall spear, its deadly tip gleaming and polished, laid in one tight fisted grip. Long dried blood had sunk into the weathered sienna wood; it traced a meandering tributary of patterns down the lengthy handle. The tip of the spear itself was a singularly keen dagger of crystal.
"You caused it!" he bellowed, a surprisingly deafening voice erupting from that onyx beak, jabbing an accusing finger((large and beefy it was, with a stylish side helping of hair.))at my silky feline face .
"Caused what?" I returned coolly.
Yep, condescendingly witty and calm, that was me.
"Surely you know that I, being a physical representation of the seven deadly sins, have no choice but to lure humans to their doom? " here, I shot a look at the insignificant blots behind me. They were letting out little bursts of pungent brimstone at short intervals, clearly brimming with: "Let me at 'em!" machismo.
They wouldn't be feeling so confident in a bit.
“Besides, Ra and Seth made a bet, and therefore, my given task was completely legitimate,” I finished, sadly unable to hold back a tone of smug satisfaction.
Horus stiffened, his grip upon the spear tightening. I tensed instinctively. This was not a good sign.
((Horus was not one for sophisticated conversation. Annihilate first and ask questions later was his unspoken motto. I myself had been the target of that same spear on several different occasions over the centuries, which was why I was understandably cautious. Not that I was scared, oh, no. Just what you’d call cleverly prudent.))
There was a pause of pregnant suspense. The poor forgotten imps behind me chattered questioningly. Horus stared at me, a murderous look in his single eye. I hastily took a step back.
As if my gingerly movement had been a trigger, Horus’s body was ignited with an incendiary inferno that had lit with the blaze of his rage. “Emperor! MURDER!” he shrieked explosively, and then lunged towards me with the spear.
Ah. Time to go.
((Really, I hadn’t meant the scrolls to land into the Canolian emperor’s oily grasp. It had, most unluckily ended up in his self-destruction. I’ll recount the tale some other time. If only Horus wasn’t so protective with his charges…))
The cat leaped out of the way, its fur standing on end, narrowly avoiding becoming a shish kebab. Behind me, the brunet lackeys zipped away, squealing in terror.
Horus careened onwards, carried forward by his heavy frame and hefty spear. He motored on in a good way until he dug in his sandals and halted himself. By that time, I had clawed myself up the statue of Canoli’s founder in the center of the square, and onto the brick man’s head. Having a somewhat unsteady sliding grip upon the brick scalp, the cat awkwardly shimmied about to catch sight of a seething Horus charging back.
The imps had mysteriously vanished. Pity. It looked like I wouldn’t be able to punish their earlier insolence.
The wildfire circulating Horus’s body appeared to have been extinguished, but the spear was still ominously deadly as ever. Thankfully, the statue towered well above Horus. And he had never been one for strategy or think that I would leap-
The cat uncoiled muscles of liquid mercury and sprung, its hind limbs propelling it off the sculpture.
For a moment, I felt suspended in eternity: my paws were imbued with the weightlessness of air, the intensity of fire. The wind ruffled my fur, gentling each hollow follicle. Razor claws slid smoothly from their ivory sheaths, even as gravity carried out its timeless task and I dropped like a rock to earth.
((Also present was the slight presence of vertigo as the height and position of my body played hell with internal organs.))
I felt like I could do anything.
((This manic surge of inane optimism was clearly caused by the height and the queer fluttery feeling in my belly. After all, it was seriously unthinkable that an embittered soul like me would have an abruptly cheery mood. ))
I’d targeted it all with a finicky precision. In theory, I should have landed spot on, right on top of the god’s feathery crest.
But this wasn’t theory. This was practical.
In fact, just like one of those cliché stuff you see in soppy novels, something anti-climatic happened. At the last possible second, Horus’s feet stumbled, he lurched back-
Thumwp!
I landed on all four right in front of Horus, swaying like a bewildered cobra on my feet. So cats did land on their feet, I thought giddily. The world was swaying like a willow in the breeze. But Horus had had enough. He steadied his spear again with a grim expression, and was just about to gut me horribly, when Ra spoke up.
((At last.))
“Halt,” his voice boomed from everywhere and yet nowhere. It was a great golden voice, one that carried the heat of the sun. Not a gentle kind of heat, but one that could, and would render humans to brittle skeletons. “Horus, lord of the skies, spare this unworthy servant. We require him to retrieve the scrolls.”
Horus halted. I blinked. “Say what?”
“Retrieve the scrolls,” Ra repeated impatiently. “Your master Seth has fled from the face of my wrath, servant.”
The cat blinked again, slowly awakening from its daze. A second later, I snapped back to attention, fully focused.
“Wait a minute,” it yowled irritably. “You can’t make me do this!”
“You can and you will do so, or you will spend the next century of your life in the form of a human, slave. Your master, your task, your undoing.” Ra’s voice suddenly became a silky venomous purr.
My shoulders drooped. Ra knew he’d got me. I could almost imagine the self-satisfied, pompous grin across his face, as I mumbled dejectedly: “Ah. Very well.”
The only good things that came out of this was the fact that Horus looked undeniably miffed: he’d been unable to take his revenge.
“Now that has been agreed upon, you should leave this forsaken place now, demon((who was calling who now, eh?)). Horus, you as well. We do not have all the time in the world, and the night grows cold. The scrolls themselves will be found by other humans who will explore the ruins of Canoli in the future. Slave, you will not meddle or dig them up anytime until then, lest the scrolls are fated to be involved in human history.” Ra proceeded to adopt a casual tone.
The cat looked up, startled. It was indeed getting dark, and the fire was now tentatively tasting the edges of the square; braids of flame flickered at the corners, jewel bright in the veils of dark that were now slowly, but steadily groping across the plaza cobbles.
Horus gave a deeply vexed screech. He departed Canoli at last, swooping away on a set of feathered alabaster wings, the spear dangling from one hand. The cat shrugged and took a last look around before it took off in the form of a common pigeon, which set off after Horus.
Even as I beat a shabby, un-glamorous exit out of Canoli, as I looked down upon the raging ruins, I couldn’t help but despair.
And so they say
the End…
…is just another Beginning
Fæble – Myth, legend... mere hogwash
-------------------------------------------------------
Feel free to comment. xD
F Æ B L E
Dues Ex Machina
It is a dark, dark auditorium. A simple room, lacking of extra furnishings, besides several rows of the kind of chairs you see in theaters. No light is to be seen, save for that teeny crack at the open door. But it isn’t empty: the bulky outlines shifting here and there minutely prove otherwise. Humans are here. Oddly enough, almost all of them are in the middle of adolescence.
They are perched upon crimson leather seats(worn and vandalized upon), and in front of them, all around them, are noticeably different silhouettes .They are not human shadows.
They’re daemons.
Most of them are animal shaped: a rabbit here, a tiger there. A lone lemur swings somewhat haphazardly from a solitary crystal chandelier; the glass of the gently swaying light is cracked into a mosaic of patterns, it gives light no more. And a minority are the stuff of myth and legends: dragons, phoenixes, griffins and all.
The smaller creature companions perch on wherever their humans have space to spare: shoulders, scalps and laps. The larger ones either sprawl lazily at their human’s side, or sit alertly erect next to their friends, depending on their natures
The peculiar mix and match of human teens and not-quite-so-human fellows, engage in a broad range of activities: some glance about expectantly, others inspect their grubby fingernails intently, while some others snore happily away.
But there is one thing for sure: all this idle waiting isn’t for nothing. There is a rapt aura about the group, some sort of anticipatory air that adds resolve to the otherwise useless chemistry of tension and that “on the edge of your seat” tingling.
Like what you’d feel if you were about to watch an action-packed show in a cinema.
Coincidentally, there is such a confection at the front of the hall, to be used for that exact purpose: that of playing films.
It is something that resembles an antique box camera in shape, only that it seems to have violently regurgitated its innards, after a torturous spate of indigestion. The end result is a tangled mass of angular gears and snaking, crooked cables.
Even more queerly, the old fashioned projector(for that is what it is)is propped upon what appears to be a much tinkered with art easel.
The wooden stand is rickety with age. Termites seemed to have taken residence within the peeling wood refuge once; you could tell from the multiple pockmarks upon its fading sienna visage.
What is more, the easel had been modified once, twice, for many uses ; how it holds together after all this time…is anyone’s guess.
Both easel and projector are battered with much use and age; they blend in perfectly with the dank and dismal hall.
Suddenly, there is a loud, piercing creak and someone steps in, through the door. Making her way down the stairs, a young woman, her black coyote soul leaping just several yards before her.
Instantly, there is a flurry of movement from the small audience, as they rouse themselves and each other.
There is a straightening of backs and everyone sits upright, watching on with an intense interest, as the young woman and her black coyote daemon reach the front of the room. The ring tailed lemur drops down gently from the candelabra, to hop into his human’s lap. A black dingo sits up at attention.
The young woman gingerly perches herself on a small box composed of wooden planks and nails. The black coyote daemon sits at her feet, tail wagging furiously, looking on proudly at his human.
From her vantage point with the projector behind her, the young woman looks around at her fellows. She takes a deep breath before opening her mouth.
And this is what she says:
”Welcome to our opening class of the Daemon Academy. As you should know, daemons, are the animal half to our souls. They are our friends, our guides, our companions. Or conscience.”
Here, she pauses for a brief moment, to let her words sink in.
There is silence, save for the few murmurings of daemons.
She goes on again:
“As you should all know, most daemons take the forms of animals. But others also take on the shape of mythical creatures-”
The door forces itself open again, this time, the wind whistles sharply past, as a middle aged woman bustles in. She is far older than any of them all, but her eyes twinkle sharply; she is no fool. Her bird daemon shifts edgily on her shoulder, from foot to foot.
The young teen who had been speaking, hopped off her stand, approaching the woman, asking curiously what she is here for. The woman brandishes a feather duster somewhat threateningly, saying something under her breath to the young lady.
The young woman turns to the rest of her young crowd of “students”, excusing herself and heading quickly out of the door. Leaving them to stare at the other lady, who is now dusting the projector player.
One of the teenagers stands up and asks boldly: “Um…what are you doing?”
“Deus ex machine.” Is the odd sentence that the lady mumbles softly. “This saved my life once, that and this stupid easel.”
She turns back to the younglings, who stare at her somewhat strangely.
The woman wears a crooked smile on her wrinkled face. “I’m sorry. Recalling old times…” She is now treading her way back towards the door, she looks in a hurry all of a sudden.
There is a final crash, as the door swings shut.
The teenagers and the daemons are alone again.
This time, they do not stay put.
One of them, a girl and the aforementioned black dingo daemon, edges their way down to the projector, wondering what had just taken place.
And why all this fuss about a broken down projector and an easel?
And they’re about to find out.
When one goes, all go.
The rest of the teens pace themselves just several feet behind, their daemons hopping in anticipation.
When they reach the projector, all don’t quite know what to do.
They’re going to try anyway.
A white tiger daemon prods it with a huge white paw. The easel rocks back wildly, clacking about, sending up a muffled plume of dust.
The rest of them hurriedly shushes the white tiger, who slinks back.
Meanwhile, the aforementioned ring tailed lemur daemon toggles the projector with his opposable thumbs.
Thump.
Whirrrr….
There is an intake of breath from the group, as the reel in the projector starts playing; the image cast on the wall is splotchy, black and white film.
But it plays on…
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
A series of text filter across the backgrounds of a blistering, endless desert.
There was a time when the world was
Perfect
Then the text recedes into the background; both fade and a pair of eyes, cat slitted with malice and treachery fills the wall.
But it never lasted.
The text and the set of eyes blink and disappears with a lunatic cackle. More text appears, this time faster than before.
It was all long ago,
A shattered soul.
A broken home.
Unmerciful kings.
Three papyrus scrolls.
There is a swish and a tip of a feline tail stabs the wall, before it flickers away in a heartbeat.
It was never meant to be.
It. Was. Sheer. Folly.
A piece of ragged parchment surfaces steadily, up and forwards , until it is near enough to be read ,the projector slowly scrolls down; the writing upon the letter is scrawling and fancy:
Oh, now, here we go,
A race for the scrolls.
A quest for a king.
To rebuild a home.
To knit back a soul.
Replacing them all is a chain of images, flashing rapidly, from one to the next:
A yowling cat, racing for his life-
A shrieking man, crown wobbling on his head, feet slapping the throne-
A bird of prey and a pig, looking deep into each other’s eyes-
A sulky adolescent, kicking beer cans down an alley-
A burning pyramid-
Finally, all blacks out.
The last words display themselves
Promises are meant to be broken
And the words dull back into oblivion.
------------------------------------------------------------------
+Prologue+[/u]
And. It. All. Burnt. Down.[/u]
Just as the bronze, ranges of desert was fading into the late evening and getting chilly, the city of Canoli was alight with a bonfire of blazes, and furnace heat.
The sun was a bleeding crimson outlined starkly against a descending, grey dusk. The wind howled a ghastly aria to withering skies. Sable rooks scaled the horizons; their wings carved sharp furrows through air, they wheeled and plunged in dare devilish flight. Above the keen of the gale and avian shrieks, distant wailing cries and lone redundant screams could be heard, from the city of Canoli. Plumes of smudge grey smoke could also be seen , rising behind the stone walls of the immense capital. Acrid curling wisps of smell hung about the battlements in banners.
Every Beginning
Canoli was like an overturned cauldron of magic gone awry: like a floodtide, sheer screaming panic had swept away all visible logic of the civilians. Their daemons were there, in every possible form of creature, chivvying their humans away from the advancing conflagration. But it wasn’t the daemons who kept the humans on their toes. Only the cold, lingering threat of death harried weary feet. The devouring flames danced and pranced through the capital at a frantic pace, swiftly toppling buildings like ninepins. Towers, blocks and homes… What did it matter?
The once proud and prominent city was burning.
Has an End
((There was, however, a distinct lack of fashion in this extermination: I personally felt that a simple meteor shower would have done a snappier and neater job. But: “Oh, no, lets set the whole place on fire!” Although I had to admit, it was a blaze that would have done small time arsonists proud.))
Sprinting across the Canoli Citizens’ Square, feline paws taking great leaps and bounds, I skittered away from the heat of the advancing flames. The fire spattered, crackled behind my back; I could almost feel it sizzling my pelt, could almost feel molten waves melting the grey cobbles. The smoke I inhaled with every breath was choking my lungs. But it wasn’t the flames and fumes that taxed me. Even if I escaped this mad charnel house of burning corpses and grilling buildings, a worse fate awaited my burdened self.
This being the epicenter of Canoli, plus the fact that the fire had kindled at the city gates, resulted in me escaping un scorched. As to the rest of the capital… Frankly, it was a unsightly mess of terrified humans and daemons scrambling for cover. The streets were littered with the dead: burnt to a crisp or suffocated by strangling plumes of toxic smoke.
The buildings were in a similar state, if not worse. Reputable buildings famed for their “elegant structure and poise” now closely resembled crumbling masses of congealed wax and hot fired brick.
((Picturesque.))
Meanwhile, tongues of crimson-amber flame lashed the city. It would be impossible to put out the turbulent holocaust now.
As fatigued as I felt, I still drearily wondered how to came to all this: A once simple scheme, a bribery of power, three enchanted papyrus scrolls. A bet of gods: between my master, Seth the evil one, and Ra, the sovereign god.
That pact had been made was so long ago, it seemed so totally alien to me. Like one of those quaint little fables grandparents would tell their pint-sized brethren. But still, I could recall…
Seth had gambled with Ra that greed in humans was stronger than all rounded decency(or common sense). Seth said yay. Ra said nay. So all they needed were some humans: the Canoli settlement, the first and sole human run establishment on Earth. And a tempter. I, being the most capable entity of Seth’s servants, had been given the not-quite-so simple task of luring the humans to their supposed doom.
the crisis
The trouble had started when three papyrus scrolls had been magicked, and hearing word of it, I stole them in the dead of the night, handing the goods over to a faction who had bribed me with a satisfactory amount.
The scrolls, in the hands of the aforementioned opposition, caused quite a heck load of ruckus in Canoli(this is where Ra lost the bet, I deduce), and to cut a long story short, Ra, being the eternal sore loser that he was, decided to cut his losses. A plus being that he wouldn’t have another mortal induced headache. At least not for another millennia anyway.
((Not to mention the noise pollution. Humans are loud, and their language could be so crude that it pained me.))
So that, was why Canoli was being razed to the ground, understand?
more than you do
Now. Where was I? Oh, right. Running for my life while an antagonistic god, by the inconsequential name of Horus, was after my blood. My paws felt like they were about to drop at any moment, but I couldn’t stop now.
A blistering roar of fury crashed above the clamor of hysterical wailing and blustering flames.
If Horus thought a deafening bellow was enough to halt me, he had another thing coming. I was far too shrewd and experienced in narrow getaways. The cat kept up a persistent pace, knowing better than to resort to flight: Horus being a lord of the air, could have easily swatted me from the air like a human slapping a mosquito.
It all meant that I could only run ahead, feathery ginger paws scraping the ground; buildings crammed my left and right; blocks of burning granite blurs skimmed past. But sooner or later, the cat knew, it would have to face the music. Horus was slow, but persistent. He would catch up to me, sooner or later.
My predictions came true in the next eye blink. A small gaggle of what looked like sooty ink daubs nipped in before me, forming a teeny barricade. They bobbed about laboriously in midair, small black heads with crimson dots for eyes, trailing ghostly tendrils like tails.
Puny, abhorrent minions of the gods, no doubt, sent by that conniving Horus.
((Oh, you might have been astonished at how many assorted specimens there were of us.[[Spirits created by the gods to serve them, in other words. In my opinion, the gods were just lazy.]] And by “us”, I meant that in a broad sense. There were so many spirits frolicking about that it would be a thankless task of classifying us all.
Fortunately, there was an easier way: viz. through the powers we had.
For example, I was a nobler sort of spirit, having the ability of shape shifting, and the little dark blots were just irrelevant scribbles that could do something paltry such as squirting venomous acid, and thus, were hardly worthy as sentient life forms. They were generally regarded by higher entities[Example: me]like unsightly blemishes upon an acne ridden face.
However, as varied as we were, humans just didn’t know we existed.[[How very odd.]]And don’t try that “Seeing is believing” banter. The majority of humans are just too dense or have no desire to spot us.))
I bristled at the living barrier of tiny imps. First a fire, then Horus and now these puffed up midgets thought they could stop me? Well, they would soon be singing a radically different tune. The burnt umber hued cat stepped forward, ready to dish forth a sound beating: preferably including the ringing concussions of cracked heads and split brains.
((Excluding my own, of course.))
A sudden scrape of leather against gritty earth made the cat do a quick hundred and eighty degrees. I gulped. The teeny creatures behind me quavered in limp awe.
Uh oh.
There stood Horus, lord of the skies, chief caretaker of the Canolian king. Horus the mighty, the “attack until enemy is crushed into a juicy pulpy mess and make cocktails from their squished bones” Horus.
He was a hulking brute of a god, finely sculpted human muscles bulging about his mortal frame. Even though he was standing a decent distance off, he still loomed very effectively. But it mostly wasn’t his hulking physique that made you gawp.
It was more the sleek falcon’s head nestled cozily upon Horus’s hominine shoulders, that called attention.
((The gods usually liked going about with human bodies and the heads of animals who symbolized them. Just don’t ask me why…))
The glossy sable-white falcon head feathers made a sharp contrast with Horus’s dark ochre skin, as he turned his sole eye to inspect me with a piercing gaze. He was clothed in a simple loincloth, with leather sandals adorning his feet.
((Horus’s other eye had been ripped out in a battle with Seth. That had happened when I was still a baby critter in the cradle.))
It was a beckoning black hole, ironed in that sleek ebon falcon's head.
deep, dark, dell
But Horus’s spooky glare wasn’t the main cause for concern: A tall spear, its deadly tip gleaming and polished, laid in one tight fisted grip. Long dried blood had sunk into the weathered sienna wood; it traced a meandering tributary of patterns down the lengthy handle. The tip of the spear itself was a singularly keen dagger of crystal.
"You caused it!" he bellowed, a surprisingly deafening voice erupting from that onyx beak, jabbing an accusing finger((large and beefy it was, with a stylish side helping of hair.))at my silky feline face .
"Caused what?" I returned coolly.
Yep, condescendingly witty and calm, that was me.
"Surely you know that I, being a physical representation of the seven deadly sins, have no choice but to lure humans to their doom? " here, I shot a look at the insignificant blots behind me. They were letting out little bursts of pungent brimstone at short intervals, clearly brimming with: "Let me at 'em!" machismo.
They wouldn't be feeling so confident in a bit.
“Besides, Ra and Seth made a bet, and therefore, my given task was completely legitimate,” I finished, sadly unable to hold back a tone of smug satisfaction.
Horus stiffened, his grip upon the spear tightening. I tensed instinctively. This was not a good sign.
((Horus was not one for sophisticated conversation. Annihilate first and ask questions later was his unspoken motto. I myself had been the target of that same spear on several different occasions over the centuries, which was why I was understandably cautious. Not that I was scared, oh, no. Just what you’d call cleverly prudent.))
There was a pause of pregnant suspense. The poor forgotten imps behind me chattered questioningly. Horus stared at me, a murderous look in his single eye. I hastily took a step back.
As if my gingerly movement had been a trigger, Horus’s body was ignited with an incendiary inferno that had lit with the blaze of his rage. “Emperor! MURDER!” he shrieked explosively, and then lunged towards me with the spear.
Ah. Time to go.
((Really, I hadn’t meant the scrolls to land into the Canolian emperor’s oily grasp. It had, most unluckily ended up in his self-destruction. I’ll recount the tale some other time. If only Horus wasn’t so protective with his charges…))
The cat leaped out of the way, its fur standing on end, narrowly avoiding becoming a shish kebab. Behind me, the brunet lackeys zipped away, squealing in terror.
Horus careened onwards, carried forward by his heavy frame and hefty spear. He motored on in a good way until he dug in his sandals and halted himself. By that time, I had clawed myself up the statue of Canoli’s founder in the center of the square, and onto the brick man’s head. Having a somewhat unsteady sliding grip upon the brick scalp, the cat awkwardly shimmied about to catch sight of a seething Horus charging back.
The imps had mysteriously vanished. Pity. It looked like I wouldn’t be able to punish their earlier insolence.
The wildfire circulating Horus’s body appeared to have been extinguished, but the spear was still ominously deadly as ever. Thankfully, the statue towered well above Horus. And he had never been one for strategy or think that I would leap-
The cat uncoiled muscles of liquid mercury and sprung, its hind limbs propelling it off the sculpture.
For a moment, I felt suspended in eternity: my paws were imbued with the weightlessness of air, the intensity of fire. The wind ruffled my fur, gentling each hollow follicle. Razor claws slid smoothly from their ivory sheaths, even as gravity carried out its timeless task and I dropped like a rock to earth.
((Also present was the slight presence of vertigo as the height and position of my body played hell with internal organs.))
I felt like I could do anything.
((This manic surge of inane optimism was clearly caused by the height and the queer fluttery feeling in my belly. After all, it was seriously unthinkable that an embittered soul like me would have an abruptly cheery mood. ))
I’d targeted it all with a finicky precision. In theory, I should have landed spot on, right on top of the god’s feathery crest.
But this wasn’t theory. This was practical.
In fact, just like one of those cliché stuff you see in soppy novels, something anti-climatic happened. At the last possible second, Horus’s feet stumbled, he lurched back-
Thumwp!
I landed on all four right in front of Horus, swaying like a bewildered cobra on my feet. So cats did land on their feet, I thought giddily. The world was swaying like a willow in the breeze. But Horus had had enough. He steadied his spear again with a grim expression, and was just about to gut me horribly, when Ra spoke up.
((At last.))
“Halt,” his voice boomed from everywhere and yet nowhere. It was a great golden voice, one that carried the heat of the sun. Not a gentle kind of heat, but one that could, and would render humans to brittle skeletons. “Horus, lord of the skies, spare this unworthy servant. We require him to retrieve the scrolls.”
Horus halted. I blinked. “Say what?”
“Retrieve the scrolls,” Ra repeated impatiently. “Your master Seth has fled from the face of my wrath, servant.”
The cat blinked again, slowly awakening from its daze. A second later, I snapped back to attention, fully focused.
“Wait a minute,” it yowled irritably. “You can’t make me do this!”
“You can and you will do so, or you will spend the next century of your life in the form of a human, slave. Your master, your task, your undoing.” Ra’s voice suddenly became a silky venomous purr.
My shoulders drooped. Ra knew he’d got me. I could almost imagine the self-satisfied, pompous grin across his face, as I mumbled dejectedly: “Ah. Very well.”
The only good things that came out of this was the fact that Horus looked undeniably miffed: he’d been unable to take his revenge.
“Now that has been agreed upon, you should leave this forsaken place now, demon((who was calling who now, eh?)). Horus, you as well. We do not have all the time in the world, and the night grows cold. The scrolls themselves will be found by other humans who will explore the ruins of Canoli in the future. Slave, you will not meddle or dig them up anytime until then, lest the scrolls are fated to be involved in human history.” Ra proceeded to adopt a casual tone.
The cat looked up, startled. It was indeed getting dark, and the fire was now tentatively tasting the edges of the square; braids of flame flickered at the corners, jewel bright in the veils of dark that were now slowly, but steadily groping across the plaza cobbles.
Horus gave a deeply vexed screech. He departed Canoli at last, swooping away on a set of feathered alabaster wings, the spear dangling from one hand. The cat shrugged and took a last look around before it took off in the form of a common pigeon, which set off after Horus.
Even as I beat a shabby, un-glamorous exit out of Canoli, as I looked down upon the raging ruins, I couldn’t help but despair.
And so they say
the End…
…is just another Beginning
Fæble – Myth, legend... mere hogwash
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