The First Land Herald/430-04-37

Article Number: 14

Dateline: 430-04-37

IMMORTALS RESPOND TO DEVOTIONAL VIGIL Rushing past startled onlookers, I managed not to bump into anyone in the streets as I jogged to the grounds of the High Temple in Crossing where several others had gathered at the behest of Mother Whiteburn.  In light of the coming conflict with Maelshyve and her minions, the prominent S'Kra Mur Cleric had called for a devotional vigil to the Thirteen Immortals. As I stepped onto the platform of the High Altar, I looked up for my first view at the great iris skylight which bathed the metallic altar in sunlight.  We waited a few moments for stragglers to arrive, then Mother Whiteburn began to lead us in prayer. As the venerable Cleric raised her voice above the small crowd gathered before the High Altar, she sternly admonished all present that we were not there to make demands on the Thirteen or ask Them to perform miracles.  "When the time is right, we will know Their will. When that time comes, we must be prepared to act in kind," she reminded us. "We wish only for the Divine to know that we stand with Them. In times of peace and in times of war, our faith shall remain.  They, who guard our souls and grant us life, that we may cherish our time on Elanthia." "They arm us with a vanguard of light, the capacity to bring about wonders, the knowledge to act for what is good and right, in opposition of what is evil and profane," she continued, "and through the trials of the Dark Ones, we are pushed and molded to become stronger, wiser, better.  In return for the immeasurable gifts and blessings we are granted on a daily basis, we must serve not only as Their children, but Their soldiers. Our faith in the Immortals will never die. To war, with Their names on our lips and Their symbols held on high as a battle standard," she finished, her voice filled with great zeal. Finally the priestess seemed satisfied that she had duly prepared us to pray fervently in support to the Immortals.  She went to stand beside the metallic altar, her gaze moving over the assembled congregants as she raised one arm in the air.  Instructing us to kneel, the Cleric began to chant her devout orison to the Gods. As she rose back to her feet, she ended her prayer with a simple "Amen."  Almost immediately, I heard the sound of a hammer striking hot steel. As the metal resonated with sound from the force of the hammer, a high note echoed around the area.  A raven cawed in the distance and I felt a deep sense of scrutiny, as if an appraising eye were evaluating and weighing matters. As I gazed up at the skylight above me, I heard the hammer strike again.  I quickly lowered my gaze and briefly saw the area light up with a spray of sparks.  Then everything dimmed. I heard the flutter of wings and the tap-tap-tap of a beak upon a window pane, sounding curious.  It felt as if it were teasing out the fine details of a puzzle. A small shrew darted between my feet, impossible to ignore and impossible to follow.   Rich laughter filled my ears — mocking, promising, waiting — and then, abruptly, nothing but silence. The silence was palpable.  Somehow it seemed to become heavier, twisting along the floor, whirling into a darkening void in front of the altar.  It made my vision spin, and reality began to bulge before my eyes. Suddenly, a vile wasp and centipede landed on the ground with a scratching of wings and too many legs.  An unnatural creature about the size of a melon, the wasp seemed intently focused on the centipede, though it occasionally cleaned its stinger, which produced a noise that rang in my head like the sharpening of a blade.  The huge, dog-sized centipede had pincers tipped with blue venom, which flexed open and shut as it scurried around, turning its head from side to side, fixating its compound green eyes on various points in the distance. I smelled the scent of rot and decaying flesh carried on the air as it moved. I include here a sketch of the creatures: [A grotesque wasp with thin, iridescent wings hovers in the air above an enormous centipede with myriad legs terminating in triple-tined claws.  Venom drips from the centipede’s pincers as it faces off with the wasp in the age-old struggle of life and death in front of a metallic altar. A hooked stinger of impressive length extends and from the wasp's abdomen, razor sharp and savagely pointed.  A raven circles overhead, its gaze fixed on the battle below. In the background by the side of the altar, a shrew partially concealed by shadows is crouched, prepared to leap forward at any moment.] Momentarily confused, the two creatures quickly found their bearings and began to circle one another.  Both appeared to be venomous, but the centipede was larger and was incredibly agile, while the wasp had the advantage of flight.  The centipede struck first, hurling itself at the wasp, which darted out of the way and thrust its stinger at the centipede. The hooked barb skittered off the centipede's armored carapace, and the myriapod quickly recovered, focusing on the wasp. The wasp flitted high and dove toward the centipede.  Sinking its stinger between a gap in the centipede's armor, the wasp wrapped its legs around the centipede's body and held fast.  The centipede's legs near the site of the sting went limp, but the long creature spun back and crushed the wasp with its powerful forcipules. The wasp's frail body leaked hemolymph, and I heard a man shout in pain and rage.  The wasp tried to use its front legs to force the centipede's forcipules open and managed to drive its stinger deeper between the armored plates.  The centipede writhed in agony. Its green eyes blazed with rage and indignation. After a long moment that seemed to go on forever, I saw the forcipules relax and the centipede fell limp, the ground quaking with its impact.  Bleeding, the wasp staggered off from the wreckage of the centipede, which was already decaying into blue ichor and smoke. Body crushed, stinger snapped, the wasp paused a moment as it gathered its strength.  Without warning, the shrew raced from the shadows and pounced, grabbing the wasp in its jaws, devouring it whole.  The raven cawed and, with a flutter of wings, vanished from my sight. With a snort of laughter, the shrew escaped to the shadows whence it came.  I felt the watchful eyes of the Immortals wander. I stood in stunned silence as I pondered what had just transpired before my eyes.  Mother Whiteburn was the first to speak, declaring, "The Immortals have spoken! Our prayers have been heard.  They have shown us a sign. For Their kindness, for Their guidance, shall we give thanks and think on what we have seen today.  The Raven. The Shrew. Lord Kertigen of the Forge and Mistress Kerenhappuch, Dark Lady of knowledge gained at any cost. Two insects, who war on one another to the death.  The winner of this battle gains naught, for the Shrew takes her price from their battle from the victor's own blood." It is clear that the wasp represents a man, quite possibly a Philosopher of the Knife, and the centipede with its triple-tined claws is meant to be Maelshyve.  Perhaps we can expect no direct involvement from the gods: Their intent is to let these two beasts destroy each other and devour what remains. Notably, though, it is clear that They did not show displeasure at the work of the wasp, even if They provided no aid.  I entreat those of you who wish to speak further about what was witnessed to seek out Mother Whiteburn for guidance. May the truth bring you wisdom. Shannera Sheikah-Inukuro Apprentice Bard Reporter-In-Training, the First Land Herald

Real Date: Unknown Date

Subject(s): Crossing Crossing High Temple Elanthia Immortals Kerenhappuch Kertigen Maelshyve Philosophers of the Knife Whiteburn

Author(s): Shannera