Cherisse/Collected Works/The Day the Water Turned to Dust
The Day the Water Turned to Dust is a fairy tale that Cherisse claims was told to her by her parents when she was younger, and the spark for her future as a Cleric of Ushnish
Gather 'round and harken close, to words of long ago,
Before the desert winds began to fiercely burn and blow.
I'll tell a tale from ancient days, before the scorching heat,
Before the dunes of Muspar'i burned beneath our shifting feet.
Before our kin were Elves of Sand, dry as a shifting ghost,
They were the Elves of Water, ruling valleys we loved most.
Where Muspar'i now sits in dust, a sun-baked, barren floor,
A lush and lovely basin bloomed in ages long before.
Five clans of Elves lived side by side, where sapphire rivers ran,
But they forgot the Serpent's coils, and how his wrath began.
For Ushnish, God of Ruin, watched their paradise with spite,
And took five deadly aspects to destroy them in the night.
The first clan built their silver halls beside a crystal spring,
Where youths would dance in endless light and happy voices ring.
They claimed they'd live forevermore, untouched by time or tears,
Mocking the fleeting mortal days and passing of the years.
So Ushnish breathed a heavy sigh, a cold and creeping breath,
That brought the Aspect of Old Age, the slow advance of death.
No blood was shed, no trumpets wailed, but silver hair turned gray,
And sturdy knees began to bend, and strength just slipped away.
The children grew too tired to play, the young forgot their song,
The heavy weight of centuries made every heartbeat long.
The village withered into dust, its silver walls cast down,
And only sighs and ancient bones were left within the town.
The second clan was proud and clean, with skin like polished stone,
They washed within the sacred pools and lived for health alone.
They swore no sickness of the earth could taint their perfect grace,
And barred their gates to weary souls from any outer place.
Two burning eyes of ruby red shone bright within the sky,
As Ushnish took his Serpent form and glided swiftly by.
He brought the Aspect of Disease, a foul and festering blight,
That turned the crystal waters black and choked the air with night.
The elves collapsed in fevered dreams, their flawless skin grew pale,
And all their magic medicine could not correct the scale.
The village fell to pestilence, the coughing and the chills,
Until a silent cemetery rested in the hills.
The third clan loved the summer sun, the blossoms on the vine,
They lounged among the lily pads and drank the sweet fruit wine.
They boasted that the golden warmth would never leave their side,
And laughed at winter's distant chill with vanity and pride.
Then Ushnish struck his mighty staff, and summoned up a gale,
The Aspect of the Ice Age came with cutting sleet and hail.
The sapphire river froze to glass, the emerald leaves turned white,
A creeping sheet of heavy frost erased the summer light.
The water elves, so soft and warm, could find no fire to burn,
As glaciers marched across the moss at every frozen turn.
They fell asleep in snowy beds, beneath the pale moon's glow,
A silent town of frozen ghosts locked deep within the snow.
The fourth clan lived along the lake, and claimed they ruled the deep,
They built great dams of woven stone where river currents leap.
They taunted Ushnish from the shores, "We do not fear your wrath!
The waters bend to do our will, we dictate every path!"
The Serpent opened wide his jaws and split the sky in two,
And brought the Aspect of the Flood, a dark and stormy blue.
The rains poured down like heavy rocks, the lakes began to rise,
The great stone dams were ripped away before their very eyes.
The roaring currents swept them down into a silent grave,
As homes and temples disappeared beneath a crashing wave.
The valley drowned in roaring foam, a churning, endless sea,
That washed away the arrogant, and left no place to flee.
The fifth and final water clan was rich in grain and seed,
Their orchards grew so thick and wide, they knew no thirst or need.
They hoarded all the harvest gold and threw the scraps away,
And mocked the hungry of the world who begged them day by day.
So Ushnish called the final curse, the harshest of them all:
The Aspect of the Famine came, a skeletal, dark pall.
The flowing rivers turned to mud, across the barren lands,
And starving elves began to fade upon the shifting sands.
The orchards stripped, the storehouse bare, their pride was turned to dread,
As hollow eyes looked up to beg for just a crust of bread.
They traded all their gold for dust, but dust can never feed,
And so the final village fell to emptiness and need.
The valley died, the water dried, the green was swept away,
And what was left was desert sand, where blinding heat-waves play.
The few who lived adapted well, their water magic gone,
To wander through the Velaka as Sand Elves from then on.
They learned the laws of sun and wind, to respect the burning land,
And found a grim and hardened strength within the searing sand.
No longer slaves to vanity, they conquered heat and drought,
And built a home where lesser clans would perish and fade out.
So let us keep our spirits wise, wherever we may roam,
And think upon the water clans who lost their verdant home.
Respect the shifting world around, and walk with humble grace,
While outside in the desert wind, the Serpent leaves his trace.