Peace

I am Eirene, which means “peace”, and I am the third daughter of Zeus, king of the gods, and the titan Themis. As one of the Horae, or hours, I once presided over the procession of the seasons, which were at a time known as “the Dance of the Hours”. My sisters and I shared this dance for eons in addition to serving in other capacities. We would often be as nurses, handmaidens, and midwives to other gods, and to Mortals we were regarded as kindly helpful goddesses who brought growth, fragrance, and bounty to the Earth. For a time, I dutifully and patiently served alongside my sisters. I acted as a nurse to heroes and gods, cavorted with Pan during the spring, and, along with the Fates, the Graces, and the goddess Aphrodite, I always moved in the ordered stately procession of seasons. Being the embodiment of peace, when Polemos, or “war”, subsided, I was quick to shower the world with joyous blessings. However, I was not content. Having served as nursemaid to the clever Hermes since his infancy, I grew jealous as I watched the wing-footed god swoop to and from Mount Olympus. He moved in keeping with the bidding of Zeus but at times appeared to do so according to his own whim.

During one of the all too frequent times of war, I approached Hermes and asked with a sense of longing in my voice if there were anywhere he could not travel. Without recognizing my intention, Hermes laughed and replied that he could go wherever he wished. I then considered my rigidly structured existence and noted that I was always bidden to the mortal sphere only after conflicts had ended. Though I had always delighted in bringing joy, I began to wonder if there were something that I had missed.

Now, being entrusted with the keeping of ambrosia and nectar, the divine food and drink, the Horae also guarded the gates to the sky and to Mount Olympus. There we greeted divine visitors to the home of the gods, welcoming them with our beauty and virtuosity. Each year Persephone would return from the Underworld, and, upon one such return, I saw that Persephone was unhappy. When asked why, Persephone told me that she was happy to return to the sunlight, but that she hated to leave her husband who was gloomy and lonesome without her. I felt that I understood that loneliness, for, though my sisters were kind, their conversation was always orderly and somewhat dull.

That day, I went to Zeus, my father, and complained that I had nothing with which to entertain myself. He only nodded absently, as busy fathers sometimes do, told me how beautiful I was, and then sent me back amid the bustle and chaos of his divine court. Undeterred, I returned to Persephone and asked about her husband, my uncle and the king of the Underworld. As Persephone spoke of Hades, I became intrigued by the tales of such an interesting god who knew many secrets. As I listened my curiosity grew, and I silently resolved to meet Hades in person. Knowing that I was forbidden to enter the Underworld, I pulled Hermes aside one day as he returned to Olympus. With a look of sadness, I explained that I wanted to visit my uncle but was stuck guarding the Gates of the Sky. Hermes, who remembered me fondly as his nursemaid, expressed sympathy and proposed a clever scheme: I should take his staff, cap, and sandals, and pretend to be Hermes, and he should take my robes and pretend to be Eirene. Delighted with his suggestion, I thankfully and eagerly agreed.

So it was that I began to leave Olympus and to travel according to my own desires, and, in so doing, I began to learn a great many things. Desiring to know what motivated the hearts of mortals, I approached Aphrodite, and The Goddess of Love indeed showed me how to manipulate anyone, teaching me all the arts of seduction. I also desired to know secrets, and so I journeyed to Hades and found him all alone in his gloomy Underworld court. I found that, whereas my father Zeus never found time for me and never listened, Hades was always glad to see me. He listened to me in understanding, and told me many astounding things. As time passed, I grew very close to my uncle, who in many ways offered her more guidance than Zeus.

Once, I asked to know how witches could draw down the Moon and perform other astounding feats of power, and Hades told me about Hecate. He spoke of the great power lavished upon the triple-form goddess, and of the respect paid to her by Zeus. Wanting for the respect and affection of my father, I soon sought Hecate who began to mentor me in the arts of blood magic and the power of darkness.

Unfortunately, although Hermes was very clever, he was often prone to lapses of attention. He tired of performing my tedious duties and flew away, leaving my sisters to discover that I had deceived them. Angrily seeking to unravel my ruse, my sister Dike, or “justice”, began to investigate the mystery. It was not long before she had discovered me learning the infernal wisdom of Hecate, and, feeling slighted and betrayed, dragged me before Zeus demanding that our father unleash Nemesis to punish me. Feeling guilty, Hermes whispered to his father that I was a sweet goddess and perhaps should not be destroyed, and so Zeus instead decreed that I should no longer be given the ambrosia and nectar of the gods. That I should become mortal. The king of the gods judged that, “as Eirene had sought the power of darkness, so darkness should follow her everywhere”. As my sisters stripped me of the divine garments, Zeus caused my naked body to be wreathed in flames of shadow, and I wept and fled from Olympus.

Desolate and alone, I ran without direction until Hades removed his cap of invisibility and revealed himself by my side. A mixture of emotions washed over me and I sobbed in despair that I should never see him again. Hades calmly told me that he should greet me in the next world, and he explained that he would recognize me and claim me as his own daughter. Then the king of the Underworld caused me to fall into a deep slumber, wherein I dreamt of a raven, beckoning me to follow:

"A raven sat perched on the corner stone, and in its beak rested a golden ribbon. It was long, hanging a good few feet down on either side, and the ends were on fire charring the ribbon quickly until the flames licked near to the bird’s mouth. I saw a man; a dark shadowy man, who was gazing upon the bird as if he controlled it. He watched with pure ecstasy as the bird’s beak was singed. Its wings burned next as the flames soon overtook the small raven in a horrible and unnatural pyre. Still I watched, for I couldn’t do anything else, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight though I willed myself to do so. Through it all, the man took no notice of me.

The raven soon disappeared, a chill breeze scattering the embers and coal which were all that remained of it. Peering more intently, I then witnessed a single ruby-red feather on the tall stone. The man stood, striding over to it with a grace unmatched by a single living being, and plucked it up between his thumb and index finger. Smiling darkly at it, he spoke the words, "Fi’sheerin Kyqular, my beauty, Eternal Shadows. Eternal Shadows..." His voice trailed off into the dark, the ending note of his last word leaving room for questioning, as if asking to be interrogated. Before I had the chance, a gust of furious flames leapt towards me, tendrils of fire beckoning me to come closer. Beckoning, gesturing me to it, calling to me..."

Comforted by the lulling trance of those flames, I gently turned in my sleep. However, instead of grass upon which I had slept seemingly moments ago, I felt a hard surface beneath me. Startled, I awoke from the dream and, shielding my eyes against the brilliant light that poured through a window across the room, I found myself in a remarkable cabin. Scrolls adorned nearly every surface, one of which shimmered with splendid power. It was unraveled, beginning upon an ornamented desk and traveling across the floor into the center of the room. Ever curious and desiring to know the mysterious, I inched toward the scroll and began reading words that advised me to move out of the cabin and explore.

Hastily I gathered up the scroll, placed it gently under my arm, and did as the writing had suggested. I moved along the solitary path, taking in the new and wondrous scenery until I had reached the Howling Gates. As the road split, I decided to consult the scroll for directions, and I found that it indeed beckoned for me to move to the south. However, as I folded the scroll, I raised my eyes to the Gates before starting to move, and I spied that a black mist lingered unnaturally at its entrance. Moments passed as I stared at it and into the lands beyond. Something was drawing me to enter through it although the seal at the Gates said that only Gods can pass. Remembering how the Gods had punished me, I strengthened my resolve and spitefully moved into the entranceway. A warm wind rushed through my hair and seemed to call my name, whispering for me to enter.

With no further hesitation, I moved through the Gate, and, as my first footstep fell upon the sandy ground, the gentle breeze became as a momentary gust. As the initial shock soon passed, I opened my eyes once more and realized that I was no longer looking across the landscape as witnessed from the Gate. Nervously I turned and my fears were confirmed that the Gate no longer remained at my back. I felt nauseous and leaned against a tree to balance myself until I had finally caught my breath. Thinking clearly once again, I began to observe my surroundings.

Though I was certain that I had never before visited such a place, it seemed strangely familiar, and I felt as if it were welcoming me. Many times had I bestowed peace to others, but for the first time, I felt at peace with myself while within the desert. Awed by the serenity of the sprawling landscape, I anxiously explored the locations in this strange land. Everything seemed to be dead yet I found beauty in all that I beheld. As I wandered without direction, I suddenly felt another calling. The scroll magically beckoned to me from under my arm, and insisted that I move on. Standing at the Well of Tears, I turned and could see the familiar Gate once more in the distance. I silently promised to myself that I would come back to this land when the time was right, and, smiling softly, I walked out of Necrovion.

Standing once more beyond the Gate, and, feeling as though I were destined to return, I gave the desert a final gaze before following the road to the south. Each sight was new and inviting, but none were as the desert had been. Undaunted, I followed the directions given by the scroll until I reached the Aramory. I mused at the deliberate yet peculiar architecture of it, and, stooping slightly, I curiously entered in through its precariously small doorway. The scroll was inscribed with methods of creature bonding, and so I took several of them into my possession. It was an odd sensation, one that filled me with a feeling of power and a sobering sense of responsibility. As the creatures attuned themselves to my will, I felt almost as if indebted to them. I had decided to look after them and treat them with kindness, and they always repaid it in full throughout my future travels.

With my new companions, I began to follow the road back toward the gate. I was in no hurry, and so when I had noticed an old windmill to the side of the path, I stopped to pay it particular attention. It seemed out of place, and I was convinced that it must serve some unknown purpose. As I pondered it, I began to feel faint. I had been through a great deal, and so I sat to rest. As I closed my eyes, a profound darkness enveloped my dreams. Through it, in the distance, I watched as a strange entity approached me. I thought to run but was compelled by a blend of fear and curiosity to remain. As the being neared, I saw that it had extended its hand in offering, and that in its palm there rest a small cube. It seemed somehow familiar to me, and, though I knew that it was foreign, I felt that I should cherish the object. I felt connected to it as if it contained the essence of my very being within its tiny walls. As I reached out, accepting the item, everything became blurry to me and I fainted.

I awoke to the sounds of the busy Marble Dale Park, recalling little from the dream I had. A crowd of people, both young and old, had assembled there. They used the area as a training ground, and the sound of their swords and screams were echoing in the air around me. There was a man with a rather strange name, Je Suis Oeufs Fous, and he was guiding the lost and aiding those who wished to learn the ways of battle. Without disturbing anyone, I quietly left and once again began to wander. I found that this area was vastly different than the lands I had first encountered. It was a city full of grace and light, and I was certain that this land, like Necrovion, had its own history. I felt that although it was different, it maintained a connection with the tainted lands that I walked only days before.

As I explored the park and the city of Wind’s Sanctuary, I found that the road turned north, leading from Marind Bell to the Archive Lands. I tentatively entered through the large gate that separates the archives from the world beyond, and, peering through the archway of trees, I spied a building of grand magnificence. Curiously I opened its large doors and stepped inside where I was greeted by a librarian. He thoughtfully offered me papers to keep a journal, and I gladly accepted them with a smile, and I thanked him for his help.

As I made my way through the expansive building, I noted that it seemed unoccupied. Inquiring about this, I learned that the room on the top floor was the office of the Master Archivist, Renavoid. The people of the realm thought him strange, claiming that he spent his time there with the ghost of a dead girl. Not desiring to disturb him, I explored the meticulously tended gardens. The landscape surrounding the archives was breathtaking. However, I was unable to navigate the unfamiliar and mazelike gardens. I felt lost at some point, but, every now and then, I stopped to examine one of the various gazebos. I noticed that one of them contained a puzzle and so I decided to work on it once I had settled myself within the strange realms.

Having seen all of the gardens, I continued my exploration of the archives, and I eventually reached another office office. As all of the previous rooms had been empty, I abruptly opened the door and found that the archivist, Logan Marquis, was there entertaining a man who was wearing a skull. Embarrassed, I apologized for intruding on their private meeting, and I turned to depart when the skull-wearing person stopped me. He asked who I was, and I told him of my story and of my travels here. He looked on me with curiosity and intrigue, and he introduced himself as a Necrovion Sentinel. His name was FumaKilla and he asked me if I was interested in becoming a part of Necrovion just as he was. Without any hesitation I accepted his offer, and so I began to learn under his guidance, hoping to one day walk in Necrovion again.

I soon returned to the region of Marind Bell, and I entered the Sanctuary once again. As I walked there, the sound of patrons drinking and talking drifted out of one of the buildings. It was the first sound of music and merrymaking that I had heard while in these new lands, and they drew me toward their source, a pub named The Sozzled Salamander.

From the street, the building appeared warm and inviting and inside was no different. A fire roared in the stone hearth that resided next to the large oaken bar. Stools lined the counter, tables filled the interior, and nearly each was occupied such that the noise of revelry assaulted my ears. A talented bard, Keith Moon, stood beside the fireplace filling the room with music and lyrics, while Pamplemousse tended the bar and waited tables. A pirate captain, Cryxus X'Kal, was sat at the center of the bar. People greeted him as they entered, toasted him as they drank, and saluted him upon their departure. I surmised that he was the owner, and later learned that Innocence was also a proprietor there.

The atmosphere was enchanting, and, though I had entered alone, I felt as if I were surrounded by friends. I was content and wished to remain in such a place filled with kind strangers and the stories they shared. Gathering courage, I approached Cryxus to allow me to work in his fine establishment. He turned, sizing me up as if he could evaluate character at a glance, and , with a smile only he and I shared, I started work immediately.

The days were passing, and, though I was happy with my position, my mind could not forget of Necrovion. I could not explain the attraction that I felt to such a seemingly desolate land, but I was determined to embrace my destiny there. I started to take lessons from many about that land and the entities that ruled it, the Shades. My knowledge grew with the dawning of each new day, and FumaKilla continued guiding me in the ways of combat. I had settled into a routine, tending to the many patrons of the Sozzled Salamander, practicing combat rituals, and studying the lore accumulated from the desert of Necrovion. However, one day, so much like any other, would soon change my life in these realms for all eternity.

I was bartending at the pub. Many were gathered there: most were regulars, some were strangers, but all were festive. The noise of their laughter grew along with their thirst, and, with a smile I served them each, doing whatever I could to ensure they would enjoy their stay. Then quite suddenly, all went still. From behind the bar, my eyes followed the stares of those around me to a man who had entered the pub. As he approached, some scrambled to offer their seat, but most merely stared at him in awe.

Boldly, I faced him to ask if he wished for a drink, but, before I could open my mouth, he began to share a story to those present. As he spoke the power in his voice and wisdom of his tale commanded attention, and I offered it, listening with complete dedication. When he had finished, the noise of the bar resumed, this time composed of comments and questions regarding the story the patrons had just heard. I wanted to join them and offer my thoughts, but I was pre-occupied wondering about the man rather than his words. However, when the people had received their answers, the strange man was also satisfied and so he left as solemnly as he had come.

As he exited the bar, I noticed that he wore the same skull as FumaKilla, though I could sense a far greater power in him. I turned to Keith and asked him about the man, and his answer reassured me. Keith told me that the man’s name was Khalazdad the Greymantle, a half-Shade serving the Shades and the leader of the Necrovion Sentinels. I nodded in thanks to Keith and asked him if there was any way to get in contact with Khalazdad. He informed me that he was one of Khalazdad’s followers, and that he wished to prepare me before he presented me to the leader of the Sentinels.

With Keith’s help, the half-Shade soon took me under his wing and accepted me as his student. The lessons were difficult but I had devoted myself to Khalazdad, and, under his tutelage, my knowledge grew along with my love for the land he served. I felt that he acknowledged my loyalty, and soon Khalazdad disclosed to me a prophesy:

“A dream once spoken, Becomes the token that buys future action.
A dream I have known, Of a future sown With a satisfaction.


Three men, I am three. Not one of us free
To pursue bonds of life - Not a one for me. But this number I see
Taking to me a wife.
One will master me. One will be my equal. The third I shall enslave.
One is the endless day. One is the moon that illuminates only darkness. The third has fallen from the sky.
As Gold shining under the punishing sun, the glint of royal armor atop an enemy chariot, a javelin in each hand.
As Silver under the moon, an act of faith, a deadly flower.
As Steel at twilight, whisper-quiet, a wizening at hand.
Three children they will bear. One will live, one will die, and one will have never been at all.”

Rumors spread and quickly the prophesy was known in the realm, as all wondered who the children and the wives would be. Slowly Khalazdad began to choose those he thought worthy. The wives were chosen first and in this order: Falen Angel, the one who mastered him, the one who had fallen from the sky, Siala Lone Wolf, the one who was equal, the moon that illuminates only darkness, and Kittiness, the enslaved, the one who is the endless day and the one whom he loved the most of the three. The suite was complete.

Khalazdad was still unsure about the children, and so he decided to adopt three. However, he was not certain if the prophesy concerned his adopted heirs. The future showed...First was Marvolo, the one who lived, the second was Malichi, the one who was never a child. Khalazdad had two sons, two children and needed only one more.

Khalazdad believed that I was to be the third, and he could not reject a suite. So one day he approached me and asked me if I was ready. How can one know the answer to such a question? One who was so young and still without any knowledge and wisdom? He left me to decide, and I pondered three days upon my answer. Another three days passed before Khalazdad requested a gathering in Loreroot. There, under the shade of the mighty trees, he initiated me to the family in front of those who where close to him. I kneeled before him with my head bowed as he spoke this to me:
“Bleed, take form, and become as nothing.
Stand in repose, and become as nothing.
Regale with silence, and become as nothing.
Fly from me and approach me.
Grip me to let me go.
Shackle me to make me your master.
Blood of my blood,
Shining light that reveals only the dark,
Princess of the Blue Evening Sky.
Arise.”

Another suite was made whole, and The Dynasty had been created. I resigned from the pub and stayed at the Howling Gates, spending hours learning under His guidance and wisdom. I was tested both in mind and body, and I began to research on the Shades and liquid dust whilst each day my Father would leave me with a story of his to study as well. Then, having won a head contest during Christmas, Khalazdad himself invited me to the Sentinels.

A few months later, when the time was right, I resumed leadership over the Necrovion Sentinels, and Khalazdad left our ranks to rule as the King the Shades had crowned. I devoted myself completely to my alliance and to my land when I began to see the legacy that my Father started had begun to fade. I approached him and he said that it was time for him to return to the sands and be one with the wind. My sorrow was unbearable but and then the prophesy looked as if it was to become true at last.

By Keith Moon


By Aelrond


By Zleiphneir


By Gort Hedera


By Passant the weak


By xrieg


By Windy


By Phantom Orchid


By Phantasm


By Holypaladin Deba

JadenDew

By Malaikat Maut

I recall when first we met
eyes wept in silent sadness
wrapped so delicate in tears
like sheer blankets flowing over mirrors
showing me only my own soul
and yet
they hold a fire no tear can hope to smother
as embers of the purest coal
caressed in flame’s ethereal glow
they rest until the blowing wind
of memory are roused within
and then
they’re left not discarded but restrained
in consciousness contained in wisdom
known to those of greater age.
Some believe I’ve judged the secrets of the heart
but in yours I read a tale I’ve never known
my own.
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands


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“Winter’s Ball”
To the pride of Necrovion, her majesty the Queen
To my inspiration, my purest ray serene
To the one whom I am part, who is also part of me
To Peace
It would my deepest sorrows all amend,
could I with you this Winter’s Ball attend.
To daint adorn your wrist as if a charm,
and wear you soft as silk upon my arm.
And as the music played its simple drone,
we’d scarcely hear, so captive to our own.
With hands entwined as lace and hearts unfurled,
we’d move in stately grace before the world.
Surrounded by the stars, each to attest,
they’d stand in awe of our connectedness.
And as the planets moved unto their end
we’d courtly smile and share the dance again.

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“Consolation”
When weeps thine eyes for love's mistake,
Then sleeps by night but lays awake?
Oh, that I could so be held,
And pain of love could ere be felt.
What wrongful speech thine ears hath heard,
Replaces solace word for word?
That I could your suffering call my own,
Twould build my heaven stone by stone.
Why memories of hardships keep,
While those of hearts desires sleep?
If scenes of love I could replay,
Twould raging fires melt away.

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By Keith Moon

"To a smoking mirror"
At once I saw a smoking mirror
Glittering with the night.
But staring at it in the light
Its mysteries are none the clearer.
I felt a cut upon my heart.
A stillness crept into my veins.
The trepidation still remains:
Can from this jewel I depart?
And while upon it falls my gaze
I realize I am a slave
To what my soul must ever crave:
The gem that does my wits amaze.


“Of my goddess”
I saw a sinuous, feathery ribbon of smoke
That flowed to me and wrapped my hand,
And sibilant whispers confounded me and spoke
A language I scarce understand.
But then a delicate, fiery goddess appeared
To sear me with her onyx fire,
And as I drank her ineffable grace I feared
I’d found a terrible desire.
But the fortunate, whimsical wish of fate
Descended from the skies above,
And a mystery unfettered my heart from weight.
The ebon-plumed goddess confessed her love.


“Peace”
She glimmers, the shadow at the midst of a flame
And steals like dusk on autumn sky.
A prowling cat’s steps in silence sigh her name,
The null at the center of her eye.
A still and tranquil pond, the voice of death -
An arid leaf falls through the air -
She hisses like snow, steals my breath
And folds my spirit in her hair.
She shivers like granite, her flawless skin
As featureless as space,
She crushes and cradles my mortal fate within
The perfect stillness of her face.
For she is my doom, my heart’s true lease
And she is my tomb, my soul’s last peace.


“My Inner Sun”
Two stars tumble across the night, a celestial ellipse:
One shining bright, while the other unseen,
And as the dark sweeps the light it creates an eclipse
For gazers on our world’s fields of green.
While sliding past his partner, the light gives her his crown,
Her majesty to demonstrate.
The dark then pirouettes and slips around
And leaves him in the night to wait
The next whirling pass of their stellar waltz,
When she’ll steal behind and draw from his face
The blots and blemishes of all his faults
Recast as halo of spectral grace.
Thus you’re my dark mistress, and I your squire
For all that I shine is what you inspire.


“Wet with Fire”
Inhumanly perfect I thought the maid
Who shyly followed me down the stair;
Her frame was swathed in flames of shade.
A midnight ribbon was her hair.
And softly there we stood and spoke.
I kissed the lips upon her face.
She reached for me, and at a stroke
Her fire rushed forth to our embrace.
I laughed aloud to hide my fear
And held her close to spite the shock,
But then I wanted her so near -
A darkling puzzle I'd unlock.
Then through the days she took my hand,
And I did let her come and go
While struggling vainly to understand
The longing I did yearn to show.
One day I found her in a park
And she confessed her love to me,
So soft, mysterious, and dark,
And I knew that together we’d be.
But pain upon us weighed that day
And truly I began to fear
The moment she’d send me away,
And lost would be what I held near.
She held herself, and bade me turn
Away that she’d not blush;
I held myself though I did burn,
And a panic my tin soul did crush.
So in that place she did undress
And there in the fountain did bathe.
She wept and sighed in her distress,
Which cruelly did my purpose scathe.
Away I faced, and then I sang
A song of peril, doubt, and pain;
As my poor lute in gardens rang,
I heard a sound like rain
For she in tranquil fountain stood
And up behind me did she steal.
My eyes were glass, my muscle wood
The moment too dear to be real,
And then I felt her burning touch
And the water that from her did fall.
Her hot breath close upon me was such
The pain did not matter at all;
Just then she swung around my frame
And vanquished me within her arms;
When she whispered to me her love for my name
I surrendered to sorcerous charms.
Her limbs were flame, her flesh was damp;
In darkness we moved, but in light our desire
Left on a certain park the stamp
Of love’s first embrace and of skin wet with fire.


---------------------------------------------------------------

By Kouros

Distant points shine in a black expanse
Whispering wind over plains of dust
Singing songs of peace and clarity
Through the empty parts of my shadowed heart
Echoing dimly my lonely sorrow flies
Over sand-filled dunes, grit in its wings
"When will you return...?" it sings softly
Searching desperately for moisture
Enough to produce a single tear


---------------------------------------------------------------

By MRV

I see the sparkle in those gravitating eyes
seducing glimpse of deep and dark desire
let beauty be thy sword and shield, heed this advice
veil poison claws behind a smile and hide your fire.


---------------------------------------------------------------

By Lazarus

Seen as a true immortality,
Touched by the dark divinity,
Tastes like a gravely made rye,
Sounds like a deadly lullaby.

---------------------------------------------------------------

By Bash Chelic

In a world made of black and white
Dreams walk the path of thorns
Bloody feet on the sky
With no place to call home
Only the sleeping know their pain
Raining skies inside their souls
And a smile of a clown
To hide something beautiful…
In a world made of black and white
Only peace is red…

‘Awake me’
Will you take me there
Where giants thread lightly
In a palm of your hand
Where storms are nothing…

…But an echo of a past
Whisper that ablaze my soul
Oh, tell me where life is heaven
And gods are small

Awake me, turn me into a star
So I can only hope
To became a man
without burning soul…

I do not aim with my eye;
he who aims with his eye has forgotten the face of his father.
I aim with my hand.

I do not shoot with my hand;
he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I shoot with my mind.

I do not kill with my gun;
he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father.
I kill with my heart.

War

Loreroot is my ally. At certain times, I demonstrate planning by describing a hypothetical war with Loreroot. Do not take this to mean I plan to war with them. If I did, I would not describe how in these pages. If you plan to be stupid or provocative with this material, get out of my pages now.

The Individual At War

How can you fight if you know the outcome is harm to another person? Are you strong enough to not fight at all?

Look around you. Are there others who fight with you, side by side with you, against a common enemy? Do you love them? Then you must stand with them against your enemy, protect them, watch them die as they must, and die beside them.

Kill, die: the same. When you fight, you are already dead. Embrace it. The enemy cannot harm you more than you harm yourself by fighting. Believe it. Today is a good day to die.

Are you alone? Is there just one enemy against you? What does it cost you to lose to them? What does it cost them to win against you? You must calculate the least harm in your mind. If the least harm comes from defeating your enemy, then do it - know that you can and do not question. If the least harm comes from taking their blows and walking away, do it.

Harm will be done. Pain will be suffered. You choose who, how much, when, and why.

Do you wish to know how to win? Others can tell you better than I how to deconstruct a ritual, deconstruct an enemy. I can only tell you this: to win, you must be willing to lose. To win, you must decide what winning means, and believe it.

The Commander At War

The commander must rule the battlefield. The least harm is no longer your concern. The King has decided it and placed you to enact it. Your army has been brought to bear, and only success matters.

Consider your objective. Know it, breath it, live it.

Your first concern is not the welfare of your men, it is not the least harm, it is not the destruction of your enemy; it is only the attainment of your objective.

Warcraft is comprised of 3 levels of which a competent commander must be aware. They are the conceptual, the strategic, and the tactical levels.

At the conceptual level, we consider warfare itself, the political objectives of it. Military action is political action. We have disagreed, diplomacy has failed to bring us to a resolution, and one of us has decided to enforce our will on the other with strength of arms.

Our will is the concept of the conceptual level. Perhaps I wish to have access to the islands in Loreroot; perhaps the Lorerootian High Council denies me and no compromise or synthesis avails us. Perhaps, then, I decide to take the islands and safe passage by force.

The concept, then, is that I will secure a piece of land and a route to that land with military force.

At the strategic level, we consider what forces we might bring to bear, and what forces and conditions they are likely to encounter. As a commander, you must know first the concept, and then consider your strategy in light of it.

Logistically, you must think of the past, present and the future. There are forces you have had in the past; how does their history inform you and inform the enemy? What actions have you taken, what reputation or infamy have they created? What alliances and hostilities?

In the present, you have certain resources at your disposal. Consider them all. Count everything. Consider your military forces - ground and air attack and defense; spies; medical units; civilian support; production capacity; transport capability (force projection); magical resources; political resources; units you can borrow or steal. Consider everything against the vulnerability of the enemy.

Include propaganda. Include your sages and philosophers. Include camp followers. Account for every thing you can when designing your approach.

A strategy might look like this:

We will bring overwhelming force unto the forests of Loreroot. Each step between the entrance and the islands will be taken by shock troops with high offensive capacity - primarily haotic damage units - and held by primarily defensive forces. Once the islands are secure and no enemy presence remains nearby, the Leader will be dropped at the island, allowing quick transport of troops to that location. Finally, with the mission completed quickly and perhaps without blood spilled, negotiations will open to return certain territory in exchange for keeping certain territory.

Notice that the strategy describes types of forces to be used and the GENERAL manner in which they will be brought to bear - to take or control territory, for transport, and so forth. It does not describe the SPECIFIC way the forces will encounter the enemy. This is the job of the field commander.

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The Tactical Level

At this level, we consider a battle, not a war. Each engagement between one force and the other is a tactical engagement. Now I can survey my forces in the field, the forces arrayed against me, and begin to plan how each unit (or individual) will encounter each enemy.

We consider many things at this time. The strengths and vulnerabilities of each unit, of course. But also the strengths and weaknesses of the enemy commanders. Terrain. The psychological factors at work.

There are many ways to win under nearly any conditions. The keys to victory have been well described by Sun Tzu. He advises mobility, unexpectedness, swiftness, and abandon. I advise much the same: know about traps and spring them to your advantage; know what the enemy will do before he does and use it to your advantage; let the enemy think he is winning until you hold his severed head between your grasping hands; fight no engagement you are not prepared to lose; do the impossible; avoid the actual engagement of men until it is on your terms.

But do not let me give you the impression that the great field commander is the best planner. Oh no. No plan of battle, you see, outlasts the first shot fired.

Thus the greatest field commanders are ADAPTABLE. When circumstances change, when forces you did not know about appear or weather moves as you did not predict or you win a flank more quickly than planned or lose one you thought to hold... How will you react? You cannot plan every eventuality, even though you must try.

You must study and study and study, and become so replete with knowledge about military encounter that you can forget all your knowledge and procede on instinct. When things change, you will know what to do.

Sometimes you can only salvage what you can, regroup, and save yourself the chance to try again for an objective. Other times you can turn the unexpected to your advantage.

Perhaps your flank collapses, for example, and forces flood into an opening behind your main thrust. Perhaps your command tents are there, and great disruption is possible, perhaps catastophe.

But perhaps you can bring your reserves to retake the flank, let the enemy have the command structure, and form a bridgehead in the space they just vacated.

Every loss is also a win for the able-minded commander.

And the only way to learn how to win is to lose over and over and over again.

The King/Queen at War: Rajadharma

The King is the most devoted servant of the people. The King must consider more than concepts, strategies, tactics. He must consider how to best serve his People.

The weight of this responsibility is so opressive that the conscious King rarely goes to war, but more often has war brought to him. I, for example, have stood in the path of war to protect you, receiving the fighting, and being sorely hurt by it. This is how my Father, Khalazdad became King - by acting one.

For the conscious King, war is an inevitable evil, but sometimes an opportunity. If you wish to have a peaceful society, you must consider how peace is earned. It is earned by disillusion with war, by an experience of the consequences of NOT peace. And by the strength to win.

Consider a pacifist.

The Pacifist lacks the power to fight. The pacifist, then, is killed by any predator who wishes to kill him. The only effective pacifist is the one who has the power to not be killed.

Your society is the same. A peaceful society is prey for the predators of the world stage. In order to have peace, you must gear your society to be impervious to the predations of others, and then to enlighten and strengthen those others so that there is no profit in taking what is yours.

Just as the conscious King strengthens his people, so the conscious country strenthens other countries.

Perhaps more explanation of Rajadharma will help you to comprehend. We will juxtapose it with Chivalry, a system with which most are familiar.

In chivalry, the duty of the strong is to defend the weak. The strong define who is weak - women are the weaker sex, the peasants are the weaker class. Big men with swords stand between them and fate.

But now the knights become a protected class, as do the aristocracy that can afford them - their armor and training and food and equipment and horses and squires cost coin of the realm, after all.

Now the job of the Knight is to protect those who pay for him, and those who are weaker than him. The job of the one who holds the knights leash is to decide whom to protect.

Their protection keeps the weak weak. Perhaps I disarm you for your own good. Peasants without weapons cannot murder one another, after all. Perhaps I take away your need for weapons or combat training - strong knights in the area make banditry unprofitable. But when I move my knights away to defend against an incursion or to secure more land, the peasants lack the resources and training to defend themselves.

Etiquette - the courtly manners that accompany protocol under the Feudal system - provides certain behavior towards women that encourage the same weakness. The man holds the door; the man holds the job; the man fights honor duels. The woman, who was first construed as weak, becomes weak because she has no need or opportunity to learn strength.

Rajadharma differs from these principles. The weak are not to be protected, but strenthened - even at the cost of the strong. The job of the soldier, then, is not to defend a territory from incursion, allowing the peasants to engage in peaceful behavior, but to teach the farmers how to defend what they have.

The job of the man is not to fight honor duels for his woman, but to teach people how to honor her.

The King is the strongest of all. His trust is such a burden that few can stand to be a conscious king. To decide something always harms someone; one must decide how one's decisions create freedom and strength rather than repression and servility.

This has been a long lesson, and I will add more to it as time permits. When you can see how the King's role applies to fighting wars, then you will not need me any longer. And if you disagree with me, in whole or in part, I congratulate you for thinking something with your own mind.

I will be happy to debate any point in a civilized manner. We all learn from such engagements. But I will not stand still so you can score points off me and increase your own stock in public.

Thus I have spoken, and thus it shall be.

Peace, once Queen of Necrovion, still one in the hearts of her people.

(Are there more lessons? Evil men would burn them but, if you ask for them, you can see them where they enter the flames.)

The Way of the Warrior

Aggressive and Abominable
Blood and Bone
Chaos and Catastrophe
Death and Destruction
Evisceration and Eradication
Fated and Fatal
Guts and Gore
Hostile and Heartless
Irreverent and Inhuman
Judge and Justice
Knives and Killing
Loathing and Laceration
Madness and Massacre
Neurotic and Nasty
Oppression and Obliteration
Pain and Perdition
Quarrel and Quash
Rampage and Revenge
Sadistic and Serrated
Taint and Torment
Usurp and Undermine
Vicious and Volatile
Wicked and Wounding
Xiphoid and Xenophobic
Yucky and Yieldless
Zealous and Zestful

The Path Of The Pacifist

All-knowing and Admiring
Believing and Bearing
Cathartic and Cloistered
Demanding and Desiring
Equality and Extreme
Fervent and Forgiving
Gracious and Gallant
Heavenly and Healer
Indignant and Interested
Justified and Jubilant
Kind and Keen
Learning and Listening
Momentous and Meager
Needy and Non-conformist
Obduration and Openhearted
Purging and Peaceful
Qualities and Quantity
Romantic and Revering
Symbiotic and Syntropic
Trusting and Thoughtful
Un-egotistical and Unniversal
Valuing and Virtuous
Wanting and Waiting
Xenolith and Xenophilic
Yearning and Yielding
Zealous and Zoism

I do not aim with my eye;
he who aims with his eye has forgotten the face of his father.
I aim with my hand.

I do not shoot with my hand;
he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I shoot with my mind.

I do not kill with my gun;
he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father.
I kill with my heart.

WORSHIPERS (55)
~Day: 211, Year 8~