The Cliff

[Caraick]

Decided I'd like to share a recent short story.  Wrote this a few nights ago for another player, and liked the way that the story turned out.  For reference, it's written in the style of one of Tessra's wonderful stories, here: http://www.hydlaaplaza.com/smf/index.php?topic=40402.msg452649#msg452649


   



     It was cold that night.  A cold that seeps into homes, and enfolds an area like a slowly extend hand, grasping for a hold on the dark cityscape.  Autumn was dying, and winter was slowly staking its claim to the land.  A steady line of candles dotted the sparsely green landscape.  Perhaps in spring, the area might be a lush meadow, or a rolling prairie.  Though now, the icy tendrils of the oncoming winter had transformed the area into a barren plain with dark, dry grass underfoot.  The twigs and leaves underfoot crackled and split with the steady, even pace of the group.


   It is always cold for this night.


   The line of candles continue to advance, exploring further across the deserted plain.  The flickering lights from the flames illuminated a series of figures, all in heavy cloaks against the frozen air. Gradually, the dark outline of a large rock face began to darken the view ahead, as the group approached.


   And the walk is always long.


   Soon, the cliff came into sharper focus, and the dancing lights of the candles began to cast reflections on the sheer rock face, moving and darting to and fro as a soft icy wind caressed the small flames. The candles began to group together, as much to share the warmth of flames and bodies as to provide greater light ahead of their focus.   The candlelight illuminated a small slab of black granite, placed into the ground ahead of the rock face.  On it, a name and date were carved, as though melted into the very rock.  As the lights drew closer, the scene was more fully illuminated.


   Charred ground surrounded the granite slab in a wide circle, as though it had spread out from that very spot in an inferno.  The rock face bore large scorch marks, and sections where the very rock had melted and reshaped the face of the cliff. 


   Her last dance.


   The group stood in silence for the span of perhaps five full minutes.  No sound, save the wind.  No movement, save the candles’ dance.


   â€śWe’ve gathered here this night to remember…” 


   As though you could forget.


   â€śâ€¦To memorialize one of our own. One of our fallen.”


   The group turned its attention towards the figure now speaking from a point behind the slab of granite.  Though wrapped in layers of a thick fur coat, the icy wind still caused his inky-blue fur to ruffle and sway where exposed to the elements. 


   â€śMariana embodied the truest, deepest tenants of all that we hold dear.”  Caraick’s breath fogged before him, crystallizing in the air before the wind swept it away.


   She’d be laughing at you right now.


   True, it was not too hard for the Menki to conjure up an image of the Fenki’s face, snickering in amusement at his attempts to act in a formal capacity.  She had never been bothered by either rank or formality, and frequently pointed out his insistence to try and bother her about those same things.  Yet, it was that same affable manner, that welcoming spirit, which endeared her to so many.


   And drove her to the cliff.


   â€śThose were darker days.  Days in which sword and shield took the place of scroll and book.  A dark time that preceded the peace we now know.  A peace hard fought, and sorely won.  And it is only by what she has done that it is that way.  By what she gave.”


   Would you have given it as well?


   The Menki’s last few words echoed into a silence that fell upon the small group bearing candles. There were Enkidukai there, their fur blowing in the cold wind.  Elves, who ears peeked out of the thick hoods pulled tightly against the frozen air.  Most of the figures were older, their faces hardened by a full life, and a hard one.  A single human woman stood to the side of the group, supported on either side by Enkidukai; a male and a female.  And though the bitter wind caused her thin, grayed hair to sweep across her face, she left her hood down.  Tears ran down the woman’s face, from a pair of smoky eyes that surely could not see the cliff that rose before her into the sky like a wall.


“Though the Order is no more, we remember.”


The group began to move forward, slowly, towards the sheer rock face.  The old Ylian woman hobble forward, her weight dually supported by a cane and by her two children.


“We will always remember.”


Remember her. Her last fight. Last great sacrifice.


As the first figures reached the rock, they held their candles up to the rock.  The others, too, bared their flames to the hard surface of the cliff face.  For a moment, nothing happened.  And then, slowly, the flames began to find purchase on the unforgiving surface.  Growing, connecting, and joining with each other, they began to snake up the cliff, winding their way towards the top of the rocky face above.  The blind Ylian woman tilted her head back, looking upwards with the others as the flames neared the top of the cliff, seeming to go out as they reached the pinnacle of the obstacle.


But then, at a point high above, a flame grew into existence.  A single flame.  Burning in testament, and in memorial some hundred feet above.  It would burn for a cycle’s length, as it had for ten now, until the group of flame-bearers returned to relight the eternal fire.  The figures began to step back from the cliff face, their candles extinguished.  The only light on the scene now was provided by that small flame, high above. Burning brightly.


Time to go.


The winter wind picked up, bringing about a fresh chill against the figures that began to slowly shuffle away in the icy darkness.  The last to leave was the blind Ylian, coaxed along by the two Enkidukai at her sides. She knew the Clamod would remain, as he always did.


“Come along, Mother..” they said, whispering lest they somehow disturb the sanctity of the scene through their voices alone.


And now only the Clamod remained.  He sank to a knee before the plain granite slab buried into the ground, and the simple words etched therein.  He knew she did not rest here, but the slab still carried that element of finality to the memorial.


Were there a body to bury, you may as well have put her in the ground yourself.  She was here by your command.


The Order hadn’t remained long after the war.  Perhaps it was the memory of those who used to fill the empty sets of armor lining the Temple walls.  Or the shock of surviving the dark, horned figures who’d burned half the Dome before what was left of the Octarchy stopped them.  Or the struggle by all to rebuild.  Slowly, the Menki stood, drawing his coat tighter around him as he surveyed the scene for a final time. He began to walk away, shuffling along slowly towards the group of figures already beginning to meld into the darkness of the field.


As he looked back for one last time towards the cliff, the flame atop seemed to grow, flickering side to side as though waving goodbye.



Goodbye.









“Why do they come, Mother?” asked a small voice. 

A small Dermorian child began to clamber out of a small alcove covered by rocks near the bottom of the cliff face.  Bright green eyes turned towards an Akkaio Fenki making her way carefully out of the large rocks, a small redheaded Dermorian infant nestled peacefully in her arms.

“They’re old friends of Mommy, little one…” she replied, looking towards the faintly visible outlines of the figures in the distance.

Still can’t believe he runs these little ceremonies.  I’d tweak his ear for it.

“Will we ever get to meet them?” asked the little elfess, with a confused look to her mother.

“I don’t think so, Teshia…” replied the Akkadio, exhaling quietly.  She glanced upwards towards the flame high above, and closed her eyes in focus for a moment.  The flame abruptly grew in size, and shifted back and forth for a moment, as though waving a final goodbye.




“I don’t think so…”

[Mariana Xiechai]

* Mariana Xiechai blows up like a supernova!

Nicely written. 

[Donari Tyndale]

* Mariana Xiechai blows up like a supernova!

Thank you Caraick for finally getting rid of Mariana for us.

[Cairn]

For my favoritest fenki?

Loved it  

[Caraick]

Thank you Caraick for finally getting rid of Mariana for us.

Anything for you, my dear.

[Mariana Xiechai]

MARIANA IS NOT DEAD GUYS.

Just because of all the /tells I'm getting. Srsly. She ain't dead. She's ALIIIIIIIIVVVVEEEEE. I think this is just sort of a "what if" piece.

[Donari Tyndale]

A classical case of Schroedinger's Mariana. She's both alive and dead until you /tell her.

[Cairn]

And that, kids, is how the theory of Dakkru's Fenki got introduced into PS lore!