"You should hurry," she said, the words softly slipping between lips that barely moved. "I can hold it only so long."
The mage frowned, biting his lower lip as he considered. "We could try to kill it," he offered, sensing even as he put the idea into words that it would not work.
Gwenna blinked away a ripple of pain, her opaline eyes falling on Temken. "It is already dead," she said.
The magic still wrapped about him, Temken felt Gwenna's life-force draining away as she used it to hold the Shadow imprisoned. Piece by piece she sold herself to counter its attempts to escape. Temken felt the struggle raging, just as he had originally sensed her final decision to lure the shadow to her and hold it fast. He had thought to try such a tactic himself, binding both his own life-force and the primal essence of the shadow to the orchid's power, but now he doubted that he would have been able to succeed. Temken had not lived for decades here in the bayou, adapting to the darker side. He had never come to terms with the shadow, the way he somehow knew that Gwenna had. To hold it within himself would almost certainly have killed him.
He still wondered at the shadow's origins and what exactly governed its existence now, but those were questions to which he doubted he would ever have answers. Whatever the shadow had been or was, Gwenna had known it long enough to identify its basic nature. It hated, yes. But it also needed. It needed the elves in the bayou to feed off of, to survive. But even if it existed outside Gaea's embrace, the shadow could still be made to obey her laws when it intruded upon nature's world. But the price… Temken bowed to Gwenna's resolve and silently thanked her for the sacrifice she made.
As if awakening from a long nightmare, elves stumbled from their huts or rose from their lethargic positions. Some did not rise and never would again. They were part of Gaea's price, exacted so that others might live and bring life into the world again. Most were crying, the pain on their faces was the first real sign of animation Temken had seen.
"Assemble quickly," he said, voice thick with emotion. "We must leave the bayou."
A few thought to move toward Gwenna, hands reaching out in sympathy, but Temken stepped in front of them.
"Go," he commanded. "Gaea will watch over her." They grabbed what few traveling articles they could find in moments.
Temken turned back and saw that Gwenna was nearly lost to him. Her green eyes dimmed, as she turned her energies to the inward battle.
"This day," he said softly, willing her to hear, "you have absolved yourself of any blame an elf might still have held for you, Gwenna. There is no greater gift than life."
He gently took her by the shoulders and eased her to the ground near his orchid. Her face and the flower both recovered a spot of color before they began to fade again, this time more slowly.
"Let the orchid sustain you for as long as possible, and Gaea will bring you to her before it can hurt you again," Temken said. Before he could think the better of it, he spoke the name he had denied his lips for too long. "Argoth will rise again," he promised Gwenna. "We will rebuild."
In a gray-lit clearing, completing a rough circle of dark and abandoned huts, Gwenna sat upon water-laden ground with her back to the heart of the bayou. An icy rain began to sprinkle down, spattering against pools of water and slowly churning the ground. The orchid's lavender pistils dripped water into the flower's cup, and petals sagged with the extra weight. The irregular rhythm of its wash played accompaniment to the gusting wind that rubbed branches together and sawed at the long grasses. The rain carried with it the hint of brine, borne in from the not-too-distant ocean. It was a clean scent.
Gwenna continued to hum Gaea's song. In her mind, the shadow grew stronger as it warred with nature's memory-her memory of Argoth. The elves had left. Animals died. Forests were stripped away, the land itself sunk from sight, rolled over by oil-slicked water. The air grew cold and tasted stale. But even as the shadow finally slipped away, exuding rage in its newfound strength and ready to feed upon her remaining life, the land rose once more within her mind. Plant and animal and elf returned as the memory flourished. Argoth rose. With the last of her strength Gwenna allowed herself to slip away into the memory, carried on Gaea's song and her promise- that life would always follow.
Red
Red is the color of release, the hue of outward expression and excitement. It is hard to be indifferent about red. It may be loved or feared, but it is seldom disregarded. It is characterized as aggressive, vigorous, and given to impulse and mood. Those associated with red are sometimes accused of lacking patience or possessing a quick temper, but red also embodies a fervent passion and feeling for fellow beings. Red is signified by fire, blood, lava, and emotion. It manifests itself as bursts of outward expression and outspoken tirades. Red characterizes those who know what needs to be done and aren't afraid to do it, for those who want results and action instead of deliberation and debate, for those who like the cathartic pleasures of flame.
Goblinology
Francis Lebaron
Introductory note by Armand Ar-basinno, instructor of popular culture and goblinology at the Argivian University and author of Studies in Goblin Culture; The Goblin Ruins at The Flarg: Their History and Exploration; and Squee: A Study in Popular Mythology.
[Note in margin: Squee, Squee, Squee! According to Ar-basinno every goblin is named Squee! L. B.]
It is my privilege to present to the public a very remarkable document, recently discovered in the ruins of The Flarg and edited and annotated by myself, with some minor assistance by Latavino Bar-bassanti, who, unfortunately, departed from the university before the project could be completed. I may add that I regard this task as the crowning achievement of my extensive work on the history and development of goblin culture, and that the document confirms the conclusions to which I, in the face of opposition from so many of my colleagues, had already come.
[Note in margin: A silly, self-satisfied conclusion by an overblown windbag! L.B.]
It has, of course, been my contention for a number of years that the goblins of The Flarg were polytheists, worshiping a variety of gods to whom they made regular sacrifices. Prior to the discovery at The Flarg of the document below, however, little specific information was available concerning goblin religious rituals. Thanks to my work on this document, combined with the extensive body of writing I have bequeathed to the learned community as my legacy, future historians and goblinologists will have little trouble in filling in the gaps along the trail I have already blazed.
In point of fact, I had already developed the theory of goblin religion in my well-known and, if I may say so, remarkable book The Apostles of Squee: Deconstructing Goblin Religious Discourse and Perception in the Age of the Great Cold (Argivian University Press).
[Note in margin: Well known, indeed! The book was remaindered within thirty days, and housewives all over Terisiare used it as a doorstop. The only thing remarkable about the book was the fact that Ar-basinno managed to spread his lunatic "theory" over two thousand pages. In fact, Ar-basinno was almost fired from his position when, while presenting a copy to the chancellor, he dropped it and broke the poor man's ankle. The chancellor spent two weeks in bed, and Ar-bassino made the rounds of faculty parties in Argive, explaining that the university official had been struck by the weight of his arguments. L.B.]
It is not out of place here to briefly summarize this theory:
[Note in margin: The gods preserve us! L.B.]
In ancient times, during the Age of the Great Dark and Cold that followed hard upon the disastrous era of the Brothers' War, goblins at The Flarg formed a vast and powerful community. It is clear from the extensive ruins at The Flarg that they were a politically influential race, deep in learning, strong in arms, universally respected throughout much of Dominaria. Great goblin fleets ploughed the seas, and goblin ornithopters swept through the clouds, driving the enemies of the goblin empire before them.
[Note in margin: Here we go again! Ar-basinno used to propagate this story in the pubs aroun
d the university, usually late in the evening when he'd had eight or nine glasses of Korlisian wine. For this reason, he was known throughout the university as "old goblin head." L.B.]
In this age, a cult grew up among the goblins centered on the worship of a deity known as "Squee." This fact accounts for the extensive use of this as a name among the goblins of The Flarg (and indeed in the goblin communities through the rest of Dominaria). The cult of Squee was celebrated in various rituals, which were clearly extremely sacred to the goblins, though they are, perhaps, beyond our understanding today.
Now, in the following document, I have the clues that allow me, drawing on a store of knowledge accumulated over a lifetime of study of goblin culture, to unravel the mystery of goblin Squee-based rituals. The document is evidently in the form of a letter, written by one high priest of Squee to another and communicates the essence of the ritual, while leaving some parts of it as mysterious as before. Nonetheless, I have every confidence my persistence and scholarly ability will allow me to unravel this tangle as well and lay it before my public.
[Note in margin: In other words, there's no reasonable chance of getting him to shut up in the near future. L. B.]
I will indicate briefly the circumstances attendant upon the discovery of this historic find.
While excavating the ruins of the goblin settlement at The Flarg, I came across a wide, flat area.
[Note in the margin: Actually the area was first uncovered by myself and Sarapinna Machieve, a graduate student whom. Ar-basinno had talked into working with him for the summer. Until the dig at The Flarg, she spent most of her time trying to make sense of his incoherent notes and ramblings while evading his crude attempts to get her into bed with him. At the time we uncovered the site, Ar-basinno was sound asleep in his tent. L.B.]
At either end of this area, it was clear that in the distant past pestholes had been inserted. I concluded that such an area, accommodating a large population, could only have been used for religious ceremonies of considerable significance. With this in mind, I looked for evidence to confirm this theory. It was not slow in coming.
To one side of the field I found several objects, roughly spheroid, approximately a foot long, and slightly pointed at both ends. These had been placed in a box, indicating they must have been very precious to the goblins and thus objects of religious veneration. Also within the box was a crude wooden whistle, several skins used to hold water or-in light of the obviously religious character of the site-sacred wine, and several garments, which, though worn through use and the ages, were recognizable as holy vestments employed only during the most sacred rituals. They bore large numbers on the back and were emblazoned with names, which I translated after considerable difficulty, the meaning of which will become clear through perusing the document below.
In further examination of the field I discovered more evidence of ritual behavior: parts were churned up by the feet of many worshiping goblins, and along the sides were evidences of many spectators. In one place near the edge of the field was a heap of bottles that had at one time probably contained sacred drinks consumed during the ceremonies that were enacted upon the field.
[Note in margin: You'!! notice all the talk about drink. One of Ar-basinno's earliest "research projects" during his tenure at the Argivian University was an attempt in his laboratory to discover the exact composition of the sacred wine of the goblins. To this end he made a number of experiments, most of which ended in him drinking the results. One such experiment, involving too high a proportion of a particularly wlatik alcoholic derivative, resulted in the destruction of a substantial section of the Hall of Akhemical Research and permanently removed Ar-basinno's eyebrows. L.B.]
The document reproduced below was found in the remains of one of the dwellings near the field and was probably composed by a high priest. It takes the form of a letter to a fellow religious figure and explains the development of a significant ceremony in the Cult of Squee, whose existence I have established.
One final note is in order. Writing among the goblins seems to have employed spelling and grammatical conventions largely unknown to us, though clearly allowing them a high measure of precise communication. Indeed the goblin language, when properly rendered in speech, is one of unparalleled beauty and grace, which I have been accustomed to speak to my students.
[Note in margin: Yes, and the spectacle is enough to attract students carrying rotten fruit and vegetables from all over town. Word goes out that "looney Armand's at it again," and you can see the crowds coming for miles. L.B.]
If confusion should arise, the reader is advised to consult my well-known Dictionary of Goblinese, compiled by Armand Ar-basinno (I6 volumes).
Der Krank,
Hope dis lettr find you good. I iss fine too. Wether here good. Sum rain but sunny afferwards, bring out da bugs.
[Ar-basinno's note: The name "Krank" is probably a formal title. The discussion of weather in The Flarg is clearly preparatory to a more extensive discussion of the Squee-based ritual, which required a certain amount of alternating rain and sun. The word here given as "bugs" I have decided to translate as "followers" or "disciples. " Evidently the writer of the letter is anticipating a large gathering for the ritual, anticipated by his remarks on the weather.]
We made up noo game odder day, me an Fizzer. Member how we uze goblin bombs ta keep off bad men. Well we had a lotta em in big pile outside, an Druze tol me an Fizzer ta take em off ware dey couldn't hurt nobody outsida da houses.
[Ar-basinno's note: The phrase "goblin bombs" is particularly significant here. There can be no precise translation of this, but I think it is best understood as a type of votive object, one carried, as we shall see later, during religious ceremonies. Druze is clearly the title for the high priest, giving instructions to the Fizzers, that is, to his acolytes.]
Any way we took da bombs to dat big flat place outsid Squees house
[Ar-basinno's note: His temple.] an we waz havin fun trowin bombs ta each odder, tryin ta catch em when Squee came outta his house an yell at us dat we makin too much noise an he cant sleep.
[Ar-basinno's note: A tremendously significant passage. The Squee emerges from his temple, making himself manifest to his priests. This is clearly a most holy moment, indicated by the elevated language of the passage. Thus we see the priests, the Fizzers, manipulating the sacred objects, the "bombs" and calling forth the Squee, who responds to them with a ritual chant of some sort.]
[Note in margin: Where does he get these ideas? L. B.]
So me an Fizzer thro one a da bombs to him, an he catched it. We started ta run away an den we fell off a da side ware da mowtin is an start dis big rock slide so Squee couldnt catch us. We wuz laffin.
[Ar-basinno's note: The passage makes clear that the site of the temple of Squee was near the area I already uncovered at the ruins of The Flarg, the large, flat field.
Further indication that it was the site of a religious ritual is plain from the fact that various measurements-ten yards, twenty yards, thirty, and so on-are marked along one side of it in ancient goblinese, indicating, clearly, the path along which religious processions proceeded.]
Squee get so mad, he kick da bomb, an Fizzer cawt it before it bloo up an ran back up to da field. Squee run after him and try ta grab him, but I push him down an den we run off. Squee chase affer us, tryin ta grab da bomb, but we kep tossin it ta each odder.
[Ar-basinno's note: The Squee and the Fizzers engage in a ceremonial dialogue, each clearly responding with predetermined questions and answers, manipulating the sacred objects while passing along the holy road. We can be confident that the whole ceremony was witnessed by awe-struck devotees, who probably consumed the sacred drinks, as well as ritual-based food, during the event.]
[Note in margin: Well, when it comes to consuming sacred drink, whether of his own making or drawn from a tap, Ar-basinno's on familiar ground. I've seen him go through four bottles of wine during an evening's carousing. L. B.]
Fizzers
sister an modder wuz watchin us an dey started yellin an laffin an cheerin.
[Ar-basinno's note: "Sister" and "Mother" here are obviously metaphorical. These are references to the high priestesses of Squee, who now join in the ceremony.]
Den dey wuz throwin grass clumps at us an dey started wavin roun big clumps a grass an jumpin up an down. We wuz laffin reely hard.
[Ar-basinno's note: Very important. As the procession of "bugs" led by the Fizzers moves toward the Squee manifestation, it is joined by the high priestesses, who wave plant fronds, thus signaling the coming of the new year through the benevolent agency of the Squee. Thus we find confirmation that the Squee cult was a fertility religion. I have discussed this subject extensively in my well-known and highly respected work The Regenderization and Dis-sexification of Goblinesque Interaction in the Period of Antiquity.]
[Note in margin: Oh, please! Ar-basinno has an amazing talent for overlooking the obvious. His interest in "fertility cults" was probably fueled by the fact that his wife left him- understandable, since he used to start every morning by reading sections of Regenderization to her over the breakfast dishes. When she left the house for the last time, she also left him with a black eye, which he explained to his colleagues at the university as the result of walking into a lamppost. Most of his acquaintances assumed from the shape of the bruise that his wife had heaved the "well-known and highly respected" work at him. L. B.]
So any ways, everbudy in da town come runnin and wuz watchin us throw da bomb aroun whan Fizzer drops it an it blows up. We found part of Fizzer on top a me roof later.
[Ar-basinno's note: Clearly the culmination of the ceremony is the ritual sacrifice of the high priest, or Fizzer, while those around him chant praises to the Great Squee. One can imagine the scene clearly: the pure white robes of the acolytes, the rich golden trappings of the high priests, studded with gems that gleam in the sunlight. The air is filled with the sound of songs bringing praise to Squee, asking the gods to bless the coming harvest with their beneficence. The archpriestess (referred to in the document as the "mother") stands astride the Fizzer, a jeweled dagger in her hand. It glitters against the blue sky as she slowly raises it. The chanting rises in volume, and then she slashes it down in a mighty stroke. Blood sprays upward, splashing her robes with the water of life, and the crowd gives a mighty shriek of delight and religious ecstasy.]
The Colors of Magic Anthology (magic: the gathering) Page 11
