Umber

Watchers near the field of battle muse on its meaning. (sab)

An unarmored elf with nearly a dozen children peers through the gloom, watching the battle from a nearby hill. Details are hard to make out in the darkness, but the broad scope of troop movements as well as the screams of death and victory is clear.

A surge of enemies strikes at the soldiers defending the earthen ramp, and many fall. The children are young, but old enough to know that it is their fathers and brothers whose lives are spent in defense of the village. One of the children turns his head and begins to weep.

“You must watch,” scolds the man, more sharply than he intended.

“But we should be there, fighting! They’ll think we ran away because we were scared!” replies a different child.

“If you’re not scared, you should be,” says the man, a bit more gently. “In any event, an old friend tells me that this is not our time for bravery. Indeed, the future demands our skins, but not today. But still, I tire of watching these people bash their swords about, unable to either slay their enemies or defend themselves.”

There is an electric hum, and a form steps forth from the darkness. “Perhaps there is something that you can do, shapeshifter,” says a man dressed in a blue tunic so dark that it is nearly black, a silver sword hanging by his belt.

“They are using the screens to great effect,” he says, pointing west as a unit of orcs riding warboars materializes from nowhere. “Even now, they are placing them about the graveyard, for what mischief I cannot begin to guess. But I smell powerful magic building – magic whose seed is destruction. Run now, and salvage what you can before it is too late.”

With barely a nod, the listener begins to sprint, bending low as he runs, form flowing to that of a tiger as he races down the hill.

“Speak not to our friends of what you see in the graveyard!” shouts the newcomer after him. “Greater powers than we have decided that this thing should play itself out. Do not interfere in their test of wills!”

The weretiger does not respond as he becomes a blur and disappears.

Another man, this one cloaked and hooded, joins the group of watchers. Together, they wait quietly for a time as the battle rages, watching the events intently. Both stand when they notice someone running across the surface of the lake.

“The prophecy unfolds,” says the cloaked man. He begins to recite a series of phrases clearly studied a thousand times. “‘And so, in the days of darkness will the Sage take Pelor’s Tear and the Staff of the Nexus and forge the Traveler’s Star. And thus shall heaven and Oerth be moved, and a new light be born by the hand of the Far Walker. Twice shall the Walker offer life and twice be slain but three times be born.’ I’m not really sure what’s going to happen next, but it should be exciting, anyway.”

He pauses. “I really did think that you were the Sage, you know. And that the Far Walker was, well, you know… and there’s more than one way of translating ‘Staff of the Nexus’, you know, and, well, these things are awfully vague.”

The blue-garbed man replies, “And perhaps I would have been, had you not done what you did. But, as you see, events cannot be bent to our will so easily.”

“So, should we abandon hope? Are you saying that this is all pointless?”

“Do not be angered. Perhaps it is pointless, perhaps not. The end of the prophecy is still not fulfilled, and we still do not know the meaning of the final phrase.”

” ‘Out of time shall reach the hand of innocence, born in fire and bathed in blood, touching that which even the gods fear, to liberate creation.’ You’re right. I still don’t understand it. I’ve read the original text until my eyes dried out. ‘Liberate’ could be translated as ‘steal’, or ‘free’, or even ‘destroy’ in this context.”

“True, we’re walking blind. Given the stakes, can we really not make the attempt? We’ve come so far already. This battle will free these people, as well as half a dozen nearby towns and villages. And then, ‘the nation shall be reborn, with He who was Lost to rule, a Star to lead and a Star to light the way.’ If that’s not a reference to the Great Kingdom, Silvertongue, and…”

The earth shakes, and a brilliant light fills the air: at its center, a lone figure, holding a staff on high. The armies of the night cry out in pain.

“…and yes, that! Our forces are ready, the tools are within our grasp, the world is ready to be remade!”

The cloaked individual sighs, and steps back from the scene as Tenser watches entranced. He thinks to himself, “Remade? Or undone? He is so sure of himself, especially now, that he will not listen, and distorts the ancient texts to match his thinking. I am so very afraid…”

He takes another step backwards and vanishes. No one notices.