Narrator – OOG Messanger 01

(Tyvian plays the terrible scene over and over in his mind. The four “whores” of Arwic, poised to kill. Poised to destroy the lives of countless innocents in the name of their lord. These women so lost that had Tyvian and his companions not intervened, they would have surely taken the lives of their own infant children. The child Meer, perhaps one day a son of Surin, and most assuredly the first son of Tyvian. Tears fill his eyes. For the near tragedy just barely avoided. For the beauty in the eyes of this precious soul. Son of Tyvian Meer. The others rest in their hobbled-together desert camp, while the pitch black sky lends cooling breezes to the night.)

“Tyvian Meer.”

(The young priest snaps to alert at the barely audible speaking of his name.)

“Who’s there?”

(He looks toward the level section of flat oak on the rise, west of their camp. Something moves in the spiny grass, pushing aside the wide leaves and steely branches. Tyvian draws his short sword with practiced smoothness. Not a sound is made as the blade is born of the moonlight.)

“Show yourself. I warn you…my temperament finds me not in a forgiving mood. Show yourself!”

(The sound of the dessert night changes instantly. The silvery light of the goddess moon seems to focus on the very same rise he’s fixed his attention upon. The brush shivers, making way for a massive black hoof. Then before the young priest, appears a head of antlers so beautiful the very presence steals his breath away. Upon the forehead, a pattern in white that can only be a symbol meant just for him. A symbol of an ancient language spoken in forest temples and forgotten by all but those who still believe in the Mother of Peace. As the great stag moves closer, Tyvian’s legs buckle. He follows the gentle cue and falls on his knees to the soft sand below. The magnificent beast bows its head with the breeze, then extends it neck high above the supplicant priest. The black fur of it legs changes in hue through dark sapphire, then amethyst into a earthen brown of the forest primeval where its thick hide spreads into a massive chest. The Great Stag does not open its mouth, though its voice is heard in the very core of Tyvian’s soul.)

“Tyvian Meer. I am sent by the Great Mother with her words upon my tongue. She has watched you in your quest to stop the rebirth of the wicked one Arsafaal.”

(Tyvian tries to speak, but the words are swallowed in his throat, dampened by the salt of tears.)

“Our Mother knows of your efforts and she judges you not for the failure of your task. Arsafaal is a powerful trickster who uses unspeakable energies, lies and deceit with equal expertise. Our Mother weeps with the wholeness of your faith and the commitment to your task at every turn, even in the face of true evil. Weaker men would have turned back out of fear. But you Tyvian Meer walked into the fire, and Our Mother’s love has grown so much. She is grateful for your service and faith. You shall know great rewards.”

(Tyvian lifts his tear-streaked face. The desert dirt marks his cheeks and wells with dampened grit in the corner of his eyes. He manages to speak…)

“I…I tried…so hard…I gave all the energy I could…we all did. There has been so much injury. So much blood and pain.”

(The Great Stag stares into the priest’s eyes)

“I know, gentle son. Our Mother would that all could be calm and peaceful in a new age of healing. But alas, there is so much darkness ahead. Armies shall rise and many battles stand on the horizon. You must continue to be a figure of strength. You must walk as a model of determination and resolve. For in your eyes, others see inspiration. In your voice, others hear assurance. In your deeds, others find strength.”

(Tyvian takes a deep breath into his lungs, hoping to find words. The Great Stag continues.)

“Our Mother wants you to know that the answers to your greatest concerns lie before you. See…everything, Tyvian Meer. Listen to the song of the birds and the cackle of the desert akraat in its answer to the moon.”

(Tyvian manages to speak.)

“The children. The babies…are…”

“The infants are innocent gifts to this Wyrld. It is your duty to protect them. The Cóng Jasai out of lust begat a beautiful boy. His visage tells that he is Nyverian, but his heart is Cóng Manii. Our Mother has shared a cup of forgiveness with the great dragon gods and to her they joined in her prophecy. The Child of Dragons shall rise up and lead his people in a renewed spirit of union. The child shall become a man of fairness, devoid of bigotry and hate. In the new age, he shall command the multitudes…the General, Gaar tu Arboraas.”

(A crimson star begins to shine anew in the sky far above the Great Stag’s head. Tyvian can barely gaze full-on for its brilliance.)

“Our Mother has spoken that her brother, the Great Warrior Aethelgrim has foretold the daughter of the warrior-pilgrim Garvin Cluun will battle three diseases in the first thirteen years of her life. With your guidance she shall survive all three trials, growing stronger with each triumph. The girl-child has been given the gift of voice, so that she may speak with any creature that walks upon this Wyrld. With this ability she shall grow to be a unifier. It is by her battle cry that the many scattered warriors shall come together as one. It is the blood of Aethelgrim that courses through her veins. From her horseback, Høryntheus shall command legions.”

(And with the mention of her name, a star with an sapphire hue ignites to the east of the crimson star. Tyvian bows his head. A smile of sheer joy immovable from across his face.)

“The boy child stolen from your loins sings the ancient songs of Our Mother. He will walk upon her waters and climb the currents of her evening winds. Yes, Tyvian…your son. Know this more than anything else. You are a father. And as such, you hold the scepter of responsibility, having bestowed a gift more precious than any treasure ever known. Your son, Marustade possesses the strongest heart of the Dunbach kings, and the soul of a saint destined to sit at the right hand of Our Mother. Though while upon this Wyrld, he shall grow to lead the armies of good as the spiritual pontifex of the New Wyrld faith. Make no mistake. The child’s youth shall be a most dangerous path. For he more than any of the other infants presents the greatest danger to the Brothers of Pain. Marustade threatens the stability of Arwic’s faith, and he will not stop until your son is dead. Without Marustade, The Covenant of the Four Stars shall never succeed and the Visible Wyrld will fall into eternal darkness. Guard him well. Love him deeply. Guide him every step of the way.”

(Tyvian looks up to the sky and witnesses an emerald star born to the west of the crimson light.)

“The daughter of Brother Dansk of Our Father’s tabernacle is the final star in this prophecy. The girl, Kastigelle shall burn the brightest in the firmament, for she is destined to wear the Crown of Truth. This girl must be protected, for without her the forces of good will not unite and the single armies will fall to chaos. Kastigelle will die before her tenth birthday. She must be resurrected by one of pure faith in order to fulfill the prophecy. In all of this, Kastigelle shall be Queen.”

(And finally, the fourth star burst in a ball of golden light to the north of the crimson star. Tyvian looks away from the stars to notice that the eyes of the Great Stag have softened. The majestic messenger has moved closer.)

“Three more things before I go, Tyvian Meer. The first. You and your companions struggle over the task of carrying the infants safely across the Singe. The solution has been in your grasp all along. Simply place the children in the Sanctuary you have created by the grace of Our Mother. Though this construct is meant for one being, the children are small and will fit safely within the walls of your protective space.”

(The Great Stag moves even closer to within inches of Tyvian’s face. He can smell the sweet breathe of the holy messenger, scented with flat oak and the sacred berries of the Tementhal Tree.)

“You are to build a temple of Surin in the great city of Amendar. The followers of Our Mother already gather in the fertile greens of her woods, but in the forests of man they know not her name. You will change that. Build her house amongst the dwellings of mortals and they shall come to hear her words. And finally…Our Mother has witnessed the great energies unleashed by you upon your enemies. Though your proficiency grows, Our Mother wants you to know that that power comes from deep within the gut of this Wyld, from the vital stream of its life flow. To take it in the way of the sorcerers and conjurers of mankind is not in harmony with her teachings. Forsake the spells of Chromomancy and turn your gaze toward the many secrets of the natural path. The Wyrld will teach you its songs if you unclog your mind from the recipes of magic. The miracles of Our Mother are far more powerful than anything ever conjured by staff or wand. And it is this pure might that will send the Lord of Despair to oblivion. Smile, Tyvian Meer. Not all will be suffering and struggle. You will know great joy. Do not forget to laugh. Seva Koresad, Surin Sthah”

(Something prods at Tyvian’s shoulder, and speaks his name over and over. He opens his eyes and instantly regrets the action as the desert sun shocks explodes across his senses.)

“Tyvian, wake up. Wake up! Tyvian, come on….get up. We gotta move out before the sun gets any hotter. The babies are already showing signs of dehydration…”

(As Tyvian’s eyes adjust to the bright light, he can see Rogan kneeling before him. The Migdin’s nose is already starting to heal, though the dark circles under his eyes make him resemble a male cuchafur in a mating fever.)

“Alright, alright…I’m awake. Just give me a moment.”

(Tyvian stretches briefly then takes a spare mouthful of warm water from his wine skin. Though not a cool relief, he is stricken by a gentle and refreshing surprise; a minty hint of flat oak across his tongue, and the tart snap of the Tementhal’s berries.)