Author Topic: Revenant  (Read 1341 times)

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Offline Mr. Consideration

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Revenant
« on: June 20, 2010, 05:47:34 pm »
"As the wind blows across the great expanse of Banaqaq, this intangible flurry of atoms wrenches from the groaning heart of that planet a few scattered particles of its essence, and rearranges it as the gods or gravity would see fit...who could say that the Unspoken, in their limitless wisdom and eternal grace, did not deign to tickle the heavenly bodies, that their great rollings should one day produce a most beautiful and paticular pattern of dust?" The Book of Dhulaam, 'Contemplations; Six'

From above, the shattered remmnants of The Faithful, burrowing and fidgeting in infinite complexity in their houses (cast from the very ship that carried them here; now broken and chastened with the unnatural exhaustion, the ungodly fatigue that has even suns simmer and cease took breathe) took on the form of a great machine - intricate and intimate, possessed of both infinite complexity and ingenuity, and infinite unity and purpose.

Contemplations; Six was written on the highest roof of our shining shanty town - perhaps so the gods would not have to look too far to spot our discontent. On the other wall, much simpler, was written ALL THE PHILOSOPHERS ARE DEAD. Whilst the words were tied to but one single wall, hewn from the shattered ships of our shattered people, it was clear the meaning was universal and ubiqitous - perhaps one of the deceased would say that we get the graffitti we deserve.

It is a strange thing to see these proud Auyuelcliads - who have never felt the wind's kiss or the searing sands - mourn a rock which clings like a drowning Urshan to a distant star. I doubt they could point to this heavenly place in the night's sky; and how on Banaqaq could point to this place? A verdant, grassy world- hot and dry like an engine's fumes yet with a foul aftertase of moistness in the air; filled with a mish-mash of traders and rogues and emperors. Clinging to the imperial city and space-port is the wreckage of one of the last of the Auyuelcliad Searcher Ships, now a great hollow tomb for the remmnants of our people, reduced to slavery before the rich robber barons and honest businessmen of this mixed world beyond even great Arcadia.

This new planet, more lush and yet infinitely more dead than distant, abandoned Mother Banaqaq, was the grave of more than just a ship - it was the final resting place of the dream that had once borne the name 'Auyuelcliad'.

We are broken, we are betrayed, and somewhere out there The Unspoken are laughing, taunting, at the puerile excesses of our ill-spent youth. We have lost, we are lost - and we will go home.






"Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone elses opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation." - Oscar Wilde

Yes, I am aware of the irony.