Nehrim:Irlandas visions
Irlanda's Visions
Images passed before me, I searched my mind to answers to the many questions, one of them being Arantheal, who was this man?
I saw a man from days long forgotten… a man in a black robe standing in the middle of a mountain of corpses, the bodies of a number of Gods and Seraphim covered the field, while the man himself was tall and looked frail.
“How many times has it happened already before now? How many times have you fought and lost, and been reborn, as we have won? Why do you not give up?”
I heard my voice, weak and empty. “Never…”
The figure nodded and the picture vanished into a sea of flames.
A new image. Irlanda stood at the edge of a cliff, rain pelted down in torrents, wind gusted loudly over the steep cliffs.
A paladin saw and went down on his knees.
“I am yours, my Goddess.”
“You need not bow before me, Tealor. How are you?”
“How are you?” Tealor asked, brushing a strand of Irlanda’s black hair from her forehead, “Well, so long as I am with you it is always good for me. Why did you call me?”
The Goddess cautiously sniffed the air, of course it was anything but normal when she summoned her most loyal servants in the middle of the night to a lonely cliff. He had always been the best in the ranks, the wisest and most faithful paladin… and more…
“I… you have an heir, Tealor…”
The paladin’s gray eyes widened in horror, and at this moment, the memory faded again…
Light flooded the council hall. Seven of the councilors had now arrived, and much had happened recently. A proud paladin knelt in the middle of the hall, it was Tealor Arantheal. Malphas, one of the eastern Gods, broke the silence.
“Rumor has it you were very successful in the previous years in your fight against Predestination, Grandmaster Arantheal.”
“More or less,” the paladin cleared his throat. “There are a growing number of incidents. People are mad, babbling about ancient prophecies, working magic… Predestination has taken hold of them. My Order is always ready to spread the teachings of the Gods, and to seek out and destroy those heretics who might fear them.”
“I am pleased. But it does not satisfy me. These events must have a cause. The heretics who fear the Gods and wish them destroyed continue to spread.”
“Predestination…” Tyr laughed dryly, “They are her worst emotions in the flesh, that which we have suppressed for centuries. Hatred, greed, envy, anger…”
“How in the world would people know of the fate of the Tel Imaltath, Tyr?” Malphas asked skeptically.
“Somewhere, they must exist and they have been found. I can only explain that by the clean hands of the creator, as the cleansing was performed, the previous Shadow God tried to destroy a transcript of the Predestination aeons ago, so eventually, it could be found again."
“You mean, the messenger would have overlooked a transcript like this? That’s impossible, Tyr, nothing escapes the eyes of fate, it’s burning down everything that belongs to the Tel Imaltath.”
“That is absolutely correct, dear Malphas. For this reason, I suspect a messenger has deliberately filed a transcript.”
“But why should they…”
“It’s completely obvious…” Tyr interrupted, he already said too much, such things are not discussed in the presence of mortals like Tealor.
“Tealor, I want you to sail west for Nehrim. I suspect you will find the Predestination there. Find them and destroy them, then…”
Tyr stopped before he could finish, he had heard something that did not seem right. “Guards!”
Dozens of armed Seraphim entered. Tyr pointed to one of the pillars that supported the domed roof. One of the guardians of the world crossed the hall and stepped behind the pillar.
A gasp was heard, the Seraphim removed a boy that had apparently been hiding behind the pillar and listening. The boy was, as Irlanda could judge, not even twelve years old, but what could a Goddess know of the age of mortals? Time for them passed more quickly than they had available to them…
“Narathzul, what are you doing here?” Tealor gasped.
“Is that your son, Tealor?” Tyr spoke, his eyes meeting the boy’s for a brief moment. To think that all Gods were supreme was foolish, but this boy was no ordinary mortal, he was more…
“Yes, of course, I crave your pardon, sir, I did not know that…”
“Not worth mentioning,” Tyr interrupted, “Guards, let him wait outside!”
The young Narathzul Arantheal followed the seraphim outside, not letting go of a single spoken word as he left. As the door was shut, Tyr turned back to the paladin.
“You were always one of the few mortals who was never tempted to commit stupidities in the course of their service, Tealor. But what about your son out there? He has just heard things not suitable for a child’s ears. No, not even for the ears of mortals.”
“Excuse me, sir, he is my son, he would never commit such stupidities, I can vouch for him.”
“I hope so. All the same, predetermination continues to seep into the world, and might break you open. Tealor, find the writings and destroy them, just like we did the fanatics from which they receive their faith. Goodbye.”
With a low bow, the paladin said goodbye.
The reality returned. Ice cold wind whipped against me, against a once proud Goddess.
With tears clouding my eyes, I looked across the rain-shrouded coast of Inodan.
In a seemingly endless cycle, images such as leaves dancing in the wind flashed before my eyes. No matter where I looked, again and again they tried to possess me. Closer and closer the vortex of pictures moved.
The weight of my own memories seemed to overwhelm me… or rather, my own faults.
A crow had conveyed a message a few hours ago. Only by the contents of this message was all made clear to me… Arantheal was my own son. The strange thing is that the letter bore the seal of the Seraphim. How is that possible? Xarmonar lay in ruins and Arkt, who as had been told by the innocents countless times had defended the city, has not been seen since. Perhaps this anonymous message is from him? No matter what it says, Tyr, I cannot just put my hands upon your lap and let everything just happen…
