Sankari
...gone.
- 1,892
- Posts
- 20
- Years
- Age 31
- Where old people come to die.
- Seen Aug 17, 2014
~One-shot
~~PG
This is the prologue of my book I'm currently writing, Sapphire Sun. I'm not going to put the whole story on here because...well, because I want you to buy the book, not just read it online ><;; This is just a preview for people to review and check for spelling errors. Please, oh God please, review this. This is going to hopefully be PUBLISHED. Tell me if you like, tell me if you dislike. Tell me if my grammar sucks, and correct it. Criticism is MORE than welcome. Praise is also good ^^ Keep in mind, this is very long...for me.
Long before time could even be told of, the Lands of Lersha were progressing and ancient even in the most ancient of times. Men had only begun to prowl across these newly made lands and found fours massive temples on each of the four continents. They were perched in mountains to the north, marshes to the east, thick forests to the west, and the volcanic hills far down to the south. These large temples seemed to nearly climb up to the heavens, for their peaks were usually folded in the soft hair of Lady Blue.
To the north in the High Mountains, men began to swarm near the Great Wave Citadel. There is where the wise monks attempted studying the encryptions upon the edges of the palace. Many breathed their last breath on those cold, lonely mountains, for they were far too lofty for elderly men to wander about and the bitter coldness soon sunk its teeth into their flesh. The citadel's curse quickly stole the souls of many other curious faces, wiping them out by the tens. Only the cowardly ones were left and they never dared to get even within eyeshot of the mountains. The Great Wave Citadel was soon forgotten and never spoken of again.
The Murk to the east was crowded with onlookers of the Great Thorn Palace. Its entrance was strongly guarded by the utmost security: venomous vines. Peculiar creeping plants slithered up the walls, ending in toothy, gaping mouths of purple-yellow teeth. Thin, wispy stems curved up and around, tinged with a suffocating red. Even the bravest of explorers didn't dare to venture near the poisonous palace. The villagers close by gained the knowledge that the plants were severely dangerous and could spread all across the marshes. They departed the Great Thorn Palace area, and never was it heard of again.
The Wing Garrison was somewhat different from the other temples. Natives of the western continent of Whor celebrated the beautiful structure of the ancient peoples. Their questions grew greater by the days passing. Who created the enormous structure? What was its purpose? In their deepest beliefs, they knew it as a place of worship. The creators were wise and patient creatures that lived long and healthy lives. The Whorans knew entrencehed in their hearts that the ones were still walking about on the ground or soaring high in the clouds. The Wing Garrison, unlike the other temples, was the only one that was touched by the human hands. It was made of pure marble and the windows of curved glass. It shimmered, ghostly in the moonlight and heavenly in the sun's brilliant rays.
The last and most forgotten of the temples was the Serpentine Tower. It coiled up into the blood-red sky, licking the orange clouds with the tip of its pointed tongue. The rock of it was rough and rumored to be made of dragon bones cemented steadily together. Human eyes were never laid upon this ominous tower of hell, for it lay deep in a crater far off in the center of the continent of Mar. The only inhabitants of the hellish creation were slithering snake-like creatures with crippled bat wings called Vinoars. Their tongues were said to be twice as long as their body and were used to choke their victims into a lethal sleep. Sight of the tower was the sight of the Grim Reaper himself. The large, hypnotic eyes of the Vinoars would lure you into their keep. Silently, they'd twist their scaly tongues around your dainty throat, choking you into a sleep like no other, where your mind would slowly escape you head. Then, bit-by-bit, thy'd suck the blood from your very veins through a tiny hole in their tongue. No creature has lived to tell the tale (but I have had the displeasure of witnessing it).
The creators of the glorious temples were distant ancestors of man who died out long before man came into being: the elves. They merely destroyed themselves rather than being destroyed by some greater being for they were the greastest beings at the time. They lived for many a days and existed for many millenia for they were the peaceful ones. They had no worries for there were few things to worry of. It was not in the nature of them to be anxious of silly little tidbits of non-important information. In harmony they all shared their beliefs. They were all different in their own way and most ahd the disposition of a monk. Broad minds filled in between their ears and most observant were they of their many brothers and sisters (in other words, the animals and trees). As they all lived united, so did all the continents, as they were all together and formed as one huge landmass they named "Lersha" (Elvin for land)
When the Elves built the four temples of the elements, they were meant to be for a far away event, even far in the Times of Man. In many of their dreams they saw the Light dividing into four equal elements and fighting one another in a catastrophic war (pure elements tend to never agree for their strengths and weaknesses are "unbalanced"). The reason for the temples was to hide away the fours ones of wind, fire, water, and earth, until the Chosen Ones were yet to be born.
Near the Times of Man, the elves began to decilne due to a great visitation known as "Dark's Tears." Many came down with the hideous disease, suffering the most gruesome of symptoms. One who would catch it would instantly become blind. Their eyes would belach and they'd be forced to lie in bed, for they knew what was coming. Soon after, the victim came down with a high fever, letting sweat drip down their cheeks. Many months would pass of aching heads, and the next major symptom would sprout. Pneumonia comes, where every breath gives off a day of a life. Each breath felt like swallowing water. Not many survived after the breathing wrath, but if they sadly do, then Dark's Tears will shed; the last and final symptom that the victims are plagued with. It's said that this is the time Dark himself sucks the blood from your very veins for a reason...because you repulse him. It is sickening to see the once pearly white eyes of a blind elf to suddenly turn red from the tears of blood they cast off. They sweat of blood for the anxiety of facing the Dark. All vomit from the diseased elf is nothing but the eerie sight of blood. The miserable being usually died instantly from the horride nightmare. All liquid extracted from thei body was blood. All the liquid that was supposed to come out went into their veins...and they died. The ones who knew what came over them would usually kill themselves the epidemic was so deadly. Small ailments passed on were not a problem for the elves, but Dark's Tears was a mystery to them.
The cold claws of Dark took not all of the elves, but many elves became mad. The fair fold of the elves weren't used to their dearest loved ones to be decimated by this bombardment. They never had a problem with the sicknesses the nature threw at them. If all love is taken away from anyone, his or her mind is uaually stopped--dead, colder than cold. They want everyone to feel their pain; so what did they do? They went to do what the ancient elves had prophesized: break up the Light.
Swiftly, the elves of corrupted minds (now known as the Adroes, meaning lost ones in Elvin) scattered all over Lersha to the four Great Temples.
For the first quarter of the Adroes, it was difficult to sustain against the glacial, prickly winds of the High Mountains. The raging blizzards on the south side of the mountain seemed to have teeth infused within them. Just the dainty snowflakes that whirled about in ferociously fast winds injured some of them; but, after a few weeks, they successfully scaled the mountains. Although the mountain climbing was death defying, that was only the half of it. The elves of even more ancient times than they were not brainless. The only persons to ever be permitted to the Great Towers were the Chosen Ones of a faraway age, and they were ones said to be of great power.
You see, the towers were made to seal the gods of wind, water, earth, and fire until the Chosen Ones were to be born and mature enough to come along and restore the Light. The elves at the end of the age became far too weak from Dark's Tears to perform such enchantment. The Ancient Ones were foolish and did not see that not only did the Great Towers restore peace, but they also distorted it. If it weren't for the towers, there'd be serenity for many millenia.
The Adroes didn't let the cunning ways of the Ancient Ones halt them. They labored through the many obstacles and traps thrown at them unitil only a handful of them were left. Maybe five or four of three were left of this quarter of the Adroes as they pursued the top of the temple, but they did carry on the best that they could. They were desperate in such a mindless task.
Why they wanted to do it I may never know. I can guess...but never know. There are many explanations as to why they tried so hard to get therough the ways of the Citadel and the Mountains. They waged through, more eager than you could even imagine. They could hardly stand after they got to the very top of the Citadel.
At long last...the top. The winds seemed far calmer above the clouds. As they savored their breaths of fresh air, they readied themselves by twirling their staffs and typing charms around the ends of their robes. Looking towards the heavens, they took one last breath of determination and stared...staffs glowing, veins pumping, robes swaying. They stood in a strange formation and began chanting long words that never seemed to space. Their twisting, diluted chant was calling upon the side of the Light that showed both wet and cold. They were pulling the great goddess, Wiva, away from the god of all the Lands. The few elves stood, unwavering, chanting over and over their words of grasping.
"Bring us wetness, bring us cold.
Bring us young and bring us old.
O Wiva, the sea wave's daughter;
Bring us ice...bring us water!"
The clouds churned, tossed, and shook, but with no thunder or lightning in the way. Rain sheeted down upon the tower and snow sprinkled like salt over rice. A bitter cold descended from the clouds and the air turned damp and moist. The Adroes stood, chanting like there was no end.
"Bring us wetness, bring us cold.
Bring us young and bring us old.
O Wiva, the sea wave's daughter;
Bring us ice...bring us water!"
Then there were the Adroes of the second quarter who had to carry out the task of bringing fort the earthen side of the Light; Ies. Ies was a brooding character, with yllow, flashing eyes of ferocity, and claws more lengthy than a great bear. Thieving this end of the Light should've been a difficult task. This bulk of a creature doesn't come without a fight.
However, before these elves achieved the top of the tower, they had to get through the thick Murk. The High Mountains may have been High for the other Adroes, but the Murk was ever daunting. When the sun rose or the moon turned it's face they never knew, for throughout the mucky thickets, stumpy trees were heavily laden with bunched up leaves. Vines swung ghostly from the branches. Crickets chirped in chorus in continuous waves of manic excitement, calling each of the Adroes names in their flippant little voices. Their chirping never seemed to cease for the sun would never peek its face through the unwanted branches of the Murk.
They wallowed on through the foggy mud, traveling upstream toward their destination. Toxic eels quivered and slipped around their knees, sending a chilll through the travelers' spines. Fear fot the best of most of them and nearly took most of their lives. Yet again, the path was but half of the journey.
When the Great Thorn Palace was originally built, it was in an open field with no wild vines or bloodthirsty monsters. The air was crisp and there was no sign of wicked beings. And then the rain came. Rain poured around the palace, seding rivers coursing down the rolling hills. Rain fell for years...unwanted seeds drifted over to the land, and then there were profuse jungles of trees, marshes farther than the eyes could see. Sluggish, slimy creatures found it a perfect land to settle upon. Time had damaged the area a great deal, if you ask me. Time can damage as much as it can heal.
There were cheers cast off about the morning breeze as the Great Thorn Palace came into view of the Adroes. They traveled for many wearly, nearly aimless nights and almost forgot what they were heading for until they saw the morning sunrise peek its lofty head through the awning. Stalagmites littered the frontcourt of the grand palace (although there was no cave), and, as I've said before, the vines ominously glared at them through invisible eyes.
The climb to the top didn't hold them back. Many sunk into the claws of the traps and other cunning ones avoided them keenly. Not many were left when they achieved the top. Many lost their souls to this meaningless deed, and in my opinion, they deserved it. It was foolish to use so much enchantment for nothing...and it's a hard mess to clean up, I tell you!
They twirled their scepters, jingled their charms, and chanted habitually:
"Bring fertility, bring us life.
Bring us peace and bring us strife.
O Ies, the core's greatest birth:
Bring us flora...bring us earth!"
The tower tilted and shook. Loose rubble at the sides of the palace crumbled down. The palace became noticeably unsteady. But the elves still went perpetually on...
"Bring fertility, bring us life.
Bring us peace and bring us strife.
O Ies, the core's greatest birth:
Bring us flora...bring us earth!"
Whil the first quarter of these Adroes ventured towards the Great Wave Citadel and the second quarter of these Adroes ventured towards the Great Thorn Palace, the third quarter of these Adroes ventured towards the Wing Garrison, and the venture wouldn't be so difficult if they knew exactly where the place was. The Garrison had a certain spell upon it that made it difficult to find. At some days it would be to the farther west and others it would be ot the near west, and at other days it wouldn't be anywhere. Sometimes it wouldn't be anywhere for a certain number of years. Unfortunately, the Adroes were alive during the years it just playfully hopped from place to place.
Each time it changed its location, the trail towards it wasn't at all hard to follow. It was pretty friendly at times. The sky would be open and blue and the clouds would drift lazily by. The soil was fresh and there was never a thing amiss. At long last, when the Adroes finally cuaght up with the tricky building, they were fooled by the welcoming trail. Upon walking the path, they became relaxed and thought the Wing Garrison as a rightful place to be.
They were wrong. The traps were far more deadly then any of the other temples'. Not only were they deadly; they usually started with a puzzle of some sort. In that case, only the ones of brilliant minds were allowed to safely pursue the zenith.
And few were of high intelligence. When's one's mind is twisted of sorrow and anger, their thoughts are shrouded in devastation...death. It was a miracle that one of them survived. Yes, only one of them survived, and she was barely kicking. She narrowly escaped many of the traps and came out with some of her limbs severed. Her skin was broken in many places and blood spewed continuously as she staggered from each adversity. Her braths were slow and spke of deat nearing, but she was still eager to call upon Pecra, the whindy side of the Light.
As she climbed the last flight of stairs, her back was arched and she used her only arm left to use her cane as a second leg. She limped, pain depleting her life. She kept going, Pecra being the impetus.
The high altitude at the summit of the Wind Garrison gave the girl limited braths. Her life was dribbling from her fingers as quickly as water...she had to do it soon or her sould would be lost within her dark memories forever...
She suummoned all of her magic she could muster...all of her energy and leaving just a bit so she could have the power to stand. She toppled over as she rose her staff high into the sky, yelling hoarsely towards the clouds the chant of grasping...the chant that would take her life completely.
"Bring me thunder, bring me breath.
Bring me life and bring me death.
O Pecra, for the Lands I've sinned...
Bring me lightning...bring me wind!"
The girl's hair wisped about in the gales as the sky whistled like the cawing of a hawk. Thunder clapped across the heavens. The woman opened her eyes which glowed an icy lavender. Her idle stare had a misty death written upon it.
"Bring me thunder, bring me breath.
Bring me life and bring me death.
O Pecra, for the Lands I've sinned...
Bring me lightning...bring me wind!"
Finally, there was the fourth and final quarter of the Adroes. These were the ones who had to seek out the Serpentine Tower that was built deep down in the crater far to the center in the volcanic hills of Mar. Their journey there wasn't difficult but just to go down into the crater was the task. Lava drizzled down the walls in small streams as natural as water. The burning stench that hovered over the black rubble caused many of the elves breathing problems. The smoke choked the brittle ones as the more brawny ones of large lungs went on without problems.
The Fiery River flowed through the crater from a continously erupting volcano nearby. The deadly Vinoars prowled around the river of magma, sipping up its contents to quench their blistering thirst. The Adroes did not bring weapons to slay these creatures, so many were slain on that purpose. Vinoars were quick, sprightly little fellows with eyes more accurate than an owl. Their ratty wings were only used to hover a bit before landing down to the ground from high places. They were much like bony baby dragons with swift senses.
Many deaths came before the sight of the Serpentine Tower. Blood rode upon the wind the second the Elves put their feet to the base of the massive crater. Vinoars charged left and right, taking the Adroes into the depths of hell. Maybe two Adroes were left one the Tower came into sight. The Vnoars were not at all finished with them yet...but the Adroes made it inside.
Yet again, I say, the ancient elves were keen at making the temples. They made each one at a certain level of difficulty. There were virtually no traps inside the tower for the outside was difficult enough to pass through. All they had to do was climb up the twisting stairway until they reached the top. The ground was uneven and it felt hard upon their sore feet, but that was a luxury compared to the untamed ways of the grounds of the Vinoars.
The higher they got, the lower their hopes went, because the air became steaming hot the higher they got. They got closer and closer to the fiery part of the LIght every step they strode. Sweat tumbled down their chests and cheeks as they attempted wiping it away with the sleeves of their cloaks. Their skin turned red-hot and the taste of salty air swept into their mouths.
By the time the top was reached, their cloaks had been drenched in sweat. It seemed as if they were dumped into a witches pot to be boiled slowly. They both looked down in awe, seeing that they were at the very tip of the figurine snakes' tongue, but even the tip of the tongue was wide enough for fifty people to move around on. It was true; the tower was immense.
The view was incredible. They could see the entire crater with its edges laid perfectly on the horizons. The sun seemed to be standing next to them, dousing them with scorching heat. They marveled the view even more, seeing the creeks of lava as veins of a black bear's face. Nevertheless, they readied themselves and chanted:
"Bring us heat and bring us sweat.
Bring us nothing that is wet.
O Vinion, a woman's deepest desire...
Bring us heat...bring us fire!"
The clouds instantly turned to a charcoal black, fire raining from the sky. Tornadoes of flame whipped about, tearing across the forests...
All four of the mighty gods of the Light had been separated. The Light was no longer united into one whole being, but divided into four equal elements: water, earth, wind, and fire. The sight was intolerable. The entire sky was swallowed by a vortext larger than any other storm imaginable.
There was hail the size of an infant's head, but harder than any rock. Rain poured from the heavens as if the clouds dumped buckets of water. Snow blistered the land and sent a chill through the elves down on the ground. They had no choice but to seek shelter underground, but the under didn't help them.
Earthquakes trembled the earth, letting the mountains tumble down and land to slide. Avalanches of dirt plunged to the base of villages and mud splashed about. Fissures broke out on dry and wetland alkie, many of the elves falling through the abyss.
The winds were harsh and blustery, picking up as many things as it could. It picked up houses as if they were toys and people as if they were twigs. Dirt kicked up everywhere until nothing was even visible. Lightning struck and thunder applauded to the brilliance of the pandemonium.
Fire rained down as if war were in part, just as fiery arrows. Heat spun through the tornados of sand and soon there were spinning flames across the sky.
And the gods hadn't even arrived yet. This was just their way of showing that they were coming down. This was a warning that the world was about to end.
Wiva arose from the depths of the sea and tossed her head in a screeching howl. Her craning neck swung powerfully. With a splash of her whale-like tail, she sped towards the coast to meet the others. As she clambered up to the beach with her thick fins, her lustrous shell shined in the light. Her screeching howl created the waves of the sea.
Two humungous digging claws emerged from the ground and out came Ies, coated in gravel. Shaking his furry mane, he snarled up to the sky, his pointed teeth shining threateningly. Every step he took trembled the ground.
In a twirling dance, a large pair of lavender wings fell from the sky, folded neatly upon the body of a glorious bird. Pecra dove gracefully from the sky, sending the clouds swirling in elegance behind her. She cawed a soothing noise, but loud enough to stir up the muted air.
Magma spurted from the furious mountain and out surfaced the spiraling body of the great dragon, Vinion. His wings stretched out against the ember-filled sky, and he roared across the heavens of his arrival. His brilliant ruby-red scaled back reflected every light that hit him. He flew off at top-speed.
The war began. They fought a cataclysmic war..a never-ending war...and it was all because they had differences in each other. If it weren't for the fact that they were all different, then they wouldn't be so ferocious. Wiva fought perilously against Vinion who danced ungracefully across the clouds. Fire gushed from his mouth continuously. Wiva dove through the water and stirred it up so the waves splashed upon the surface, causing flooding to much terrain. It was the fight of fire and water.
Pecra fought with Ies. It was somewhat similar, but Ies dug incessantly through the ground as Pecra chased after him, hurling lightning bolts with ceaseless antagonism. She flew through the holes, catching up to him rarely and pecking at him, crying in agony every time he struck back with his monstrous claws. It was a battle between land and air.
The Holy Elves huddled together under the surface of the earth, struggling to finish what the Ancient Elves secretly were building. They weren't trundling about in the dirt under the ground. Instead, they were in a magnificently build sanctum...the Sapphire Sanctum, to say the least. The thing the Ancients Elves failed to finish was the Sapphire Sun.
This "sun" was no sun at all. It was a precious jewel made of ice, water, wind, and lightning, all sewn together into one single gem the size of a pea. The little diamond was truly beautiful, but only the elves and the Chosen One of this gem could see the real beauty inside of it. This was the beauty of power.
The Sapphire Sun could control Wiva and Pecra into certain things. It could make the two goddesses fall instantly into slumber. It could tell what direction they should go in and what they should think. It was practically the heart, soul, and mind of both of the goddesses.
The only one who could touch this fin jewel was the Chosen One of a faraway age.
Other elves were in the Ruby Chamber that was where the opposite of the Sapphire Sun was held. Despite the fact that it was opposite, it still served the same purpose as the Sun. The gem was the Ruby Moon. It controlled Vinion and Ies as if they were puppets. The Ruby Moon was woven of ash, fire, earth, and flora, all bound together by the glue of enchantment.
The only one who could touch this fine jewel was the other Chosen One of a faraway age.
And so, with the Sapphire Sun and the Ruby Moon at hand, the Holy Elves came to the surfacce and struck the gods into slumber. They were forced back into their own temple to sleep for ages to come, and the Holy Elves soon found out that every Adro had been destroyed for being in the presence of war.
Story has it that the ones who are chosen by these jewels are to release all of the gods peacefully, and once this has occurred, the two gems will combine into the Crystal Star. This star, as it shall combine, so shall the gods back into the united Light. I hope to see this happen myself some day, for the powers of the gems, I sense, are declining. The world is losing its luster. May faith be with the ones have been born to unite this Light.
~~PG
This is the prologue of my book I'm currently writing, Sapphire Sun. I'm not going to put the whole story on here because...well, because I want you to buy the book, not just read it online ><;; This is just a preview for people to review and check for spelling errors. Please, oh God please, review this. This is going to hopefully be PUBLISHED. Tell me if you like, tell me if you dislike. Tell me if my grammar sucks, and correct it. Criticism is MORE than welcome. Praise is also good ^^ Keep in mind, this is very long...for me.
The First End
Long before time could even be told of, the Lands of Lersha were progressing and ancient even in the most ancient of times. Men had only begun to prowl across these newly made lands and found fours massive temples on each of the four continents. They were perched in mountains to the north, marshes to the east, thick forests to the west, and the volcanic hills far down to the south. These large temples seemed to nearly climb up to the heavens, for their peaks were usually folded in the soft hair of Lady Blue.
To the north in the High Mountains, men began to swarm near the Great Wave Citadel. There is where the wise monks attempted studying the encryptions upon the edges of the palace. Many breathed their last breath on those cold, lonely mountains, for they were far too lofty for elderly men to wander about and the bitter coldness soon sunk its teeth into their flesh. The citadel's curse quickly stole the souls of many other curious faces, wiping them out by the tens. Only the cowardly ones were left and they never dared to get even within eyeshot of the mountains. The Great Wave Citadel was soon forgotten and never spoken of again.
The Murk to the east was crowded with onlookers of the Great Thorn Palace. Its entrance was strongly guarded by the utmost security: venomous vines. Peculiar creeping plants slithered up the walls, ending in toothy, gaping mouths of purple-yellow teeth. Thin, wispy stems curved up and around, tinged with a suffocating red. Even the bravest of explorers didn't dare to venture near the poisonous palace. The villagers close by gained the knowledge that the plants were severely dangerous and could spread all across the marshes. They departed the Great Thorn Palace area, and never was it heard of again.
The Wing Garrison was somewhat different from the other temples. Natives of the western continent of Whor celebrated the beautiful structure of the ancient peoples. Their questions grew greater by the days passing. Who created the enormous structure? What was its purpose? In their deepest beliefs, they knew it as a place of worship. The creators were wise and patient creatures that lived long and healthy lives. The Whorans knew entrencehed in their hearts that the ones were still walking about on the ground or soaring high in the clouds. The Wing Garrison, unlike the other temples, was the only one that was touched by the human hands. It was made of pure marble and the windows of curved glass. It shimmered, ghostly in the moonlight and heavenly in the sun's brilliant rays.
The last and most forgotten of the temples was the Serpentine Tower. It coiled up into the blood-red sky, licking the orange clouds with the tip of its pointed tongue. The rock of it was rough and rumored to be made of dragon bones cemented steadily together. Human eyes were never laid upon this ominous tower of hell, for it lay deep in a crater far off in the center of the continent of Mar. The only inhabitants of the hellish creation were slithering snake-like creatures with crippled bat wings called Vinoars. Their tongues were said to be twice as long as their body and were used to choke their victims into a lethal sleep. Sight of the tower was the sight of the Grim Reaper himself. The large, hypnotic eyes of the Vinoars would lure you into their keep. Silently, they'd twist their scaly tongues around your dainty throat, choking you into a sleep like no other, where your mind would slowly escape you head. Then, bit-by-bit, thy'd suck the blood from your very veins through a tiny hole in their tongue. No creature has lived to tell the tale (but I have had the displeasure of witnessing it).
The creators of the glorious temples were distant ancestors of man who died out long before man came into being: the elves. They merely destroyed themselves rather than being destroyed by some greater being for they were the greastest beings at the time. They lived for many a days and existed for many millenia for they were the peaceful ones. They had no worries for there were few things to worry of. It was not in the nature of them to be anxious of silly little tidbits of non-important information. In harmony they all shared their beliefs. They were all different in their own way and most ahd the disposition of a monk. Broad minds filled in between their ears and most observant were they of their many brothers and sisters (in other words, the animals and trees). As they all lived united, so did all the continents, as they were all together and formed as one huge landmass they named "Lersha" (Elvin for land)
When the Elves built the four temples of the elements, they were meant to be for a far away event, even far in the Times of Man. In many of their dreams they saw the Light dividing into four equal elements and fighting one another in a catastrophic war (pure elements tend to never agree for their strengths and weaknesses are "unbalanced"). The reason for the temples was to hide away the fours ones of wind, fire, water, and earth, until the Chosen Ones were yet to be born.
Near the Times of Man, the elves began to decilne due to a great visitation known as "Dark's Tears." Many came down with the hideous disease, suffering the most gruesome of symptoms. One who would catch it would instantly become blind. Their eyes would belach and they'd be forced to lie in bed, for they knew what was coming. Soon after, the victim came down with a high fever, letting sweat drip down their cheeks. Many months would pass of aching heads, and the next major symptom would sprout. Pneumonia comes, where every breath gives off a day of a life. Each breath felt like swallowing water. Not many survived after the breathing wrath, but if they sadly do, then Dark's Tears will shed; the last and final symptom that the victims are plagued with. It's said that this is the time Dark himself sucks the blood from your very veins for a reason...because you repulse him. It is sickening to see the once pearly white eyes of a blind elf to suddenly turn red from the tears of blood they cast off. They sweat of blood for the anxiety of facing the Dark. All vomit from the diseased elf is nothing but the eerie sight of blood. The miserable being usually died instantly from the horride nightmare. All liquid extracted from thei body was blood. All the liquid that was supposed to come out went into their veins...and they died. The ones who knew what came over them would usually kill themselves the epidemic was so deadly. Small ailments passed on were not a problem for the elves, but Dark's Tears was a mystery to them.
The cold claws of Dark took not all of the elves, but many elves became mad. The fair fold of the elves weren't used to their dearest loved ones to be decimated by this bombardment. They never had a problem with the sicknesses the nature threw at them. If all love is taken away from anyone, his or her mind is uaually stopped--dead, colder than cold. They want everyone to feel their pain; so what did they do? They went to do what the ancient elves had prophesized: break up the Light.
Swiftly, the elves of corrupted minds (now known as the Adroes, meaning lost ones in Elvin) scattered all over Lersha to the four Great Temples.
For the first quarter of the Adroes, it was difficult to sustain against the glacial, prickly winds of the High Mountains. The raging blizzards on the south side of the mountain seemed to have teeth infused within them. Just the dainty snowflakes that whirled about in ferociously fast winds injured some of them; but, after a few weeks, they successfully scaled the mountains. Although the mountain climbing was death defying, that was only the half of it. The elves of even more ancient times than they were not brainless. The only persons to ever be permitted to the Great Towers were the Chosen Ones of a faraway age, and they were ones said to be of great power.
You see, the towers were made to seal the gods of wind, water, earth, and fire until the Chosen Ones were to be born and mature enough to come along and restore the Light. The elves at the end of the age became far too weak from Dark's Tears to perform such enchantment. The Ancient Ones were foolish and did not see that not only did the Great Towers restore peace, but they also distorted it. If it weren't for the towers, there'd be serenity for many millenia.
The Adroes didn't let the cunning ways of the Ancient Ones halt them. They labored through the many obstacles and traps thrown at them unitil only a handful of them were left. Maybe five or four of three were left of this quarter of the Adroes as they pursued the top of the temple, but they did carry on the best that they could. They were desperate in such a mindless task.
Why they wanted to do it I may never know. I can guess...but never know. There are many explanations as to why they tried so hard to get therough the ways of the Citadel and the Mountains. They waged through, more eager than you could even imagine. They could hardly stand after they got to the very top of the Citadel.
At long last...the top. The winds seemed far calmer above the clouds. As they savored their breaths of fresh air, they readied themselves by twirling their staffs and typing charms around the ends of their robes. Looking towards the heavens, they took one last breath of determination and stared...staffs glowing, veins pumping, robes swaying. They stood in a strange formation and began chanting long words that never seemed to space. Their twisting, diluted chant was calling upon the side of the Light that showed both wet and cold. They were pulling the great goddess, Wiva, away from the god of all the Lands. The few elves stood, unwavering, chanting over and over their words of grasping.
"Bring us wetness, bring us cold.
Bring us young and bring us old.
O Wiva, the sea wave's daughter;
Bring us ice...bring us water!"
The clouds churned, tossed, and shook, but with no thunder or lightning in the way. Rain sheeted down upon the tower and snow sprinkled like salt over rice. A bitter cold descended from the clouds and the air turned damp and moist. The Adroes stood, chanting like there was no end.
"Bring us wetness, bring us cold.
Bring us young and bring us old.
O Wiva, the sea wave's daughter;
Bring us ice...bring us water!"
Then there were the Adroes of the second quarter who had to carry out the task of bringing fort the earthen side of the Light; Ies. Ies was a brooding character, with yllow, flashing eyes of ferocity, and claws more lengthy than a great bear. Thieving this end of the Light should've been a difficult task. This bulk of a creature doesn't come without a fight.
However, before these elves achieved the top of the tower, they had to get through the thick Murk. The High Mountains may have been High for the other Adroes, but the Murk was ever daunting. When the sun rose or the moon turned it's face they never knew, for throughout the mucky thickets, stumpy trees were heavily laden with bunched up leaves. Vines swung ghostly from the branches. Crickets chirped in chorus in continuous waves of manic excitement, calling each of the Adroes names in their flippant little voices. Their chirping never seemed to cease for the sun would never peek its face through the unwanted branches of the Murk.
They wallowed on through the foggy mud, traveling upstream toward their destination. Toxic eels quivered and slipped around their knees, sending a chilll through the travelers' spines. Fear fot the best of most of them and nearly took most of their lives. Yet again, the path was but half of the journey.
When the Great Thorn Palace was originally built, it was in an open field with no wild vines or bloodthirsty monsters. The air was crisp and there was no sign of wicked beings. And then the rain came. Rain poured around the palace, seding rivers coursing down the rolling hills. Rain fell for years...unwanted seeds drifted over to the land, and then there were profuse jungles of trees, marshes farther than the eyes could see. Sluggish, slimy creatures found it a perfect land to settle upon. Time had damaged the area a great deal, if you ask me. Time can damage as much as it can heal.
There were cheers cast off about the morning breeze as the Great Thorn Palace came into view of the Adroes. They traveled for many wearly, nearly aimless nights and almost forgot what they were heading for until they saw the morning sunrise peek its lofty head through the awning. Stalagmites littered the frontcourt of the grand palace (although there was no cave), and, as I've said before, the vines ominously glared at them through invisible eyes.
The climb to the top didn't hold them back. Many sunk into the claws of the traps and other cunning ones avoided them keenly. Not many were left when they achieved the top. Many lost their souls to this meaningless deed, and in my opinion, they deserved it. It was foolish to use so much enchantment for nothing...and it's a hard mess to clean up, I tell you!
They twirled their scepters, jingled their charms, and chanted habitually:
"Bring fertility, bring us life.
Bring us peace and bring us strife.
O Ies, the core's greatest birth:
Bring us flora...bring us earth!"
The tower tilted and shook. Loose rubble at the sides of the palace crumbled down. The palace became noticeably unsteady. But the elves still went perpetually on...
"Bring fertility, bring us life.
Bring us peace and bring us strife.
O Ies, the core's greatest birth:
Bring us flora...bring us earth!"
Whil the first quarter of these Adroes ventured towards the Great Wave Citadel and the second quarter of these Adroes ventured towards the Great Thorn Palace, the third quarter of these Adroes ventured towards the Wing Garrison, and the venture wouldn't be so difficult if they knew exactly where the place was. The Garrison had a certain spell upon it that made it difficult to find. At some days it would be to the farther west and others it would be ot the near west, and at other days it wouldn't be anywhere. Sometimes it wouldn't be anywhere for a certain number of years. Unfortunately, the Adroes were alive during the years it just playfully hopped from place to place.
Each time it changed its location, the trail towards it wasn't at all hard to follow. It was pretty friendly at times. The sky would be open and blue and the clouds would drift lazily by. The soil was fresh and there was never a thing amiss. At long last, when the Adroes finally cuaght up with the tricky building, they were fooled by the welcoming trail. Upon walking the path, they became relaxed and thought the Wing Garrison as a rightful place to be.
They were wrong. The traps were far more deadly then any of the other temples'. Not only were they deadly; they usually started with a puzzle of some sort. In that case, only the ones of brilliant minds were allowed to safely pursue the zenith.
And few were of high intelligence. When's one's mind is twisted of sorrow and anger, their thoughts are shrouded in devastation...death. It was a miracle that one of them survived. Yes, only one of them survived, and she was barely kicking. She narrowly escaped many of the traps and came out with some of her limbs severed. Her skin was broken in many places and blood spewed continuously as she staggered from each adversity. Her braths were slow and spke of deat nearing, but she was still eager to call upon Pecra, the whindy side of the Light.
As she climbed the last flight of stairs, her back was arched and she used her only arm left to use her cane as a second leg. She limped, pain depleting her life. She kept going, Pecra being the impetus.
The high altitude at the summit of the Wind Garrison gave the girl limited braths. Her life was dribbling from her fingers as quickly as water...she had to do it soon or her sould would be lost within her dark memories forever...
She suummoned all of her magic she could muster...all of her energy and leaving just a bit so she could have the power to stand. She toppled over as she rose her staff high into the sky, yelling hoarsely towards the clouds the chant of grasping...the chant that would take her life completely.
"Bring me thunder, bring me breath.
Bring me life and bring me death.
O Pecra, for the Lands I've sinned...
Bring me lightning...bring me wind!"
The girl's hair wisped about in the gales as the sky whistled like the cawing of a hawk. Thunder clapped across the heavens. The woman opened her eyes which glowed an icy lavender. Her idle stare had a misty death written upon it.
"Bring me thunder, bring me breath.
Bring me life and bring me death.
O Pecra, for the Lands I've sinned...
Bring me lightning...bring me wind!"
Finally, there was the fourth and final quarter of the Adroes. These were the ones who had to seek out the Serpentine Tower that was built deep down in the crater far to the center in the volcanic hills of Mar. Their journey there wasn't difficult but just to go down into the crater was the task. Lava drizzled down the walls in small streams as natural as water. The burning stench that hovered over the black rubble caused many of the elves breathing problems. The smoke choked the brittle ones as the more brawny ones of large lungs went on without problems.
The Fiery River flowed through the crater from a continously erupting volcano nearby. The deadly Vinoars prowled around the river of magma, sipping up its contents to quench their blistering thirst. The Adroes did not bring weapons to slay these creatures, so many were slain on that purpose. Vinoars were quick, sprightly little fellows with eyes more accurate than an owl. Their ratty wings were only used to hover a bit before landing down to the ground from high places. They were much like bony baby dragons with swift senses.
Many deaths came before the sight of the Serpentine Tower. Blood rode upon the wind the second the Elves put their feet to the base of the massive crater. Vinoars charged left and right, taking the Adroes into the depths of hell. Maybe two Adroes were left one the Tower came into sight. The Vnoars were not at all finished with them yet...but the Adroes made it inside.
Yet again, I say, the ancient elves were keen at making the temples. They made each one at a certain level of difficulty. There were virtually no traps inside the tower for the outside was difficult enough to pass through. All they had to do was climb up the twisting stairway until they reached the top. The ground was uneven and it felt hard upon their sore feet, but that was a luxury compared to the untamed ways of the grounds of the Vinoars.
The higher they got, the lower their hopes went, because the air became steaming hot the higher they got. They got closer and closer to the fiery part of the LIght every step they strode. Sweat tumbled down their chests and cheeks as they attempted wiping it away with the sleeves of their cloaks. Their skin turned red-hot and the taste of salty air swept into their mouths.
By the time the top was reached, their cloaks had been drenched in sweat. It seemed as if they were dumped into a witches pot to be boiled slowly. They both looked down in awe, seeing that they were at the very tip of the figurine snakes' tongue, but even the tip of the tongue was wide enough for fifty people to move around on. It was true; the tower was immense.
The view was incredible. They could see the entire crater with its edges laid perfectly on the horizons. The sun seemed to be standing next to them, dousing them with scorching heat. They marveled the view even more, seeing the creeks of lava as veins of a black bear's face. Nevertheless, they readied themselves and chanted:
"Bring us heat and bring us sweat.
Bring us nothing that is wet.
O Vinion, a woman's deepest desire...
Bring us heat...bring us fire!"
The clouds instantly turned to a charcoal black, fire raining from the sky. Tornadoes of flame whipped about, tearing across the forests...
All four of the mighty gods of the Light had been separated. The Light was no longer united into one whole being, but divided into four equal elements: water, earth, wind, and fire. The sight was intolerable. The entire sky was swallowed by a vortext larger than any other storm imaginable.
There was hail the size of an infant's head, but harder than any rock. Rain poured from the heavens as if the clouds dumped buckets of water. Snow blistered the land and sent a chill through the elves down on the ground. They had no choice but to seek shelter underground, but the under didn't help them.
Earthquakes trembled the earth, letting the mountains tumble down and land to slide. Avalanches of dirt plunged to the base of villages and mud splashed about. Fissures broke out on dry and wetland alkie, many of the elves falling through the abyss.
The winds were harsh and blustery, picking up as many things as it could. It picked up houses as if they were toys and people as if they were twigs. Dirt kicked up everywhere until nothing was even visible. Lightning struck and thunder applauded to the brilliance of the pandemonium.
Fire rained down as if war were in part, just as fiery arrows. Heat spun through the tornados of sand and soon there were spinning flames across the sky.
And the gods hadn't even arrived yet. This was just their way of showing that they were coming down. This was a warning that the world was about to end.
Wiva arose from the depths of the sea and tossed her head in a screeching howl. Her craning neck swung powerfully. With a splash of her whale-like tail, she sped towards the coast to meet the others. As she clambered up to the beach with her thick fins, her lustrous shell shined in the light. Her screeching howl created the waves of the sea.
Two humungous digging claws emerged from the ground and out came Ies, coated in gravel. Shaking his furry mane, he snarled up to the sky, his pointed teeth shining threateningly. Every step he took trembled the ground.
In a twirling dance, a large pair of lavender wings fell from the sky, folded neatly upon the body of a glorious bird. Pecra dove gracefully from the sky, sending the clouds swirling in elegance behind her. She cawed a soothing noise, but loud enough to stir up the muted air.
Magma spurted from the furious mountain and out surfaced the spiraling body of the great dragon, Vinion. His wings stretched out against the ember-filled sky, and he roared across the heavens of his arrival. His brilliant ruby-red scaled back reflected every light that hit him. He flew off at top-speed.
The war began. They fought a cataclysmic war..a never-ending war...and it was all because they had differences in each other. If it weren't for the fact that they were all different, then they wouldn't be so ferocious. Wiva fought perilously against Vinion who danced ungracefully across the clouds. Fire gushed from his mouth continuously. Wiva dove through the water and stirred it up so the waves splashed upon the surface, causing flooding to much terrain. It was the fight of fire and water.
Pecra fought with Ies. It was somewhat similar, but Ies dug incessantly through the ground as Pecra chased after him, hurling lightning bolts with ceaseless antagonism. She flew through the holes, catching up to him rarely and pecking at him, crying in agony every time he struck back with his monstrous claws. It was a battle between land and air.
The Holy Elves huddled together under the surface of the earth, struggling to finish what the Ancient Elves secretly were building. They weren't trundling about in the dirt under the ground. Instead, they were in a magnificently build sanctum...the Sapphire Sanctum, to say the least. The thing the Ancients Elves failed to finish was the Sapphire Sun.
This "sun" was no sun at all. It was a precious jewel made of ice, water, wind, and lightning, all sewn together into one single gem the size of a pea. The little diamond was truly beautiful, but only the elves and the Chosen One of this gem could see the real beauty inside of it. This was the beauty of power.
The Sapphire Sun could control Wiva and Pecra into certain things. It could make the two goddesses fall instantly into slumber. It could tell what direction they should go in and what they should think. It was practically the heart, soul, and mind of both of the goddesses.
The only one who could touch this fin jewel was the Chosen One of a faraway age.
Other elves were in the Ruby Chamber that was where the opposite of the Sapphire Sun was held. Despite the fact that it was opposite, it still served the same purpose as the Sun. The gem was the Ruby Moon. It controlled Vinion and Ies as if they were puppets. The Ruby Moon was woven of ash, fire, earth, and flora, all bound together by the glue of enchantment.
The only one who could touch this fine jewel was the other Chosen One of a faraway age.
And so, with the Sapphire Sun and the Ruby Moon at hand, the Holy Elves came to the surfacce and struck the gods into slumber. They were forced back into their own temple to sleep for ages to come, and the Holy Elves soon found out that every Adro had been destroyed for being in the presence of war.
Story has it that the ones who are chosen by these jewels are to release all of the gods peacefully, and once this has occurred, the two gems will combine into the Crystal Star. This star, as it shall combine, so shall the gods back into the united Light. I hope to see this happen myself some day, for the powers of the gems, I sense, are declining. The world is losing its luster. May faith be with the ones have been born to unite this Light.
~Master Fymurious