[COLOR=blue]its long i know.....batchgc i know u've read part of this but, still....
It was raining. He noticed that it was raining, how strange. If he had the mental capacity left he would have found it ironic. A dead man notices the rain before he dies.
Funny.
He did not because he could not, he was not lucid enough and his mind was beginning to slip again into the recesses of his pain filled existence and the knowledge of anything eluded him. He did not come back to himself for a very long time.
He was loosing something, what was it again? Oh yeah right he was loosing his life, but that hardly seemed to matter anymore, life and death were beyond him, beyond the pain filled sphere that his world had contracted to. There was pain and thirst, that’s all the world was now, that’s all that mattered anymore, there was no thought, only a pain filled promise of peace.
Wasn’t someone supposed to come back and untie him now? Perhaps was just wondering again as it had been doing for longer than he could remember, he couldn’t really remember much anymore, who was he again? He tried to find that, tried to hold to what he was but night was falling and the stars, the stars were so beautiful.
He wouldn’t have understood if he had known but, there would be no help because the ‘friends’ that had put him here yesterday were gone, thinking that he was at home sulking about this great prank. They didn’t realise that after they had left it had rained and the rain itself had shrunk the rope so tight that it had cut off circulation to his hands, they were a strange colour now.
Even if someone had tried to find him it was damn near impossible, he was by a unused country footpath that lead only deeper into the woods or back to the village(which was out of sight now) in which he was staying with his father. This was the isolated spot were he was to die, he was too far gone to even panic at that thought.
He was dry now, drier than the sandy soil beneath his feet, he had no strength left, what was that word? Strength? It didn’t really fit in this world there was only pain in this place, and dryness and the stars, so beautiful, so bright.
He was fading now his life slipping with his mind into the dark oblivion of death and he felt death then, just a touch, like a small breeze upon the soul and he found their was a part of him still, in this disconnected and dehydrated state, that could know fear.
Then he saw it and it was with mild hilarity born of his broken mind that told him he must be seeing this.
They moved with a grace that nothing, nothing had any right to possess and though they looked human or humanish they an in built ability, it seemed, to make moving itself an artform, as if the world itself and everything in it was made in homage to them. It was not this though, that drew a ragged gasp from his decimated, dry and almost hollow throat. They had no need of light for in them, in that moment, there was light emanating from their very being and tears fell from his wracked frame as he first beheld the Elves of Light.
A mist rose them, from a ring of them, their hands upraised and voices singing, Oh the voices, Oh my God what had he ever done to deserve this? This achingly beautiful death? Oh and the beauty of the stars were in their eyes, Oh and so much more, they were so beautiful there were just no words. The tears began to spill and choke his dying body even as he felt the mist cover him like a warm loving blanket.
Íllyanar, the word was a breeze upon his soul, how did he know their name? How did he even know it was their name? The tree told him, or rather the Earth did, whispered the instinctual part of his mind. Indeed it seemed that the forest around him had stirred awake, or he had stirred awake as if from a long sleep and the things around him had new meanings that they did not have before. He was too far gone anymore to care overmuch. Then they spoke and it was in a different language one that brought all the music and love and lustre of the voice in a homage to language and light itself, yet he found even though he had never heard the language before, that he could understand them.
“Peace brother” one said and their voices, like so much else were the light, the very light.
The mist began to heal him, but he felt something loosen that had been long chained and submerged in his subconscious, both completely human and completely not. He felt it meld with his mind become a part of him, part of his personality, his core being, his soul and he also felt the Elves shock at what they had done, at what they had had a part in.
“This was not foreseen” the part of his mind that was new was whispering things to him, trying to make him speak, yet at this moment he could not seem to care, they were untying him and he was busy being half in shock to even try to care. Years later he would wonder what part of his humanity had been left behind? He found himself speaking, in their language without knowing why.
“Brothers and sisters, much that is not foreseen is needed” they just stared at him in shock for a full second not realising that he was as shocked as anyone, he decided then and there to firmly control his weird impulses from now on.
One moved forward, silver hair glinting in the radiance of himself and in those of his kith and kin. He face was kind, open and welcoming.
“Again welcome brother” the stars were in his eyes and he was the light, the very light. “and so much more, come with us, we are the Elves of the Light” which he supposed was just why his heart had been singing joyfully at the very presence of them unnoticed until now.
He took his hand it was warm and comforting.
:ph43r:
this is all i have for the one and the Angel....
The One And The Angel
Chapter 1: It might as well start here
He stared lovingly at her out of the corner of his eye, he had again tried not to stare at her and happily he failed, again.
He couldn’t exactly understand what did it, he could not understand his own reaction to her, it just was. More than anything though, he did not, could not, understand why no-one else saw it.
For him her hair, darker than night, could invoke such a fire in his soul, her mouth could play so many tunes upon his mind and her eyes so dark and full of power, oh Gods what she could do with those eyes. All he really began to understand was that for him the room could be empty. Empty but for her, for the entire effect of her seemed to infuse her very being with a pale luminescence, that was as compelling as it was unmistakable and stirred a feeling in him that he did not want to admit to.
To be honest it wasn’t so much that he did not want to admit to these feelings but, rather that he could not because if he did it could effect his life in ways that he would be unable to predict or understand, in short he was in love, if nothing else, but worse than this, he was a teenager in love and was oblivious to anything but her. Ahh Lynn.
He was brought back to earth by the figure taking shape in the window behind her, his ‘uncle’ Toby who had many other names, in many different countries, some that didn’t know or care to admit to the existence of some others.
A small hand gesture brought both his attention towards the man that stood expectant and away from the woman who had so effortlessly stolen his soul and the beauty of it all was that she had done this without even realising that she had done this and it was as much given as it was stolen.
He moved with a fluid grace that belied his age and though he had, in his eighteen years been called handsome, with a mouth expressive of both laughter and pleasure, high cheek bones and pearly white teeth, It was his eyes that caught anyone, they were an amber colour which had almost the lustre of pure gold and seemed to catch you without effort and totally and completely in and of themselves. Yet for all that he was completely unaware of it and even if he knew he would only be embarrassed. Strange for a man but his golden hair was long, down to the bottom of his shoulder blades at least and as he waited at the door of his pathetically small common room he did not notice again that many girls watched him. He simply noticed that one did not.
The door closed softly behind him as he turned to face his ‘uncle’ who had a half smile upon his face and was studying his relation acutely obviously aware of what his relation was not.
“What are you staring at Toby?” defensive. Why was it every time he met him he was so defensive? why could he not have a civil conversation with this man at any point in his life?
“My dear boy, why must you call me that?” though he never sweared or indeed threatened with violence of any sort, when annoyed or angry he tended to get over polite. Which on reflection James thought was damn annoying in it’s self.
“What do you want to call yourself?” he gave him a sceptic look, that was laced with something not unlike irony. “No one will believe that you’re my grandfather” It was true, he didn’t look beyond forty and by the laughter in his eyes he not only understood that but, he also understood the unspoken wall of a reason for it that stood and would stand for the foreseeable future between them.
“I had no choice” the words spoken softly carried such an undercurrent of pain and of longing that even James felt it. There were so many levels of pain and sorrow in this, oh God, he thought, with a great understanding of that irony, can there be no rest for any of us?
“And neither did I” whispered just as softly, these words of sadness flew upon the wind and the bitterness surprised him. Oh such pain, pain remembered and pain found.
“You would rather have died?” the tone was not quite a question yet, it deserved an answer anyway and it had a distinct cord of whistfullness running through.
Yet though he was alive and grateful for the gift of life he had to face up to the fact that by rights he should have died and if he was being honest it was true that if he could not have what everyone else has, which was very true, that by rights it was right for him to die, that if not for a cosmic twist of fate then he would have died. More than this though, he missed a time when he could open his eyes and not see, if he chose, with a sight that showed the man before him as a blinding light and even as he did now, to look at his own hands and see a fire running throughout them like some obscure veins, a fire white and luminous, a fire of power, a fire of responsibility.
“Yes” so softly “I would rather have died than not truly know what I am, to have this bubble inside of me, to have my very existence undefined, set apart from those around me, I do not want that pain, but I have it.”
“I am sorry that I have caused you so much pain” what else could he say really? And he faded away, tears in his eyes like a personal, hellish and tormented rain and soon even the marks of the tears went away, so to the casual observer he might not have ever been there. Why then did the pain remain?
Even as he thought of his Grandfathers tears, he saw a rain in his mind, that of another place and another time. He saw the rain and remembered just where it had come from so long ago, only two years yet what a time it had been and he wondered just how much he had changed from what he came from and what the real reason for that was, his growth, both physically and mentally or that place so long ago.
He remembered.
It was raining. He noticed that it was raining, how strange. If he had the mental capacity left he would have found it ironic. A dead man notices the rain before he dies.
Funny.
He did not because he could not, he was not lucid enough and his mind was beginning to slip again into the recesses of his pain filled existence and the knowledge of anything eluded him. He did not come back to himself for a very long time.
He was loosing something, what was it again? Oh yeah right he was loosing his life, but that hardly seemed to matter anymore, life and death were beyond him, beyond the pain filled sphere that his world had contracted to. There was pain and thirst, that’s all the world was now, that’s all that mattered anymore, there was no thought, only a pain filled promise of peace.
Wasn’t someone supposed to come back and untie him now? Perhaps was just wondering again as it had been doing for longer than he could remember, he couldn’t really remember much anymore, who was he again? He tried to find that, tried to hold to what he was but night was falling and the stars, the stars were so beautiful.
He wouldn’t have understood if he had known but, there would be no help because the ‘friends’ that had put him here yesterday were gone, thinking that he was at home sulking about this great prank. They didn’t realise that after they had left it had rained and the rain itself had shrunk the rope so tight that it had cut off circulation to his hands, they were a strange colour now.
Even if someone had tried to find him it was damn near impossible, he was by a unused country footpath that lead only deeper into the woods or back to the village(which was out of sight now) in which he was staying with his father. This was the isolated spot were he was to die, he was too far gone to even panic at that thought.
He was dry now, drier than the sandy soil beneath his feet, he had no strength left, what was that word? Strength? It didn’t really fit in this world there was only pain in this place, and dryness and the stars, so beautiful, so bright.
He was fading now his life slipping with his mind into the dark oblivion of death and he felt death then, just a touch, like a small breeze upon the soul and he found their was a part of him still, in this disconnected and dehydrated state, that could know fear.
Then he saw it and it was with mild hilarity born of his broken mind that told him he must be seeing this.
They moved with a grace that nothing, nothing had any right to possess and though they looked human or humanish they an in built ability, it seemed, to make moving itself an artform, as if the world itself and everything in it was made in homage to them. It was not this though, that drew a ragged gasp from his decimated, dry and almost hollow throat. They had no need of light for in them, in that moment, there was light emanating from their very being and tears fell from his wracked frame as he first beheld the Elves of Light.
A mist rose them, from a ring of them, their hands upraised and voices singing, Oh the voices, Oh my God what had he ever done to deserve this? This achingly beautiful death? Oh and the beauty of the stars were in their eyes, Oh and so much more, they were so beautiful there were just no words. The tears began to spill and choke his dying body even as he felt the mist cover him like a warm loving blanket.
Íllyanar, the word was a breeze upon his soul, how did he know their name? How did he even know it was their name? The tree told him, or rather the Earth did, whispered the instinctual part of his mind. Indeed it seemed that the forest around him had stirred awake, or he had stirred awake as if from a long sleep and the things around him had new meanings that they did not have before. He was too far gone anymore to care overmuch. Then they spoke and it was in a different language one that brought all the music and love and lustre of the voice in a homage to language and light itself, yet he found even though he had never heard the language before, that he could understand them.
“Peace brother” one said and their voices, like so much else were the light, the very light.
The mist began to heal him, but he felt something loosen that had been long chained and submerged in his subconscious, both completely human and completely not. He felt it meld with his mind become a part of him, part of his personality, his core being, his soul and he also felt the Elves shock at what they had done, at what they had had a part in.
“This was not foreseen” the part of his mind that was new was whispering things to him, trying to make him speak, yet at this moment he could not seem to care, they were untying him and he was busy being half in shock to even try to care. Years later he would wonder what part of his humanity had been left behind? He found himself speaking, in their language without knowing why.
“Brothers and sisters, much that is not foreseen is needed” they just stared at him in shock for a full second not realising that he was as shocked as anyone, he decided then and there to firmly control his weird impulses from now on.
One moved forward, silver hair glinting in the radiance of himself and in those of his kith and kin. He face was kind, open and welcoming.
“Again welcome brother” the stars were in his eyes and he was the light, the very light. “and so much more, come with us, we are the Elves of the Light” which he supposed was just why his heart had been singing joyfully at the very presence of them unnoticed until now.
He took his hand it was warm and comforting.
Brought back to the present, his memories fading upon the wind of the new day with all of its worries, when had his view on life really soured? It was not certainly, the ‘years’ spent in the Íllyanar city of New Dawn, with its beautiful towers of white marble reflecting the light and the wood that had protected and intertwined with it for so long. There were no words to express the majesty of them, of seeing them dance, ethereal flames, in supplication and majesty, their voices upraised in love of the dawn, in glory of the noon, of the farewell of dusk and finally, oh so sadly, a cord of the Harper so grief ridden, so black the morning of midnight. Their was such longing and pain in those voices then, so much that he would never forget that the rest of these days and even now made his eyes shine with unshed tears.
Time moved so differently there, how could it not? In many ways it never changed, yet that was unfair, it was just that they, immortal under the conditions of their kind, could not see or understand mankind’s need, mankind’s eternal need, for change and for improvement. Even in his mind the next sentence sounded bitter, they could not understand the humans need for progress. They made thing yes, and made them in the beauty that was inherent in their kind but, they made them only when the current system could be improved with a benefit to all things, and they built them to last. Why seek a thing when it is not needed? To cultivate an obscure idea of superiority perhaps? They possessed no such longing. They made, as they were made, un homage to life, to the world and to the light.
It could not have been then, so when, when did the world turn bitter? When had he learnt the true price of power and the true weight of this moment in time? It was known, and had been known for longer than any conceivable idea of time, that no human could step upon the Íllyanar’s land, they had seen too much grief by man in the deep and lightless past. They would never loosen that barrier, yet he had felt none. He wasn’t human. He was set apart, an Änuka, an immortal, a son of a God or rather a son of a daughter of a God. His divinity had been buried but, brought to bear in the healing of him and in the healing of him was his humanity somehow changed, was he still human? He did not know. Actually in honesty he did know, but he did not want to admit, to know that he was not one of these anymore, that he could not have a normal life, children and a home, these things were beyond him now and he did not know how to accept that, who could?
His thoughts turned again to Lynn and he knew a pain beyond anything that he could know, could in anyway describe or accept and this was one of the greatest pains of his entire life. Through all that would happen later this she would be in the centre of this pain and it would haunt him in his undying Immortality. Even if he refused to accept what he was he could no longer understand who he was, could he ever truly know where he belonged? He was, barring a mortal thrust to his heart or one that took his head clean off, an immortal being and though the benefits were numerous and diverse, many that he even did not of yet, and though he could give the illusion of aging, he would not die and he would have to watch the ones he loved die. Could he watch Lynn die? Could he stand their and not envy her the smallest bit? Such a chilling thought. He came to a great insight then, perhaps the most terrible pain in the world is not not knowing where you belong but, who you really belong with. There was a great pain in that and there were no words to describe that burden beyond all the others that he now carried. That indefinable pain.
He returned to the common room and collected his bag and started on his long, long road home. The door closed softly behind him.
The Darkest son of the Darkest God watched in bemusement of the worries of such a one, obviously an Änuka and a powerful one, to have his thoughts and indeed his power, shielded even from him, his rightful Lord. He was young though, young enough to be dealt with, Darioñ thought silently, having studied humans for centuries unaware, he realised early just what cattle they were, not knowing or really caring that they were missing so much of a world beyond. A dark hatred rose, one of the few emotions he could ever feel. What power they were they missing out on.
His mind travelled back to that night two thousand three hundred and eight years ago when he had found his power and birth-right. His mother screeched at him, nine years old then he was a small twisted dark child whispered his devout mother, she had lain with a fey Devil and she was paying for it now. In between her broken sobs, his broken, fat and shrewish mother had screamed What have I done Great Mother? What have I done? When the child had tried to comfort her she had ranted and screamed
“You bring this upon me Devil-child, Dark one” She seized the small pale and dark haired boy that he had been and put him into the cupboard closing and locking with a resounding lock she had put him into the darkness again. The darkness, his element had aided him even as he went mad, void ice covered his brain, as the elders would say, as a cool cold madness took hold of an unhappy child. He had not cried in the darkness as he had before, even as his mother had screamed that he was worthless and a bane upon her good name, as he had so many times before.
When she finally released him, as she always did, he went about his chores quiet and submissive as he always did, until dinner that is. As his mother slowly ate the best broth and bread, that he himself had made, he cursed her for a fat whore, to her face and watched her face pale, as she opened her mouth to scream at him he grabbed the knife and slit the throat, and stilled his mothers voice, at least for a time and left his humanity, the crying boy in the cupboard as he came into his dark power and first heard the trapped voice of his father laugh, loud and long. The voice began to whisper in his ear. The child did not find this strange, their were always voices in his head now.
Who was he to make him think of this now, whispered the grown Darioñ to his suddenly still voices, that he could kill that one, the one that reminded him of the child crying in the dark and so end the last baying voice of humanity. Humans were worth nothing, they had no redeeming feature, not even a true dark hatred, Fear always overcame them in the end. Pathetic.
That was his last clear thought as the mugger turned the corner and began to whisper a threat, one that died in his throat because even as Darioñ sensed his need, his old age and most of all his pale hatred, he unloosed his own in a smile that made of his hatred a candle before a roaring forest fire. The muggers heart shook as he beheld one of the darkest things left upon this earth, one of the most terrifying sights in the universe, a herald from hell, he saw Darioñ, Darkest son of the Darkest God smile and his heart sank as he saw his own death in those strange childlike eyes and for the first time he knew the nature, the true undeniable nature of Evil. He regretted his life then, in terror even as his throat was ripped out. That smile was the last thing he saw.
What can you say now mother? Then Darioñ’s thoughts turned to the boy with the amber eyes and even in his power, this dark death that he had stained upon the Harper’s tune he knew fear.
Loyn God of woods, beasts and wisdom was afraid. He was not afraid for himself but, rather for his Grandson James Therone. Part English, Part German, Part Irish and part God. Which meant more and which actually mattered ?
In his long life he had many children and each were dear to him in some way, each enhancing the Harper’s song and all knew him in some form or other, a doting Grandfather, an older friend and yes a loving uncle, each called Toby. Some few even found power and rightly knew what he was, and James knew and still called him that. That boy scared him, not that he ever threatened him but, he was one of the most powerful Änuka in existence he was sure, perhaps even stronger than that thing of dark. He a God, though not the strongest, could not invade his thoughts. Oh for the love of the Harper, he was never the strongest but, was far from the weakest of his kind and he did not know what was going on in James’s head.
He could have possibly let this go but for the prophecy at his birth. James’s power then had been subconscious, like his mothers, unlike his mothers it was great and very, very deep. He was special then, this one, and his younger self knew he would need him more than most of his children. As he stood there he felt the song of the Harper running through his veins and felt it comfort as he remembered the fall of the Darkest and Strongest God, when that one, whose name was not to be spoken, put forth a music in destructive counterpoint against the Harper's own, lusting after the power of the creator. He and the rest of the Gods had turned against the Dark one and fought against him before time began, in the dark of nothingness and won. The Enemy was stripped of the comfort of the Harper's song, an agony beyond compare that must be with him still and bound in the void to do no more harm, he escaped one or twice, to the possible destruction of all but, he vowed, by the combined power that put him their, It would not happen again. Following memories track he felt his younger self come back to the birth hearing a presence arrive that was as far above the Gods than they were above the Races and yet the distance was the same between that and the Harper. Loyn, formless felt The Seer arrive.
Above Good or Evil the Seer served the balance and the balance ruled even the Harper whose first decree it was, so the Harper was as defined as any of the Gods but, only because He wanted it so.
The Seer spoke
“On the day of a Gods death shall a name be spoken,
the name of the Darkest God, for the first and last time,
his agent shall offer up the Green Gods blood, a token,
On that day of death shall the prison be broken.
The force of night arrayed, a dark sign of those betrayed.
Shall fall against the light brightly displayed, and the battles foretold shall come,
Of the Dark God and two sons, but who can say at the end who has won?”
Being told of your death was never comforting, but he hated prophecies, at least the ones made by the Seer because they had no foretold ending, because the Seer served the balance, not the Gods, the Seer or the Harper himself knew the ending.
Brought back to the present Loyn feared his Grandson because he didn’t know or understand things that were even now progressing beyond him and that was a terrible thing for a God, to not know, or anyone he thought with irony thinking of James. All he knew was that his world was under threat and he would never know if it was lost or saved.
A power built in the air. It was beyond him and he wept.
James did not walk alone that night, his quiet stoicism was balanced only by the happy voice of Patrick as loud as he was quiet and as free as James was, at least for the moment, burdened.
“What’s got you so worried James?”
“Nothin’ Pat”
“Nothin’ Pat” watching his friend Pat saw the length of listlessness and longing inside his friend, he also knew however that arguing with him would be useless and only make him angry but, he had to try something to get the truth from his friend and in his own misguided soul try to help his friend
“How’s Lynn?” a look of hope and joy followed swiftly silenced flowed across his friends face.