![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
It is a mixture of cliches and anti-cliches. Go figure.
The Dying of the Dark
Prologue
There are things more powerful even than gods.
Watch the world of Tethedral, spinning in space with its two moons, one silver, one gold. The clouds are tinted lilac by the magical field which protects it from the sun it orbits, which is large and red and would be too close for life to exist were it not for the gods, and that which is greater than them.
The gods live in the center of the silver moon, watching events through the mirrors that clutter every surface. Once there were many - now only four survive.
One says, "We're doomed, aren't we?"
One says, "Don't talk like that, Ilevra. We are safe here."
Ilevra says, "No, no, don't try to calm me. We're doomed."
A third says, "I suspect she's right. We are barely holding out as it is. It would take a miracle to stop...Him."
The fourth moans, "If only He didn't have the king in His grip! We cannot combat Him and the forces of man at once!"
The second says, slowly, "What if we didn't have to?"
Ilevra shakes her head. "Well, we have to."
The second says, still in that deliberate tone, "What if we used the humans? As tools, I mean. What if we used them to fight Him down below? Then we could concentrate on saving ourselves, rather than them."
Ilevra says, "You mean Champions."
The third says, "There haven't been Champions in over seven hundred years. It's so...complicated."
The fourth says, "But we could do it, I bet. A last, desperate stand against His light."
Ilevra, ever more eager, cries, "And last, desperate stands always succeed!"
The second smiles. "Then we shall make our Champions."
The third says, "Mine shall be a male, of average looks and extraordinary intelligence. He shall be sought after by all, but will always follow his heart."
The fourth says, "I think I'll make a princess again. They're so useful. She'll be attractive, but always overshadowed by her siblings, always overlooked by the king...and so also by Him. She will be sent to be a priestess, to placate the Elders, and she will thus learn of us."
Ilevra ponders the problem, and then says, "I want a beautiful girl who wants more than what she has, more than to run her father's shop. She'll run away and pretend to be a boy, and join the army and learn the fighting arts. No one will discover her secret but those who would help her to keep it."
"Always the secret pasts with you," says the third. "Come, let us create our Champions."
"Wait," says the second. "Oran has yet to say what his is like."
Oran traces the patterns in the frame of a mirror. "Playing with the lives of mortals," he muses. "Giving them destinies and traits. And always so focused on the physical!" He taps the mirror's surface, which ripples like water. "Mine already exists. He is twelve, and will be thirteen by the time yours are born. I have no control over who he is, I can only affect his destiny. He is magically talented, but he will not wear the wizards' robes. No. He will carry the medallion of the King's Assassins, but he will never kill. He will be...exactly who he wants to be. That is all I can give him."
Ilevra tilts her head to the side. "But, Oran, what kind of Champion is his own person?"
"The kind that will survive even if I am destroyed." Oran laughs. "Everything you give to them will fade if He takes you. Mine will always be what he is. That, dear sisters, is the greatest gift of all. Come. We must begin. We have not much time...He moves rapidly..."
The second holds up a hand, shaking her head. "Wait, wait. They must have...a chance. Even if He takes us all. We must give them a chance to defeat him, even without us."
Ilevra knows how tales like this should go. "They shall have their chance," she announces, "when the light holds sway. When we are all lost. When their kind lurk in the shadows."
"Nice prophecy," says the third, and the others agree.
Oran will give his Champion one last gift. One last chance. But the others are not to know this. For He has ears everywhere, and a chance like this must not be uttered, lest it work to His advantage.
Watch Tethedral spin as His lights creep over it. Watch the shadows and the magic die.
Prologue
Watch the world of Tethedral, spinning in space with its two moons, one silver, one gold. The clouds are tinted lilac by the magical field which protects it from the sun it orbits, which is large and red and would be too close for life to exist were it not for the gods, and that which is greater than them.
The gods live in the center of the silver moon, watching events through the mirrors that clutter every surface. Once there were many - now only four survive.
One says, "We're doomed, aren't we?"
One says, "Don't talk like that, Ilevra. We are safe here."
Ilevra says, "No, no, don't try to calm me. We're doomed."
A third says, "I suspect she's right. We are barely holding out as it is. It would take a miracle to stop...Him."
The fourth moans, "If only He didn't have the king in His grip! We cannot combat Him and the forces of man at once!"
The second says, slowly, "What if we didn't have to?"
Ilevra shakes her head. "Well, we have to."
The second says, still in that deliberate tone, "What if we used the humans? As tools, I mean. What if we used them to fight Him down below? Then we could concentrate on saving ourselves, rather than them."
Ilevra says, "You mean Champions."
The third says, "There haven't been Champions in over seven hundred years. It's so...complicated."
The fourth says, "But we could do it, I bet. A last, desperate stand against His light."
Ilevra, ever more eager, cries, "And last, desperate stands always succeed!"
The second smiles. "Then we shall make our Champions."
The third says, "Mine shall be a male, of average looks and extraordinary intelligence. He shall be sought after by all, but will always follow his heart."
The fourth says, "I think I'll make a princess again. They're so useful. She'll be attractive, but always overshadowed by her siblings, always overlooked by the king...and so also by Him. She will be sent to be a priestess, to placate the Elders, and she will thus learn of us."
Ilevra ponders the problem, and then says, "I want a beautiful girl who wants more than what she has, more than to run her father's shop. She'll run away and pretend to be a boy, and join the army and learn the fighting arts. No one will discover her secret but those who would help her to keep it."
"Always the secret pasts with you," says the third. "Come, let us create our Champions."
"Wait," says the second. "Oran has yet to say what his is like."
Oran traces the patterns in the frame of a mirror. "Playing with the lives of mortals," he muses. "Giving them destinies and traits. And always so focused on the physical!" He taps the mirror's surface, which ripples like water. "Mine already exists. He is twelve, and will be thirteen by the time yours are born. I have no control over who he is, I can only affect his destiny. He is magically talented, but he will not wear the wizards' robes. No. He will carry the medallion of the King's Assassins, but he will never kill. He will be...exactly who he wants to be. That is all I can give him."
Ilevra tilts her head to the side. "But, Oran, what kind of Champion is his own person?"
"The kind that will survive even if I am destroyed." Oran laughs. "Everything you give to them will fade if He takes you. Mine will always be what he is. That, dear sisters, is the greatest gift of all. Come. We must begin. We have not much time...He moves rapidly..."
The second holds up a hand, shaking her head. "Wait, wait. They must have...a chance. Even if He takes us all. We must give them a chance to defeat him, even without us."
Ilevra knows how tales like this should go. "They shall have their chance," she announces, "when the light holds sway. When we are all lost. When their kind lurk in the shadows."
"Nice prophecy," says the third, and the others agree.
Oran will give his Champion one last gift. One last chance. But the others are not to know this. For He has ears everywhere, and a chance like this must not be uttered, lest it work to His advantage.
Watch Tethedral spin as His lights creep over it. Watch the shadows and the magic die.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
honestly nae...what is wrong???
From:
no subject
Okay, do you think the first chapter would work better if it's about Zenda (the fighter girl) or Arash (the so-called assassin)? I'm leaning toward Zenda, but if I do Arash then I can write his childhood in chronological order. Hmm.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Thoughts, anyway?