The Lone Prophet

A tale is whispered among the young shepherd boys of the mountain clans. It is told in hushed voices, in the shadows of great stones used as shelter against the howling winds, and only recalled when they are certain they are far from the watchful eyes of their shaman-king.

They speak of a figure known to them as the Lone Prophet. A knower of secrets, an initiate among magicians. Oath-breaker, shunned by his own people. Doomed to wander the high mountains of a cursed realm until he has ensured that every piece falls into place, that every thread of fate is set to fulfill the prophecy he himself foretold.

They say he was a sickly child, born prone to sleepwalking, and the only son of the clan-king. When he was older, he followed his father and the warriors in secret as they went to choose who among them would become the next Sentinel—the guardian of the cyclopean ruins under their care.

By a trick of his cousin, the prince won the trials and took upon himself the custodianship of the ruins. Though all believed him doomed to die there, the prince rose to the task and kept his oath faithfully.

Yet one night, it is said, the prince again walked in his sleep. And when he awoke, he found he had crossed the sacred boundary and entered the ruins themselves, naked and without the warding bells that should have protected him.

There, a figure stepped forth from the shadows—taller than any man, and robed in black. The prince stood as though frozen in a dream while the figure approached and touched its finger to his brow, flooding his mind with prophetic visions.

Whether this happened as it is told, none can say. But the prince forsook his oath and abandoned the ruins he had sworn to guard until death, marking him forever as a traitor and an outcast among his kin.

Yet since that day, he is said to wander ceaselessly across the highlands of the cursed realm, living far beyond the span of mortal years, speaking his dark prophecy to any shepherd boy or milkmaid he encounters. The shaman-kings and their warriors drive him away wherever he is found, for they fear his words. They know too well the danger: when a prophecy is spoken aloud, it begins to take form—and with every telling, he draws its fulfillment closer.

He speaks of darkness. He speaks of trials. He speaks of the rising of the reawakened gods.

He speaks of the secret the shaman-kings have long sought to keep.

On his staff he carries a skull of some unfortunate and forgotten twisted soul.

Hereafter follow the recitations of his prophecy, uttered aloud and remembered in fear:

The Darkness That Turns

And behold, a shadow shall fall upon the land,

a darkness not of night, nor born of the turning of the sun.

For in that hour, the Gods Who Sleep and dreamt us up, so that we might dream up them,

shall stir in their hidden places.

Their shapes shall be remade by the trembling of all living hearts,

and terror shall be the garment they wear.

They shall walk as mist upon the mountains

and as whisper upon the waters,

and none shall name them,

yet all shall know their passing.

So begins the Time of Twisting Darkness,

when fear becomes form,

and the divine remembers not  its ancient face.

Hear now the mystery of the gods:

For the gods are not as idols of wood and stone, nor are they beings set apart in distant heavens.

Lo, they are the shadows of the Will,

Reflections of desire made flesh in the trembling chambers of the heart.

As a spark is born of flame,

so are we and the gods alike born of the Great Will—

the Will that Is, the Will that Was, the Will that Shall Be.

But behold, the gods are perilous to behold.

For as life devours life to continue its days,

so does Will contend with Will in the hidden places of the soul.

This is the root of every sorrow and every striving under heaven.

And though a god may not perish,

yet the emotion that shapes it may be overturned;

and when the heart changes, so too is the god remade.

Thus are the gods twisted, as iron is bent in the forge.

And hear this:

The one who holds great Will,

and who turns the hearts of many,

shall shape the gods in his image.

Many have sought this mantle.

The Cursing King was among them,

but his heart was not pure,

and his dominion brought only ruin.

Therefore a time of tribulation shall arise:

A stirring of the forgotten gods,

a waking of the ancient powers from their quiet places.

They shall rise as dread and trembling,

for the strongest of all passions is Fear,

For all that exists fears the end of its own being.

Then shall the gods walk among humankind,

terrible and changed,

bearing forms forged in Fear’s dark fire.

And in those days, humanity shall cry aloud for deliverance.

And from that cry shall a Child be born—

not of terror, but of quiet and of tenderness.

The Child of the New Dawn.

The Perfect One.

He shall gather the trembling and soothe them.

He shall cradle the sorrowful and grant them rest.

And the gods, all of them, shall bow before him.

For his Will shall be gentle yet unbroken,

and his embrace shall bind every sundered thing into one.

And in that day,

there shall be no longing,

nor fear,

nor the hunger of the soul.

For in Him, all shall find their home.

And the world shall be whole again.

The Herald of Tribulation

And there shall come one who awakens the sleeping Will of mankind.

Not royal, nor holy, nor crowned—yet all hearts shall turn toward him.

His words shall stir longing, and his presence shall divide.

Where he walks, the old gods shall tremble and rise from their slumber.

For he is not the savior, but the Harbinger—

the spark before the blaze,

the storm before the calm.

Through him, the time of tribulation shall begin.

And all the world shall feel the shaking.

The Coming of the Sea-Borne

Hear this, O Tenehu:

From the far waters shall come a new people,

their oars stirring a once calm sea.

They shall raise a great mound,

and upon it many shall be sacrificed.

Their coming shall scorch the land,

and sorrow shall cling to the rivers.

By their deeds the Ancient Gods shall be

stirred from the depths of their long slumber.

Thus shall the first stones be laid

for the Time of Tribulations.

The Veiled Omen

When the still moon drinks the color of dawn,

and the silent star moves against its course,

then shall the Unnamed One walk between breaths.

No trumpet shall sound;

no footfall shall mark his passing.

Yet the deep roots shall shiver,

and the sleeping gods shall turn in their dreams.

For where he stands, shadows remember their shape,

and the world forgets its old name.

Thus shall the Tribulation begin—

not seen, but known.

Not heard, but felt.

The Unmasking

When the Harbinger beholds his own shadow

and finds it not his own,

then shall he know the Unnamed One.

Not by vision, nor by voice,

but by the trembling of all things that are.

For in that moment,

the veil shall thin like breath upon glass,

and the Hidden Shall Stand Revealed.

Upon Faith

By the Imilik the scribe.

All who walk upon the cursed ground of Tenehu hold some belief, and that belief is shaped by their desires and longings.

The Elves seek domination, by any means. Their only want is to impose their will upon all others.

The Mountain Folk seek salvation—that one day all shall be united with the Perfect Being.

Humans, servants of the Elves, seek merely to be spared suffering. They believe that those who serve are the chosen of their lord, and that in the afterlife they shall be blessed with ever-flowing springs of milk and honey.

The Dwarves desire only revenge for ancient slights—real or imagined—and the unending hoarding of wealth.

The Troll-kin desire only to consume, until all things are taken into one being.

But the Āyaraz see the desires of the others for what they are: the hunger for annihilation.

The Āyaraz seek instead exaltation through war. For they know the true nature of existence is strife. For all is love—the Love-Being. And if something is to be, then all must be. Therefore there can be no joy without suffering, no ecstasy without pain; for each arises from its opposite, and together they form the totality of Being.

Love is both terrifying and beautiful. Life is the most divine expression of this cosmic love, because it is destined to end. Within that ending, it contains all. And all is as it must be.

Thus the Āyaraz live without fear—true to nature and to themselves—seeking glory through strife. For strife is the sum of existence, and therefore the only true act of devotion.

“Under the flesh, your skull is always grinning.”

—Āyaraz Saying

And thus do they say:

Only the wretched seek to rid the world of pain.

Only the deformed cry out for equality.

Only the weak speak of good and evil.

For the wolf is blameless in its hunger,

And the lamb hanging from its jaws rejoices,

For its sacrifice is perfect,

Its ending pristine.

Now they are made one

In the terrible love

Of Being.