“We scarcely know what is going on, much less how to handle it. Perhaps this truly is the end of this world.” Mayar whispered to itself as clasped its long fingers around hilt of a dagger sheathed at his side. All around it, other Tariks, even the Oreres were present. It truly must have been a grave state of affairs to even call the Oreres from their provinces. Or even still, if the Oreres were to meet, why demand the presence of even weakling Tariks such as itself. Mayar knew its worth as a Tarik, and made no pretenses of power. It was good for healing, friendly counsel, and little else. Even still, Mayar’s mind was always at work, planning ways to make things better. What it lacked in true ability, it made up for in determination.
“Ni’tok is invited to the head of the table.” An Orere named Dussol raised a claw to signify a consensus of Oreres. Ni’tok, Mayar thought to itself, I’ve never even heard of Ni’tok. There was a long silence as the council waited for their first speaker to approach “the head of the table”.
The Tarik had strange customs to say the least. Most of their euphemisms were blatant misnomers, such as the head of the table. The table at the council hall was round and had no designation for head. Although they called this place a hall, it was little more than a cave, dripping, damp, covered in a viscous slime that made walking to and fro treacherous. Albeit inhospitable, it was still quite beautiful. The rock that was not covered in algae glowed in tones of vibrant sapphire, illuminating the already stunning faces of the Tarik as they waited patiently to hear the first speaker. Presently a very young Tarik, barely 15 winters, rose above the rest by standing on the stone it was sitting on and began to speak.
“Well, Uh, m’first bit off new sis uhh.” It peered into the crowd as if hoping to find courage looking right at him. Mayar heard a sharp whistle off behind it and the young Tarik brightened, liquid ebony eyes taking on a light of their own. “Well, Sidgal Tun uss gone. It’was slain by’uh unknown boy ah Farsden Keep. We have’ah marauder run aloose’n Alagany, th’likes we’ve ne’er seen b’fore.” An image of a blond elfling boy running through a cloud of smoke filled Mayar’s mind, thanks to the collective conscious the Tariks shared. Mayar assumed that the images seen in its mind were exactly what the young tarik must have seen. The image grew hazy as the boy disappeared in the smoke surrounding a burning village. Bodies were strewn everywhere, hacked apart savagely by what appeared to be a dull blade. There was no way a young boy could have done all this himself. A soft tapping came from across the table, a much older Tarik well into the final stages of forfeiting its power, waited for the Orere to acknowledge the request to speak.
“Hyda is invited to the table. This is your last time at council, is this correct?” The Orere asked without any hint of emotion one way or another. “would you care to elaborate on this further before we return to the subject at hand? “ To an emotional being like the one Hyda was becoming, this would have seemed like a jab, but to the pragmatists, it was simply an opportunity to understand something that had not been seen since the recently departed Sidgal Tun did the same over 200 winters ago.
“There was always the option for the weaker Tarik to forfeit their power and return it to Mother Fate. In exchange, the Great Mother gave the Tarik mortality, a gender, and the inability to retap into the collective. Sometimes, an Androgen is born flawed, full of emotions and mortal desires. Within the heart of an emotional Androgen is a turmoil so great they cannot contain it. The Great Mother assures me that this is no flaw.” Several fingers snapped in the room, a peaceful display of disagreement. “Although I am prone to agree with you that it truly is. With each day my voice grows gentler, my features rounding, becoming softer. It seems She is blessing me with the shape of a woman. Quite befitting for me as all I wish to do is love those around me. I am no longer an appropriate conduit for the emotions of the world, now that I have my own set of emotions. Please, then, consider my plea as both emotional and just. I too have witnessed the elfling boy and I know him to be no random marauder. He is hurting somewhere deep, yet at the same time, he is as stoic every other Tarik in this room.” The snapping in the room became almost deafening for a time. Most in the collective were confused. Was Tarik heading to womanhood suggesting the boy felt nothing, or that he was Tarik as well.
An Orere stood and raised a hand high over its head. One of this Tarik’s station did not need to wait for permission nor did it need to apologize for interrupting. This was the legendary Jawn, the wandering Orere. Whispers in the collective considered that Jawn would one day replace Zchi as the living deity in the south. A faint smile touched the Androgen’s lips, giving a deceptive air of feeling as it stood, waiting for silence. It was a skill many learned to utilize when communicating with mortals, but none could wield a false smile greater than this Orere.
“We speak of our dear brother, Yes I say BROTHER, Narim with such distaste? I have followed this boy since Mother Linn in the Manacaru Wood summoned me.” He waited for any sound of disapproval, but none came. “there is something almost prophetic about the arrival of a boy Tarik. I impress upon you, this boy truly IS Tarik as none of you have ever experienced. Images of a blond elfling boy darting through a stream followed by what appeared to be a glowing Mafaeri girl exploded into their minds. Mayar tried to remain resistant to so much of its mind being consumed but to no avail. The boy filled its mind. It could hear his thoughts, could feel the boy’s mind subconsciously reaching out to the feeble minds of the animals around him trying to locate that mental connection he craved so deeply. Inside its skin, it could feel the little birds taking to the cool morning air, and the swarms of buzzing gnats desperately seeking one another. Every living creature in the wood was connected to one another by the mind of a small boy who had no idea what he was doing. He was conducting the emotions of those around him, evening them, channeling them constantly, just as any well trained Tarik. But it was the scale at which the boy worked that was simply amazing. Albeit the minds were infinitesimally small, he held and conducted a total of 4 million 7 hundred and 92 minds and Mayar could FEEL every one of them, count them, knew intimately each insect,bird,deer,squirrel and anything that moved. This time the air was filled with the sounds of almost every claw snapping in response. Mayar broke from the scene, unable to make much sense of it all.
Its mind was fast at work. Mayar refused to simply accept this as a false image. What if what Jawn had shown was in fact real? There was plenty of room for an Orere of Jawn’s skill to plant false images to gain favor for its province, but Jawn belonged nowhere, had no affiliations to any place. What then, would the purpose be for planting false images? There was no purpose Mayar could see. It remained one of the few Tariks to remain silent. Mayar truly believed that this boy was perhaps the most powerful Tarik the Great Mother had ever created. This boy, narim, as Jawn had called him, was created for a purpose. Judging by the rampage the boy had taken through the southwestern Mafaeri lands, one could surmise it was to defeat the Mafaeri and hand control of the lands to Lasaeri. Mayar’s fingers itched, a sure signal of falsehood, making its fingers snap uncontrollably. Mayar’s mind shot into the noisesome crowd a brief message. “This boy is no fabrication. I know it for truth that he is Tarik. This is the next Orere Magus.”
The room grew so loud with the sounds of pounding and snapping that Mayar’s ears roared in its head. Dozens of claws pounded insistently to be heard but Jawn refused to relinquish the head of the table just yet. Mayar couldn’t make its mind shut down. It was out of control of itself. A number of thoughts permeated the collective “If this is true, then, why does Narim rage through the North lands so fiercely?”
The hall that wasn’t really more than just a cave covered in viscous slime grew silent. “It’s difficult to explain to a blind man what the color Blue is like. The only thing more difficult is explaining to an Androgen what it’s like to feel.” Mayar began slowly. It had no pre conceived notion of these thoughts before they escaped its mind and dumped openly into the collective. “Narim is a boy, not an Androgen. He was born with real emotions. He doesn’t just conduct other’s emotional energy, he creates it within himself too. His Tarik is untrained and is now turned to stealing the emotional energy around him to feed his own overwhelming emotions. The more lives he ends, the fewer people he comes in contact with, the less energy he is inadvertently stealing around him, the less strongly he feels what he feels. Filled with the anguish of an entire nation you too would go crazy, willing to do anything for relief. You saw how he tapped into the minds of the forest dwellers. He could, and most likely IS, doing the same thing right now, except with people. “ Jawn nodded in agreement and held his hands to signal his surrender of the head of the table.
Nothing else was said about the boy Tarik nor was there any suggestion on how to handle the devastation he left in his wake. Even the Orere’s whose provinces were directly affected had nothing to say. Mayar’s mind, however, remained distracted throughout the remainder of the council. Thoughts of the boy dashing about carefree in the forest shifting into the tormented monster slashing innocents in the haze of destruction turned over and over in its mind. The council came to an end and the Tariks filed out, minds buzzing to one another bits of less useful information, like the well being of crops in their respective provinces. Despite the dischord amongst the ‘faeris, the stoic Tarik did not share any distaste for a particular province simply because of their geographic location.
“You’ve a strong gift for seeking the Truth, Mayar. The Orere will find that quite useful in the days to come. “ Jawn came up behind Mayar and placed a claw on its shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger, otherwise you’ll never know just how useful you really are.” The Orere gave another one of its signature life-like smiles and a strange shiver passed through Mayar’s body. For a brief moment, it had a glimpse of what it felt like to have an emotional response. Mayar knew with a gift it didn’t even know it possessed, it would be seeking just one more taste of that brief shiver for the rest of its life.
“Ni’tok is invited to the head of the table.” An Orere named Dussol raised a claw to signify a consensus of Oreres. Ni’tok, Mayar thought to itself, I’ve never even heard of Ni’tok. There was a long silence as the council waited for their first speaker to approach “the head of the table”.
The Tarik had strange customs to say the least. Most of their euphemisms were blatant misnomers, such as the head of the table. The table at the council hall was round and had no designation for head. Although they called this place a hall, it was little more than a cave, dripping, damp, covered in a viscous slime that made walking to and fro treacherous. Albeit inhospitable, it was still quite beautiful. The rock that was not covered in algae glowed in tones of vibrant sapphire, illuminating the already stunning faces of the Tarik as they waited patiently to hear the first speaker. Presently a very young Tarik, barely 15 winters, rose above the rest by standing on the stone it was sitting on and began to speak.
“Well, Uh, m’first bit off new sis uhh.” It peered into the crowd as if hoping to find courage looking right at him. Mayar heard a sharp whistle off behind it and the young Tarik brightened, liquid ebony eyes taking on a light of their own. “Well, Sidgal Tun uss gone. It’was slain by’uh unknown boy ah Farsden Keep. We have’ah marauder run aloose’n Alagany, th’likes we’ve ne’er seen b’fore.” An image of a blond elfling boy running through a cloud of smoke filled Mayar’s mind, thanks to the collective conscious the Tariks shared. Mayar assumed that the images seen in its mind were exactly what the young tarik must have seen. The image grew hazy as the boy disappeared in the smoke surrounding a burning village. Bodies were strewn everywhere, hacked apart savagely by what appeared to be a dull blade. There was no way a young boy could have done all this himself. A soft tapping came from across the table, a much older Tarik well into the final stages of forfeiting its power, waited for the Orere to acknowledge the request to speak.
“Hyda is invited to the table. This is your last time at council, is this correct?” The Orere asked without any hint of emotion one way or another. “would you care to elaborate on this further before we return to the subject at hand? “ To an emotional being like the one Hyda was becoming, this would have seemed like a jab, but to the pragmatists, it was simply an opportunity to understand something that had not been seen since the recently departed Sidgal Tun did the same over 200 winters ago.
“There was always the option for the weaker Tarik to forfeit their power and return it to Mother Fate. In exchange, the Great Mother gave the Tarik mortality, a gender, and the inability to retap into the collective. Sometimes, an Androgen is born flawed, full of emotions and mortal desires. Within the heart of an emotional Androgen is a turmoil so great they cannot contain it. The Great Mother assures me that this is no flaw.” Several fingers snapped in the room, a peaceful display of disagreement. “Although I am prone to agree with you that it truly is. With each day my voice grows gentler, my features rounding, becoming softer. It seems She is blessing me with the shape of a woman. Quite befitting for me as all I wish to do is love those around me. I am no longer an appropriate conduit for the emotions of the world, now that I have my own set of emotions. Please, then, consider my plea as both emotional and just. I too have witnessed the elfling boy and I know him to be no random marauder. He is hurting somewhere deep, yet at the same time, he is as stoic every other Tarik in this room.” The snapping in the room became almost deafening for a time. Most in the collective were confused. Was Tarik heading to womanhood suggesting the boy felt nothing, or that he was Tarik as well.
An Orere stood and raised a hand high over its head. One of this Tarik’s station did not need to wait for permission nor did it need to apologize for interrupting. This was the legendary Jawn, the wandering Orere. Whispers in the collective considered that Jawn would one day replace Zchi as the living deity in the south. A faint smile touched the Androgen’s lips, giving a deceptive air of feeling as it stood, waiting for silence. It was a skill many learned to utilize when communicating with mortals, but none could wield a false smile greater than this Orere.
“We speak of our dear brother, Yes I say BROTHER, Narim with such distaste? I have followed this boy since Mother Linn in the Manacaru Wood summoned me.” He waited for any sound of disapproval, but none came. “there is something almost prophetic about the arrival of a boy Tarik. I impress upon you, this boy truly IS Tarik as none of you have ever experienced. Images of a blond elfling boy darting through a stream followed by what appeared to be a glowing Mafaeri girl exploded into their minds. Mayar tried to remain resistant to so much of its mind being consumed but to no avail. The boy filled its mind. It could hear his thoughts, could feel the boy’s mind subconsciously reaching out to the feeble minds of the animals around him trying to locate that mental connection he craved so deeply. Inside its skin, it could feel the little birds taking to the cool morning air, and the swarms of buzzing gnats desperately seeking one another. Every living creature in the wood was connected to one another by the mind of a small boy who had no idea what he was doing. He was conducting the emotions of those around him, evening them, channeling them constantly, just as any well trained Tarik. But it was the scale at which the boy worked that was simply amazing. Albeit the minds were infinitesimally small, he held and conducted a total of 4 million 7 hundred and 92 minds and Mayar could FEEL every one of them, count them, knew intimately each insect,bird,deer,squirrel and anything that moved. This time the air was filled with the sounds of almost every claw snapping in response. Mayar broke from the scene, unable to make much sense of it all.
Its mind was fast at work. Mayar refused to simply accept this as a false image. What if what Jawn had shown was in fact real? There was plenty of room for an Orere of Jawn’s skill to plant false images to gain favor for its province, but Jawn belonged nowhere, had no affiliations to any place. What then, would the purpose be for planting false images? There was no purpose Mayar could see. It remained one of the few Tariks to remain silent. Mayar truly believed that this boy was perhaps the most powerful Tarik the Great Mother had ever created. This boy, narim, as Jawn had called him, was created for a purpose. Judging by the rampage the boy had taken through the southwestern Mafaeri lands, one could surmise it was to defeat the Mafaeri and hand control of the lands to Lasaeri. Mayar’s fingers itched, a sure signal of falsehood, making its fingers snap uncontrollably. Mayar’s mind shot into the noisesome crowd a brief message. “This boy is no fabrication. I know it for truth that he is Tarik. This is the next Orere Magus.”
The room grew so loud with the sounds of pounding and snapping that Mayar’s ears roared in its head. Dozens of claws pounded insistently to be heard but Jawn refused to relinquish the head of the table just yet. Mayar couldn’t make its mind shut down. It was out of control of itself. A number of thoughts permeated the collective “If this is true, then, why does Narim rage through the North lands so fiercely?”
The hall that wasn’t really more than just a cave covered in viscous slime grew silent. “It’s difficult to explain to a blind man what the color Blue is like. The only thing more difficult is explaining to an Androgen what it’s like to feel.” Mayar began slowly. It had no pre conceived notion of these thoughts before they escaped its mind and dumped openly into the collective. “Narim is a boy, not an Androgen. He was born with real emotions. He doesn’t just conduct other’s emotional energy, he creates it within himself too. His Tarik is untrained and is now turned to stealing the emotional energy around him to feed his own overwhelming emotions. The more lives he ends, the fewer people he comes in contact with, the less energy he is inadvertently stealing around him, the less strongly he feels what he feels. Filled with the anguish of an entire nation you too would go crazy, willing to do anything for relief. You saw how he tapped into the minds of the forest dwellers. He could, and most likely IS, doing the same thing right now, except with people. “ Jawn nodded in agreement and held his hands to signal his surrender of the head of the table.
Nothing else was said about the boy Tarik nor was there any suggestion on how to handle the devastation he left in his wake. Even the Orere’s whose provinces were directly affected had nothing to say. Mayar’s mind, however, remained distracted throughout the remainder of the council. Thoughts of the boy dashing about carefree in the forest shifting into the tormented monster slashing innocents in the haze of destruction turned over and over in its mind. The council came to an end and the Tariks filed out, minds buzzing to one another bits of less useful information, like the well being of crops in their respective provinces. Despite the dischord amongst the ‘faeris, the stoic Tarik did not share any distaste for a particular province simply because of their geographic location.
“You’ve a strong gift for seeking the Truth, Mayar. The Orere will find that quite useful in the days to come. “ Jawn came up behind Mayar and placed a claw on its shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger, otherwise you’ll never know just how useful you really are.” The Orere gave another one of its signature life-like smiles and a strange shiver passed through Mayar’s body. For a brief moment, it had a glimpse of what it felt like to have an emotional response. Mayar knew with a gift it didn’t even know it possessed, it would be seeking just one more taste of that brief shiver for the rest of its life.
