I want to try something a little unorthodox. Taking the advice of my friends here, I've decided to start writing. As thanks for all the kind words concerning this, i'm sharing my walk through the Faeri as i take it. My writing will be done in solely in this blog. Comments, crits, suggestions will always be much appreciated... So.... enjoy, or something like that.
I have travelled for two passes now on my search. I never knew how beautiful this place really was until i became intimate with every landscape the two Aeries had to offer. I have walked steadily from the harbor town of Tallenbrough at the very northwestern most tip to the Forests of Dumarc-Harril in the very southwestern corner. From bluegreen eastern seas, hot and humid to the stormy lavender western shores of Zchi, there is enough here to keep my paintings inspired for the rest of my life.
It troubles me, however, to see all of us take advantage of the blessings placed in front of our eyes every day. Do the Mafaeri take a moment to wonder what it is like for the Lasaeri during the Great Procession? How exhilirating it is for them to stand with their beloved king at the edge of the hilsindry stone cliffs. They stand there and wait, anticipation steadfast against the fatigue of the long journey from Pell just to see if their living deity, Zchi, will rise from the sea and deliver a message to it's people.
Do the Lasaeri wonder what it is like to stand in Alagany Hall, listening to the amplified voices of the Stelnaris? How comforting is it to watch the stars fade out of view, drifting on a warm breeze, as the grand palace glows with the sorcelled light of thousands of lamps, each one lit by a representative of each family in the fathomless city.
My guess is that neither faction does. We no longer look out at the clouds on the evening sky, held breathless by the myriad of colors intensified by the cirrus heights. Slowly, Great Mother Arts is dying and before we know it, the muse that is our beautiful nation will come to an end.
The skies are now blotted out by a haze of sickly yellow smoke. You are burning your enemies villages, driving their children into the wilds to fend for themselves, to grow feral. The once fertile meadows of Middleground have become fallow with all the blood shed, with all the decomposing corpses that have been buried in mass graves where they fell. The only places left sacred in this Zchi forsaken land are the ones that you know nothing about yet.
That is where you will find me, and where you will never find me. At least, not until i am called upon.
Jessilent hoisted herself from the pallet and peered out of the crude hole that served as the home's single window. There was still little to see outside save the dimly lit fog in the distance but there was a cacophany of sounds from the docks. Somewhere in that misty blindness, her beautiful husband was helping his father push the SeaGift into the sea.
She felt a faint fluttering in her abdomen and smiled. As the nights grew longer, her body grew restless. She was even awake before Wendell this morning, just listening to the rythmic rise and ebb of his breath as he slept. She was content at that moment just listening to him, feeling his warmth next to her.
Very soon, little one, she sighed as she reluctantly turned from the window. She knelt to light the lamp and turned her attention to the coverlet that lay folded in her favorite chair. This too would soon be finished. The coverlet was a good project for her as she wiled away the anxious days approaching the birth of her first child. There was still much time left to finish the coverlet before then, however.
Weavecrafting came easy to her, as it did all of her family. It was a skill much useful to the fishermen of the village. Without the weavecrafters, the nets that so often came in torn would take days to repair. She moved her attention to the coverlet, speaking the opening lines of the encantation. Her fingers, never touching her work, moved methodically through the air, weaving the energies about into intricate knots.
It was a skill that required perfect attention. Any sudden interuption would break the incantation, unweaving almost an entire harvest season of work. Jessilent had become doubly skilled, being one of the few weavecrafters that could still keep a line of thought, albeit faint, while she worked.
She let her thoughts take her on a journey across the fields to the south, into those forests where her father's family had been driven from so long ago. What would it be like, she wondered, to travel across moss covered forests, hunting for small game through beams of golden light? Chances were she would never know.
It troubles me, however, to see all of us take advantage of the blessings placed in front of our eyes every day. Do the Mafaeri take a moment to wonder what it is like for the Lasaeri during the Great Procession? How exhilirating it is for them to stand with their beloved king at the edge of the hilsindry stone cliffs. They stand there and wait, anticipation steadfast against the fatigue of the long journey from Pell just to see if their living deity, Zchi, will rise from the sea and deliver a message to it's people.
Do the Lasaeri wonder what it is like to stand in Alagany Hall, listening to the amplified voices of the Stelnaris? How comforting is it to watch the stars fade out of view, drifting on a warm breeze, as the grand palace glows with the sorcelled light of thousands of lamps, each one lit by a representative of each family in the fathomless city.
My guess is that neither faction does. We no longer look out at the clouds on the evening sky, held breathless by the myriad of colors intensified by the cirrus heights. Slowly, Great Mother Arts is dying and before we know it, the muse that is our beautiful nation will come to an end.
The skies are now blotted out by a haze of sickly yellow smoke. You are burning your enemies villages, driving their children into the wilds to fend for themselves, to grow feral. The once fertile meadows of Middleground have become fallow with all the blood shed, with all the decomposing corpses that have been buried in mass graves where they fell. The only places left sacred in this Zchi forsaken land are the ones that you know nothing about yet.
That is where you will find me, and where you will never find me. At least, not until i am called upon.
Jessilent hoisted herself from the pallet and peered out of the crude hole that served as the home's single window. There was still little to see outside save the dimly lit fog in the distance but there was a cacophany of sounds from the docks. Somewhere in that misty blindness, her beautiful husband was helping his father push the SeaGift into the sea.
She felt a faint fluttering in her abdomen and smiled. As the nights grew longer, her body grew restless. She was even awake before Wendell this morning, just listening to the rythmic rise and ebb of his breath as he slept. She was content at that moment just listening to him, feeling his warmth next to her.
Very soon, little one, she sighed as she reluctantly turned from the window. She knelt to light the lamp and turned her attention to the coverlet that lay folded in her favorite chair. This too would soon be finished. The coverlet was a good project for her as she wiled away the anxious days approaching the birth of her first child. There was still much time left to finish the coverlet before then, however.
Weavecrafting came easy to her, as it did all of her family. It was a skill much useful to the fishermen of the village. Without the weavecrafters, the nets that so often came in torn would take days to repair. She moved her attention to the coverlet, speaking the opening lines of the encantation. Her fingers, never touching her work, moved methodically through the air, weaving the energies about into intricate knots.
It was a skill that required perfect attention. Any sudden interuption would break the incantation, unweaving almost an entire harvest season of work. Jessilent had become doubly skilled, being one of the few weavecrafters that could still keep a line of thought, albeit faint, while she worked.
She let her thoughts take her on a journey across the fields to the south, into those forests where her father's family had been driven from so long ago. What would it be like, she wondered, to travel across moss covered forests, hunting for small game through beams of golden light? Chances were she would never know.
