by 5kops
Edelin again looked to a false sky and murmured a quick prayer. With such pleasant thoughts he could finally sleep.
Then a miracle occurred.
The dungeon became silence incarnate and darkness seeped from the walls, coalescing into a demonic mist. He could only stare in awe as it swirled around him, moving slowly up his body in a dark embrace.
Edelin dropped to his knees as tears of recognition streamed down his face. The Dark King had come to murder him in the night and take him to Heaven. He began to chant a recitation from the Dark Tome to expedite the process.
Within moments the darkness spread across the entire space of the cell; no light penetrated it. In less than two breaths, Edelin looked up into a pair of glowing purple eyes; a frighteningly beautiful head of obsidian was silhouetted against utter darkness.
"Balzabuth," he whispered in awe, barely able to control his bodily functions in the presence of God.
"I am not I AM," the voice resounded, perfection personified. It was almost too much for Edelin's mind to grasp. "I am the messenger of His word!"
"The messenger . . .?" Edelin tried to recall the Dark Tome's hierarchy of Heaven. He knew the holy artifact mentioned this messenger.
"Come, mortal, and recognizee Gadul, Angel oj I hi!red, First Demon Prince, and servant of I AM” Gadul announced.
"Have you come to . . .?" Edelin whispered reverently, his body still trembling.
"I have not come to end your life," replied Gadul. "I AM has dictated that His need for you has grown in this world. Moreover, He wishes to reward your servitude."
"Reward me for my service?" Edelin shivered. "What does God ask of me?"
"He demands your subservience, mortal, and your devotion to His causer
"I would do anything for Him," Edelin's voice broke with emotion.
Gadul devoured the essence of the faithful mortal soul in a moment of complete silence. "Then He charges you with a holy crusade," he said. "You are to seek out the source of good that plagues this world. Once found, it is your holy duty to destroy it! In return for your obedience, lie will wipe away any memory of your name and face from those who would hunt you down or tell your tale. He will also grant you freedom and unimaginable power in the mortal world! There shall be murder on a scale never before heard of on Aryth."
"What is the source of good I seek?" cried Edelin fervently.
"Seek miracles!" Gadul replied, "And, mortal, do whatever it takes ..."
The darkness became absolute and Gadul's form disappeared. Edelin swore he could feel the nothingness of such a destructive force caving in his will to survive. His mind wavered on insanity. Then the cell melted away and there was only the shining moon.
Edelin the Murderer was free.
****
The Bre'Dmorian Academy was arguably the greatest achievement of the past two thousand years. Unlike the rest of the City of Aresleigh, it had been constructed with divine magic, polished marble, and human architecture. It truly embodied the magnificence that was Starsgalt, God of Order. The building's central dome, a massive mural depicting Starsgalt's divinity,
crowned at nearly one hundred and fifty feet in the air, a massive beacon to the world of the One True God's existence.
Lord Bowon Silvershield, a knight wearing a snow-white cape emblazoned with the golden crown of Arsgoth, walked between massive columns of gilded marble and stared intently at the mural. He was young, maybe twenty-one seasons, and his tall muscular frame carried a youthful face. By his insignia, he belonged to the lowest order of Bre'Dmorian Knighthood, a knight of the crown, referred to as a basic knight.
Those who knew Bowon understood that he was often deep in thought, his hazel eyes distant. Then again, he had always been a quiet man. Though most outsiders thought him dour, his quietude had nothing to do with his stern nature, the latter attributed to his upbringing as a peasant.
In fact, his life as a peasant had taught him many things—primarily that in a life of professional servitude, working in exchange for food and shelter, one quickly learned to speak only when asked a direct question. It was not uncommon that laborers turned to personal thought for comfort. Survival on the streets of Aresleigh required a silent compliance with orders, a vicious cycle of basic slavery.
As Bowon paused at the great Dome of Anduin, his thoughts took an unpleasant turn as he considered what had brought him down this path.
He remembered vividly how plague had gripped the poorest quarter of the city, Temapard Row. It had taken the lives of over seven hundred people before the duke had in the name of Starsgalt ordered whole neighborhoods showing signs of plague, including their inhabitants, to be burned until nothing was left but ash.
At one time the knight himself had been scheduled to burn with the rest of his people. It was in the last stages of the weeping sickness that God had miraculously intervened and purged the sickness from his body, and Bowon had truly been saved. The event had left him with pockmarks covering his torso, a reminder that God had saved him.
A tear trickled down his face.
He recalled looking out the window of the Bre'Dmorian Academy's hospital to see dark smoke rising into the afternoon sky. Even now there were moments when he secretly wished for death, as a part of him wanted to join his family that God had not seen fit to spare. He still heard his parents' screams as soldiers barricaded a section of city and flames licked at the plague victims.
Bowon knew that somewhere deep inside, he was still furious with God. However, he now realized that the duke and Starsgalt had done what was needed to save countless others—a difficult decision, but undeniably the correct choice.
The knight wiped his tears, acknowledging a moment of weakness.
That tragedy led me here, he thought grudgingly. On his tenth birthday he had come back to the Halls of the Hand, seeking resolution. At the time he had sought knowledge from an uncaring God, trying to understand why He allowed such a thing to happen. Mostly, Bowon wondered why only he had been spared, while the rest of the plague victims had been burned to death.
He'd asked an elderly cardinal that same question: "Why would a compassionate God of Law, Order, and Justice allow such tragedy, when He has the power to stop it?"
"Young man, what is your name?" the cardinal had inquired.
The young version of the knight bit on his lip before he finally answered, "Bowon of Foxworth Street, sir."
"Bowon, did your family own anything?" Cardinal Del Urelson had asked.
"We once owned a pig."
"Can you recognize that your father could make a decision about that pig, whether right or wrong, that the pig could not understand?"
"My papa would only kill the pigs if they were meant to eat!" die child Bowon had squeaked defiantly.
"That he did," the cardinal chuckled. "Your father knew the consequences of the matter at hand. With no food, you would have starved. He knew that it was necessary for the pig to be eaten, sacrificed to feed your family." The man paused thoughtfully. "It is like that with God. We are but pigs to Him, and what He does is far beyond our comprehension. He makes choices that we may view as wrong, but perhaps it is we who are limited in our view."
The lesson stuck with him. And, when he was ready, Cardinal Urelson had recruited Bowon into the Bre'Dmorian Academy and trained him in theology, history, and military matters. Though the young knight's role in God's grand scheme was as a military man, Bowon never forgot where he came from.
The horrific memory secured his faith in something greater, significantly beyond his limited understanding.
Any limited understanding. Bowon mouthed the word "limited" as he strode with purpose toward a large antechamber. As he neared the chamber, a pair of young squires snapped to attention and barred his way.
"My lord," said the first squire respectfully, "what business do you have with Archbishop Urelson?"
Bowon announced himself and his need for spiritual guidance.
The second squire follo
wed protocol and bowed his head to Bowon before he went through the ancient oak doors. The squire soon reappeared and invited the knight into another chamber.
Bowon smiled inwardly. He had hoped his relationship with the fragile holy man would gain him admittance, and so it had. Not many men, especially one so freshly inducted into the knighthood, could beg guidance from one of the most powerful priests in the Bre'Dmorian Order.
As Bowon walked through the doors and over to a large wooden table piled high with ancient texts, an old man looked up. The knight dropped to one knee and bowed his head, but not before seeing fondness in the old man's eyes. He knew his decision to talk to the Archbishop was a good one. In fact, he was about to impart some very starding news, news that would require the faith and service of the entire Bre'Dmorian Academy.
"Stand, Bowon. What guidance can this old man give you?" Archbishop Urelson asked in an informal tone, neatly stacking several ancient tomes.
The knight considered his words. "God has chosen me for a task of great magnitude, your holiness."
The Archbishop's eyes widened in surprise then sparkled merrily, almost knowingly. The robed elder closed his eyes and began to hum with power, trying to divine the nature of Starsgalt's desire. "God works in mysterious ways, child. I could feel His blessing on you so long ago; I feel it more so now."
Bowon's breath caught in his chest. If Archbishop Urelson, his friend and mentor, could feel the presence of God, then he was not going mad after all.
"What is it that The One asks of you, my son?" Archbishop Urelson asked and opened his eyes with a concerned expression.
"A servant of The One came to me during the last communion, your holiness," Bowon said slowly. "He told me that a spring of great chaos has entered the land and that I must seek it out at all costs. He said that this should take precedence over all other things."
"He has given you a holy crusade! That is why I cannot divine Him. What are you to seek?" the Archbishop asked.
"God did not specify, your holiness. He simply said 'find the source of corruption and look for miracles,"' Bowon responded. "Most important, I am to destroy the source at any cost."
The Archbishop looked up with understanding in his eyes. "You are one of the few champions of God since Anduin of Arlock," the words came out in reverence. "In His name, my son, you must find the source."
****
The hierarchy of creation breaks down into gods, angels, Olthari, and finally, dragons. This is not so much a pattern of power distribution but the timeline of when each race was created by the gods, assuming the gods have no creator. Though each god is the only "real" thing, each is chosen by lesser servants to be viewed as the One True God. This delegates all other gods, in the view of the faithful, false deities or mere angels.
Considering this hierarchy, the first divine race, angels, are not considered to be truly "created" at any one point in time. It is known only that they came to consciousness in the likeness of the gods and though they are a limited version of their respective deities, they are bound by a multitude of rules which do not affect their creators.
The first real creation of the gods, the Olthari, were to reside in Heaven as servants to the angelical race, partially-sentient beings bound by eternity's immortal rules of ascendance, time, and omniscience. It is guessed by the Olthari that they were created to serve as slaves to Heaven's denizens.
The final divine race created by the gods was the dragons—the only divine race created by Heaven to reside outside of Heaven—whose sole divine purpose was to collect information. Thus, their race was created to serve on the Mortal Plane of existence, and due to their dual lineage (divine and mortal) remain bound by the mortal timeline. Dragons age in mortal years.
That is not to say that dragons pass quickly away into nothingness; they have an exceptionally long lifespan, not reaching senility until their ten thousandth year, or three and one half eternities. However, there are those among dragonkind whom the gods choose to transcend age, becoming Sinafithisar, or Ancient Ones. These dragons are not fully divine but rise above the effects of age and are stripped of all the color they once displayed in mortal life. In terms of dragon longevity, Sinafthisar exceed fifteen thousand years old, are pure white, and are mostly divine.
The price a dragon pays for transforming into a state of Sinafthisar is a god-induced slumber of five hundred mortal years. This hibernation, the "Divine Purge," renders a dragon unable to care for itself and therefore open to all kinds of malicious predators. Additionally, being connected to the Divine Plane of existence had its drawbacks: dragons were no longer at the top of the food chain.
One night, when howling winds preceded a dark storm readying to release its fury upon the Dragonspine Mountains, a divinely inspired message stirred a slumbering silver dragon in its lair. The dragon, a female known by humans as Silverwing, looked up briefly before shifting her position and laying her head back down on her forelegs. In moments she was asleep again.
Though the dragon had not initially heeded the call of Illuviel, a second, more powerful message assailed her senses. She raised her gigantic head, her golden serpentine eyes opened, and two long ivory horns grazed the granite wall. She regarded the room quietly as her sight readjusted after several centuries of slumber. Not that she needed to be worried. If there was an intruder in her chamber, she did not need to see it; her peripheral senses would quickly locate the trespasser.
After several minutes of concentration and sensing nothing threatening in her chamber, she stretched her stiffened body out and moved back into a more comfortable position. She wondered how uncommon it was for a transcending dragon to awake spontaneously during a great purge.
The dragon yawned, guessing that she was one of the unlucky ones. Her biological clock told her that it had only been two centuries since she had last flown the skies of Aryth, over the kingdoms of man, elf, and dwarf. It should be easy enough to fall back asleep.
As she repositioned herself comfortably, she closed her eyes and thought of the greatest joy known to dragonkind: collecting information. It was the job of her mighty species to watch events and provide information to Illuviel, the All-Knowing One, the One True God of Heaven. As she saw it, there was no greater pleasure than watching events coalesce and deteriorate beyond the control of the unbelieving lesser races.
Not that she looked down on the lesser beings for being unbelievers. It was the purpose of each mortal being to follow his or her particular faith, however misguided it might be. Though most followed Illuviel’s servants— Starsgalt, Illenthuul, Balzabuth, or even a direct subsidiary of God's faith, Raphael, better known as the Wizened One—subservience was subservience.
Such peaceful thoughts made the dragon slow her breathing. She was almost relaxed enough to cross back into slumber when another powerful wave of divinity crashed into her. This time it was full force and she recognized its source: for whatever reason, God was summoning her. More intriguing, the situation was urgent enough for Him to bombard her with powerful divinely inspired calls.
Silverwing stretched again, pushed herself up to her full height of twenty-six feet—several feet shy of the ceiling of the cavern—and unfurled her great wings. Though her lair was huge, the ancient wyrm was not able to fully stretch. She looked around the cavern and was disgruntled to notice all the cobwebs that had settled on her hoarded stacks of neatly piled manuscripts.
Satisfied that even-thing was still in place, she turned to regard herself, noticing that she was not yet Sinafthisar; each wing still shone metallic silver. She quickly assessed the rest of her body, raising her forelegs and turning to check her spine. The rest of her body was pure white. She wondered what could make God interrupt her Divine Purge.
She made a snorting noise that resembled a sigh.
Obviously great events are about to take place in the world, important enough for the Unsleeping One to wake me, and here I am worried about becoming Sinafthisar! The dragon chided herself
sleepily. She was His most trusted servant in the whole Material Plane; why shouldn't He wake her if something significant was happening?
Silverwing decided that her reward for service could wait; by way of mortals, she still had plenty of time. She decided that, however inconvenient, at least God believed massive change was about to happen . . . and He needed her.
Maybe I will finally see something new! she thought.
With a deft movement, the dragon retracted her wings and moved towards the entrance of the ancient hall. As she exited the massive cave and looked out over a two hundred foot precipice, she unfurled her wings and sprang into the air with a great whoosh. Though not quite as agile as her twelve thousand two hundred year old frame had once been, her ancient silver wings remembered how to fly and beat furiously in the air.
Silverwing looked around as gusts of wind and sheets of rain pelted her. It has been a long time, she mused.
She chuckled—half snort, half gurgle—and soared on, considering all of the possibilities. Maybe the humans have finally reproduced so much that the world is overrun with them! Maybe the rest of the races have ceased to exist, as I predicted.
The silver dragon mulled over the countless probabilities she imagined would happen during her slumber. She was so deep in thought that she hardly noticed three hours pass as she flew from her home to Caer Crimmthan, the largest peak of the Dragonspine Mountains.
Having been to this place many times, Silverwing recognized the landscape and found the jutting mouth of a colossal cavern, in to which she glided. As her eyes adjusted to a dim orb of blue light, she noticed four other dragons perched in a semi-circle around a celestial form.
It looked almost like an angel.
She landed and was about to speak, when a silvery voice resonated in her mind. 'Trusted servants of the One, I am here to instruct you in a great crusade." There was a short pause as all the dragons glanced amongst each other. "God, in His infinite wisdom, has felt an unbalancing source of divinity unleashed upon the mortal world."
