Whispering in the Darkest Corner

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Derickkeyman
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Whispering in the Darkest Corner

Post by Derickkeyman » Thu Nov 03, 2016 6:46 pm

Whispering in the Darkest Corner

Ideas spread like plagues. Where Knowledge and Deception and Dreams and Destruction had taken the field in corporeal forms, Ideas had done no such thing. He was the first of them here. The first to shadow the lands of Shalzaar when Deception crept through the door. He will be the last of them to leave once corruption has been repelled. He is darkness within darkness, yet a greyer sort, a lightening of what Shadow Lords and Vengeance would have the Shadowlands be. He is the magical tome in the corner of the library, the father who works in secret to feed his children, the tavern secret that starts a revolution.

***

The disciple appeared after countless hours of study. A man named Finnegan, a colonel in the revolution’s forces and a civil leader in the refugee’s eyes. He is older, with eyes that have many rings around them and red hair that blazes like the Sun Father’s. He is truly blessed, three children, a wife, and a war-maul that slays enemies with great efficiency. His troops seem to care for him, and during his off hours, the children flock to him for stories of the old days, before the horrors began.

He tells them stories of Order and Law and Goodness, of a Duke that ruled justly and fairly, of taxes that were reasonable and bread on the table every night. Sometimes he tells them stories of art, and sometimes he tells them stories of war. They love him for the stories of great heroes, those who fought in the last Civil War, those who fought in Black Gate, those who fought in the Border War. His eyes glisten when he tells them, a moral at the end of each, something for the children, round faced and wide eyed, to take away.

It amazes me how quickly men will forget their morals if not reminded.

***

One night Corporal Finnegan had a dream of darkness. He had a dream of shadows and war, of innocent men being punished by dark gods for good deeds. He dreamt of Tal`Rah the Wasteland, of Shalzaar the Human Kingdom, of Zoda burning. He dreamt of Avatars and Manifestations, though he did not know the terms proper. His heart knew fear, though.Synri marched upon his psyche, while Abador plagued his morals. And finally, the corporal saw himself, and in his dreams, he was a dark and twisted man, metting out the Dark Gods’ punishment for no other reason than he could. This thought startled him awake.

Once awake, Corporal Finnegan saw a shadow against his wall. At first, he was afraid, thinking it a Wraith or some manner of demon, perhaps one of the dark gods that had just befallen him in his nightmares. When it moved towards him, he did not scream, though he tried, for the shadows muted him in his throat. The poor man did not calm until its hands had clasped around his head, and brought his ear towards its cowl.

For a long hour it whispered into his ear. It told him tales like he told the children. Tales of heroism, tales of ideas, tales of knowledge. The shadow spoke words that could only be heard as truth, though the Corporal did not comprehend it all. All too soon, the tales ended, and the shadow moved back towards the wall, leaving a stunned Corporal staring at it until it dissolved into nothing.

***

This morning the Corporal awoke after another night of fitful rest. His dreams were odd and varied, starting off as an apocalyptic scenario, a scenario that he’d seen many times before in his sleep, something he’d come to believe was inevitable. But then he had another dream, a dream of shadows trailing through people, a dream of men fighting Avatars and Manifestations and winning. A dream of dark gods falling and wailing and being banished back to Xos. And then a dream of a man cloaked in shadow, no god this one, writing it all down in a book.

He approached his breakfast table this morning with an odd air about him, attracting the attention of his men and his superiors. They asked him what was wrong, and he said nothing. They asked again, and the twinkle in his eye appeared, slowly at first, slowly as he described his dreams… But, it was there when he said his idea, the idea that had haunted him the night before, the idea that the scribe in the shadows had written down. The simplest idea.

“Now, don’ laugh a’ me here… But I think I got an idea on how t’fight them gods.”

Hope.
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