The Melford Four

The Weeping


As I positioned the nib so as to meet the pressed pages of the leather-bound journal which lay open before me, my gaze drifted wearily up from the delicately etched markings that danced gracefully across the surface of the page, a dance which had gone on for far too long a time in my opinion, to rest unexpectedly upon a reflection cast on the far wall. As my eyes began to focus more closely I watched as what appeared to be slivers, almost tears of a faded shadow slid their way down from the top to the bottom of the stone doorframe. The room in which I now sat and had in fact been sitting for the past couple of hours had somehow, without my acknowledgement, adopted a mysterious and distinctly unnatural glimmer. A lance of crimson and garnet glanced threateningly across my face as I, with increasing alarm, liberated myself from the elegantly carved arm chair in which I had perched. I swiftly negotiated the marble desk that stood unerringly in front of me and turned to inspect the arching doorway that led out onto a protruding parapet of conjured obsidian. It felt suddenly as if hundreds of tiny spiders had awoken within me and had begun to scuttle across the surface of my heart. The intricately, lacing webs that they had woven began to make breathing difficult and I suddenly felt my chest grow heavy. A strong gust of warm air struck my face as I stepped out anxiously onto the exposed stone terrace and surveyed the catastrophic scene before me. The skies had darkened to night and veins of brilliant, violet lightning crackled ferociously amidst the foreboding clouds. Reminiscent of some manner of perverse painting, composed by a painter struck mad with rage and sorrow, colours leapt across the expansive skyline. I felt my hands grasp the smooth stone precipice as my mind fought to answer questions it had no chance of answering.

Have I waited too long? Has the reckoning started so soon? What of the sacrifices I have made and the people I have fought to protect? Are their lives forfeit?

Crack. The sky began to rupture as if torn by the claws of some foul dimensional beast. Then they began to weep. Into the world plunged, what appeared to be, molten shards of some foreign meteoric rocks or that is what many claimed to view. However the unseeing eyes of a mortal are regrettably veiled to the arcane. That fateful day I saw something quite different, almost transcendent in nature. As heaven’s tears plummeted desolately towards the surface of the world, I was forced to avert my gaze, shielding my arcane sight with the sleeve of my robes. Such was the power that emanated from these shards. I watched from the eyes of my soul-bound as the ground graciously swallowed the fallen and much like a mother, gently cushioned the bodies of her newly born children into her bosom. I let my sleeve fall and watched as the mystical emanations slowly began to fade from view.

What did I just witness Aetius? Surely such raw and untamed magical energy could bring nothing but chaos to Dragolin. Something must be done and swiftly, we were not by any chance the only spectators.

I have never before glimpsed the blossoming of magic such as this. It was certainly born of an alternate plane although I am unsure as to how this was possible. I felt my heart mourn for them; they had been torn from one another, each a part of something or even someone.

I severed the mental link, gathered my robes about me and stalked back through the archway and into the study. If my mind could be seen as an impenetrable fortress of will, then unfortunately it was currently being besieged by an overabundance of thoughts and emotions, all simultaneously battering themselves unrelentingly against the walls of my subconscious. Perhaps it had been time long enough. But where are Tiann and Mynas, I wondered.


I want more !

The Weeping
Samngliv Melfordite

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