The Oracle - Erenthril

[Tarot]

Chelseanna was, for the most part, still an untamed island. Port Chelseanna occupied but a corner of it, and organized settlements aside from the town could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Castle Chelseanna upon Mount Tuli was one of those, and the Oracle was another. It rested deeper into the island, perhaps three or four miles from the Port and its coast, in the middle of a relatively wild landscape. No vines nor olive trees were to be found here, but a plethora of evergreen trees and large, thorny bushes growing without a regular pattern. The uphill road leading here could hardly be called that, as it was more of a wide path flanked by small pillars placed at regular intervals.

The temple itself was a very simple thing, literally. Little more than four walls and a flat roof made of rough square blocks. This was no precious Ieffreonian marble however, but rather old granite stolen from the sides of Mount Tuli. It was a dull and unattractive shade of grey, with a small and entirely unprotected doorway. There was no door to speak of, and the opening was barely large enough for the average human to pass through without bowing one's head. It was certainly a shocking break from the extremely elaborate and fancy Chelseannan city layout. It also seemed ancient, far older than the port. And there was nothing indicating which deity the building had been raised to.

The temple was almost bare inside, light barely streaming through cracks and small openings in the rock, and one could never know whether they would find the Oracle there. Legend had it that only those in real need of an answer would get the opportunity to ask a question, and for this reason the place was mostly shunned by tourists, though always mentioned with the utmost respect by the usually religiously-indifferent Chelseannans as the Oracle had saved the community several times with her predictions. They provided for the Oracle themselves, delivering food, offerings and supplies several times a cycle. It was known that the Oracle had not left the island with the evacuation; no-one could even find her, let alone move her away from the island.

The Oracle... she had been a child for as long as anyone could remember, though some claimed that there had been several Oracles over the centuries. Three things were known about her. First, that her words were always truthful. Second, that her prophecies were prone to being misinterpreted. Third, that a few of those who visited her never came back.

[Erenthril Mael'tharias]

The Third Cycle of the Month of Cryxatum, Season of Summer, Era I

Deliverance.

It was something Erenthril had spent a great deal of time pondering, and it remained something elusive from his grasp of understanding. Why had Phedos chosen him? What made him such a great target? He had figured it had been his particular skill set from the get-go, the fact that yet another Elf had unraveled the mysteries of Arcana and completed one of the more difficult and unattainable hurdles that accompanied them. But then again, there were just shy of maybe a hundred or so Masters scattered about the Empire; and surely a large percentage of which were Elves. Even Aranel had been an Elf, and she’d spent a great deal of time teaching him the Initiate and Apprentice tiers. Why him?

The Oracle.

It was a two-step process, this questioning ambiguity, and although Eren probably could have forsaken Phedos whenever he pleased, thus far the God had not done anything more to bother him since the Ire incident. Sure, Eren had done everything he said, but that had been that and the patron god of the Elves seemed to have forgotten about him. For the moment. It left the Syl’rosyian Elflord very confused, almost hurt in a way, like a lover tossed aside and left to their own devices after finding out the betrayal of adultery or some other terrible and horrific act. Eren slipped away into the sands of time, and Phedos turned his attention elsewhere. But he had not forgotten. Confusion gave way to anger, anger to rage, and it was not long until the Prophet of Phedos felt the churning turmoil of emotion directing itself to the God. Phedos had defined their relationship; Eren was to perform like a puppet, and there would be no rewards. No deliverance. The blue sigil pulsing ever so faintly beneath his shirt remained a mark of property; and try as he might, Eren could not hypothesize a foreseeable end that boded well for either party. Not unless Phedos came down to set things straight.

And so, as he walked along the shoddy excuse of a path, hand grazing along the stone pillars that graced him with their direction every so often, Erenthril contemplated his decision to go see the Oracle. He’d lived on the Isle long enough to know she existed, sure, and long enough to figure out that the more superstitious civilians believed she had something to do with the Gods. Perhaps she was an avatar as well, he hesitated to think, but the chances of such were dubious at best and hopeful to say the least.

Her dwelling wasn’t exactly significant. In fact, Eren probably could have constructed it in his sleep, judging by the rather simple nature. Four walls, one slab over the top. The place whispered of antiquity, and Eren stopped for a moment as he cast a glance down to his right, at the bowls and plates and baskets offering various foods to the woman – no, he distinctly remembered the word child – resting within.

Taking a deep breath, Eren stepped into the dark …temple of sorts… standing in the light proffered by the opening. “Serale..?” he voiced his presence.

[Tarot]

The wealthy tourists who visited Chelseanna rarely wandered outside the well-established routes. This included the Port proper, the Kounturas fields, and the obligatory visit to Castle Chelseanna, as well as a few other landmarks on the Northern coast and its immediate interior. In doing so, they missed out on at least half the essence of Chelseanna, the duality inherent to the place. Just as Port Chelseanna was a place of elaborate beauty, refinement, elegance, none of which were in any way spontaneous, the rest of the island radiated a sense of primal antiquity, untamed and unfathomable. The feeling was almost physical as one left the outskirts of Port Chelseanna and headed South, with Mount Tuli watching silently on their left. Suddenly, one was alone. Alone with oneself and the world.

The vegetation also grew wilder and more spontaneous as the Elf walked on, branches rustling in the soft breeze, fragrant bushes dotting the landscape. No birds were singing here, no animals were to be seen. The temple, if one could call it that, was not decorated in any way. The food bowls placed in front of the entrance looked rather recent, probably from the early morning, and contained bread, fruits, a couple of meat pies and a simple cake. Someone had also brought a few simple clothes in the yellow color so dear to the natives. No sentient presence was within sight.

As Erenthril stepped in, he was welcomed by nothing but silence. There was no furniture to speak of, the ceiling had cracks that most likely allowed the rain to leak mercilessly inside. A few layers of straw lay in the far corner of the hall. The place did not smell particularly good, but it seemed that even flies were avoiding the building. The floor was little more than a smattering of stone blocks, many of which had been dislodged from their intended location. But certainly, no matter how hard the Prophet of Phedos looked, no Oracle was to be found within these four walls.

But. Suddenly there was a smell. It was wild, unpredictable... hungry. Maybe slightly mischievous too, if a smell could be such. Something flashed behind the Elf - he would feel the air current - and when he turned to see what was happening, he would certainly notice that one of the fruits laid before the entrance, a juicy-looking pomegranate, was disturbingly missing from its basket. And the smell was still there, haunting, teasing, somewhere between human and bestial, a deliciously ambiguous grey area. Erenthril had just found out that there were many, many layers to be unraveled on the island of Chelseanna.

[Erenthril Mael'tharias]

The Elf had considered picking up an apple before stepping into the temple, but had thought better of it in case he was to be seen. Phedos, was he hungry though…

Stepping into the dimly lit little… room, if one could even call it that, the Elf fancied a good look around. Nothing wrong with the casual observer inspecting the foyer, if truth had its merits and an Oracle of sorts actually did exist, but thus far the Elf was plausibly ill convinced and he’d conceived no notions of actual habitation in this stone piled heap lest the occasional offerings of food suggest otherwise. How many darkening passed where those same giddy villagers, enlightened with their so-called prophet and zealous superstitions, came home bearing exactly what they brought; minus the odd munch from the trespassing animal.

Speaking of which…

The Syl’rosyian Elflord suddenly frowned, and sported good reason to as well. He’d seen no animals on the way in. Okay… that was a coincidence, maybe, but then the path had certainly grown less tamed and more wild – so where were the little beasties to accompany the stereotypical hold?

A sudden cut of wind and the prickling of the tiny hairs on the back of his neck caused him to turn around, and a ever-so-casual eye nonchalantly fell across the missing pomegranate that had been resting quite peacefully seconds before. And then the smell wafted into his nostrils. At first it reminded him of a pet, a dog almost, and he was instantly reminded of the howling Arakmatian wolfhound that had taunted him next door for patterns upon patterns back in Paxia. But it wasn’t quite a dog… at least, he couldn’t decide if it was, and that put him on edge. The place reeked of Druidism, and Eren had never had the best of experiences with any sort of Druids, save Dwhae of course. But even then, that annoying little dryad had almost given him reason to strangle…

Shrugging off his thoughts and casually inspecting a chipped stone at his feet, the Elementalist knelt down and examined it. In truth he was buying time, for even before his knees had bent, his mind was already grappling for the tendrils of Ara surrounding him and this sordid place. Casual observance had gotten him nowhere, to be sure, but it was growing painfully evident he was in the presence of some host or another, and the Elf preferred to locate the specimen of his interests simply because it had seemed to locate him. Then again, he hadn’t been quite so suave on the camouflage or discretion, barging in as he had.

Sifting through the Arcalysis with the finesse and grace only a Master could afford, Erenthril immediately began an improvisation of sorts. In truth he’d never deeply acquainted himself with any sort of spell, but he’d seen Elementalists use it before. The theory was there, just not the practice, and so long as whatever-the-hell-it-was didn’t decide his lovely charming head was a pomegranate, he’d be fine in putting it to the test.

The Elf started with a simple aura of air about his person, before quickly flooding the nearby proximity and filling the room with the altered weave. Divining it whilst simultaneously abjuring the weave into a flowing cycle that returned back to him, the Elf (hopefully) effected something of a makeshift copy of that pesky ‘Awareness’ spell all of his Mystic acquaintances were so damn fond of using. Pity he was having to use three techniques for the same idealistic process. He could clearly see why.

Still kneeling and dropping the stone back on the ground, Eren waited to see how the spell would turn out, and whether or not he’d receive any clues as to the unknown hungry…hopefully herbivore-ish (though the meat pie sure was foreboding) acquaintance.

[Tarot]

And so it was that the Elf knelt down, sank into the marvels of the Astral Plane, and began fabricating his detection spell. As with most Improvisations it would take him some more dedication to turn the spell into something truly worth its Mana, but the theory was there, and while on a rather small scale it managed to produce the kind of Air ripples that Erenthril's mind could use for detection purposes.

It immediately found the opportunity for a test, truth be told. The Elflord felt the object hiss its way in the air toward him. His mind could follow its path as if he were the air itself... unfortunately, his body and reflexes just did not manage to keep pace with his mind, and thus he was hit squarely in the forehead by the very pomegrenate that he had noticed was missing. Well, it was half-eaten now, and it fell down after the hit, rolling by his feet. There was no real violence about the throw, but the projectile itself sure looked quite disgusting.

And then, slowly, an eye peered through the doorway as the figure slid aside and slowly came into view. It was a black eye, much like the hair above and over it. There were thick, dark rings under those eyes, putting even regular insomniacs to shame. The figure was indeed a child, Human it seemed, looking perhaps nine or ten ordinations old. Her pitch black hair was so long that she would drag it behind her like a dark veil, and even the front threatened to cover portions of her face. It was straight hair, probably beautiful had it been cleaner.

'Emaciated' described her well. She was thin, with skeletal limbs, barely any cheeks and prominent cheekbones. Her eyes were immensely hungry and spirited, yet her mouth, still wet with the juices of the fruit, had a shade of kindness to it. Rather pale, the child was dressed in local clothes that were obviously far oversized for her tiny build. The local women who'd sewn these garments probably had no idea she looked like this. "Boo," she said. Her voice was low-pitched for her age, somewhat raspy - possibly from lack of use.

She took a few steps into the temple, hair following her through the doorway. Erenthril could follow her movements through the spell in parallel with his own sight. The child spoke again, her eyes unblinking as they examined the Elf with a fire of primal hunger burning in their depths. "You are not an offering," she stated quietly after looking him up and down a few times. "Too stringy. What do you want?"

[Erenthril Mael'tharias]

The scale was most definitely miniscule in size, yet the Elf could not help but feel some elation of triumph from the success of his spell. Yes, the air tendrils were working excellently. A few tweaks could be added, later, to be sure, but Eren wasn’t necessarily bent on developing it further at that moment. Instead, he watched as the strands of energy pooled out around his person like a web. Utter fascination took to his eyes as he marveled at his work, it reminded him of the ripples of a pond, and he was the centerpiece where the fish had broke surface. And, what was that? There was a sudden increase of movement, as if another fish had flopped persay, coming from before him. It was quick, the strands suddenly skipping and dipping wildly, and Eren’s jaw dropped in amazement at the actual progression of the spell.

“Ow!”

He was hit square in the forehead by something round, mushy, perhaps a little wet…what the feth was that?

Emerald eyes roamed wildly until they connected with the pomegranate that had suspiciously disappeared earlier. The Elflord frowned and crossed his arms, rubbing his biceps and trying to bring some warmth into the chill that had pattered across his skin. His mind traced a rustle of movement from behind him, and he slowly – cautiously, in case the thing was still observing him – turned about and cast a prudent eye to the door, only to see another stare right back at him.

“Serale…” he began slowly, before she interceded with her ‘boo’. In truth, she did have quite a scary appeal going for her, what with the stolen fruit, quick agility, startling hairstyle, and overall rather starved appearance in general. The Elflord offered up a nervous smile, unsure if he should feel threatened by the presence of a mere child or no. How much could he trust in the rumors of the native inhabitants that had dwelt here for so long?

He shook his head. “No, not an offering. I actually came to you because I was…” he searched for the word hesitantly, “curious. In what you do. I think, perhaps, we are two of a kind…” he almost winced as he said it. Yet, supposedly, this child communed with the Gods. Feth. He hadn’t considered whether or not they be Aetherian or Aerternian, but commune she might possibly be capable of. Possibly. Unsure of where to proceed, the Syl’rosyian Elementalist tilted his head to the side and watched her carefully, studying her body language and gauging a response.

[Tarot]

"Two of a kind?" the child repeated in a monotone tone, black eyes growing even wider. Her gaze roamed outside, where the food offerings were. "You are not here to eat my food?" There was something... alarmed about her as she craned her neck towards Erenthril, studying him with the practiced expertise of someone who had partaken of mostly everything under the suns - including Elf, quite possibly. The child backstepped toward the baskets containing the offerings, her eyes still wide and focused on the visitor.

"There is nothing to see here, only hunger." With a jerking motion of her head and neck, she caught a fruit between her jaws, and helping herself with her hands, she bit it in two, chewing on it with a hunger that could never be satisfied. The other half, she almost swallowed whole, beating on her sternum afterwards to ease its descent. She licked her lips, a dark purple tongue contrasting with her pale complexion. She grabbed the next fruit and devoured it in a similar fashion, never taking her eyes off of Erenthril. It took her less than a minute to finish up the contents of the basket; she grabbed said basket afterwards - and took a deep bite, pulling on it to crush the wicker weave and then chewing on it.

She seemed to realize that a wicker basket was not edible however, and promptly spat it out, throwing the basket behind her in a rather annoyed manner. "Always tastes funny," she simply commented, and her full attention returned to the Elflord.

"You have that lost look about you," she said suddenly, her voice lower and somewhat calmer now. "I am nothing special, you know. Everyone here is different, I am just more different than the others. You are hungry, too, I can see it. Not for food perhaps, but you always are. It never leaves you... it will never stop. You are hungry for answers... Ask your question then - if you dare."

A pearly grin - unsuspectably clean given her eating habits - crossed the girl's face as she dove into the meat pies and made short work of them while she gave Erenthril an opportunity to answer her challenge.

[Erenthril Mael'tharias]

Eren’s eyes betrayed his curiosity as he glanced at her in a perplexed manner, sizing her up, trying to analyze her disposition, critically aloof of the simplicities of her situation. He watched the odd child as she devoured fruit after fruit, regarding her demeanor coolly for a moment, doubt beginning to cloud his mind as to the purpose of his arrival, and the magnitude of any favorable impact gained from this… exposure.

And then he shook his head and laughed.

“I agree,” he nodded, stepping into a more comfortable stance and folding his arms over his chest. He examined her home for a bit, the short flat ceiling, the drab blandness of the walls. He maintained a respectful silence, even in response to her chewing of the wicker basket, which would have elicited a forewarning from the Elf had it been any other person. He was silently perturbed by her unusually bright smile, but managed to return it in spite of her jest, grinning. He was comfortable here. Well ,not quite comfortable just yet, but adapting quickly, given he was slowly beginning to suspect her spontaneous nature. The octaves of her voice, though…

“Alright, fair game,” he said, fixing his gaze on her for a moment, hesitancy etched into his face before cheek muscles visibly relaxed and he cleared his throat. “Do you serve a god? Are you bound as I am?” he asked first, searching for common ground. He needed a stage to lead into a performance.

[Tarot]

The little girl cast a quick glance at the baskets, as if seeking confirmation that she had devoured all the offerings. How long could it have taken her? Two, three minutes? And certainly, there had been enough food to satisfy at least four people. It was all gone now. In spite of that, the gluttonous girl appeared to be no less hungry than she had been before; there had been no enjoyment in the act, either.

Still, she seemed able to keep her hunger in check for the time being. "Those are two questions," she protested, perhaps sounding like a child for the first time, "and it was supposed to be about you. You see, when people go to an Oracle, they are supposed to ask about themselves." She moved a spirited step forward, dragging her veil of black hair behind as she did.

"This place was once the house of a being called a god," she whispered, running her finger along the dusty, encrusted wall. "Then that god was no more, leaving a shadow first, then the shadow of a shadow and finally the void. And the land wept hot tears of rage and the world walked on its hands and birthed the hunger that never rests. And now..."

The child's voice transformed into a painful hiss. "... now you will see what that truly means."

She turned around and stepped out of the temple. Facing Erenthril again, she opened her mouth. Wide, wide open - wider than any human mouth should be allowed to be. And suddenly, she regurgitated everything she had just eaten, wailing and vomiting a stream of barely tasted food. Her eyes rolled back inside her head and she began to shake. She dropped flat on her back, rolling wildly as convulsions rocked her tiny body. Then, everything stopped and for a moment it looked as though the little girl was dead.

It started moving again, the child's body. It went on all fours and howled at Erenthril, only the white of the eyes showing.

"Saskrat, He-Who-Waits-For-The-Wind-To-Blow," it growled, "the rose-eliciting-good-feelings you believe-important will soon bloom-wither outside your palm-of-flesh." And with this it remained motionless, awaiting perhaps an actual question.

[Erenthril Mael'tharias]

You see, when people go to an Oracle, they are supposed to ask about themselves..

The words echoed across the Elementalist’s mind for a moment as he considered them. Yes… he could see that. People were selfish by nature, and usually seemed to think the world was centered about them. Indeed, Eren had not yet met a human – save for perhaps Milo, or even Nikki to a point – who did not think that their fate had a desirable appeal to the dominion of the world and the attraction of others. It would make sense, then, if the people came to the Oracle for help on problems of their own. But what of hers? Eren was, perhaps, one of a handful that had expressed some interest in her position merely because it had the potential to coincide with his own. Maybe. But then, hindsight was twenty twenty, and how many others had actually survived an encounter within these hallowed slabs?

The sudden change in her voice, the added hiss to her other babble brought him sharply to attention. He had heard what she was saying, yes, the brief history of the location, the brief dialogue about some god… but it was the unnatural rhythm within her otherwise uninterrupted harmonic that caused the Elf’s eyebrows to knit and his nose to wrinkle.

“Umm…” he searched for something to say, even as she turned around and walked back out of the exit. Oh great, here comes the boulder that locks me in.. the thought dashed across the recesses of his instincts and for a moment he panicked – doubly so when he saw her jaw unhinge. It was one of those freak acts in nature, and although he’d experienced his share of them back within the Blackbarch of Syl’rosya, the Elementalist still cringed and felt the hairs on the nape of his neck prickle as she vomited. Suddenly, Erenthril felt very dirty. As if there was something sticky pouring all over his skin. He wanted to take a bath. He wanted to get out.

He stayed where he was, however. Caution or prudence kept his feet riveted to the ground, rapt attention plastered across his face as the girl’s voice shifted to a more aggressive, almost bestial tone. It… spoke in riddles. He frowned, trying to make sense of the babble. Who was Saskrat? Was that the god’s name, or was the… thing… referring to himself? And the tidbit about the wind blowing? Eren had so many questions, had so many various takes on the interpretation of the words, yet feared voicing these would be the incorrect question that should be asked. His mind yearned to learn more of this god, to learn more of this history, but reason kept him on edge and he took a step back, shuffling his hands back into his pockets.

He felt he was dealing with something larger than him. Instinctually, he knew that this avatar, this being standing before him, had some window into a power he feared of. Whether it be divine or simply unnatural by nature, Erenthril felt the goosebumps spreading across his skin and felt as if he needed to escape. He remained placidly cool on the outside, of course, but within, his blood was bubbling with the desire to flee. Through the stone wall?

In a deliberately calm fashion, he voiced, “I’ve heard it been said you prophesize. You understand things others can’t make sense of. I…” he wondered if evoking his patron’s name was logical at this given moment, “I do not understand what the Aetherians want with me. What is it, can you tell me that? What is my role; why do they toy with me so?”

It was rather out of the ball park, really, but… this was definitely one of the weirder moments in the Elflord’s life, and it didn’t hurt to try.

[Tarot]

It heard the question, though whether it listened to it was another matter entirely. Still, the child's body made no hostile motion towards Erenthril, still on all fours, possessed. When it spoke again, the voice had turned into something resembling a gurgle rather than a growl.

"The Core-Plane-leechers do seek you, both above and below," it said, "as they do others. They shall seek you in this form-of-flesh-that-moves, and they shall seek you when you are bright-star-steam... your singularity is desirable-to-possess. What value does Gold bring to man-of-clay? It is rare, beautiful-to-behold and ripe with possibilities. And just as man-of-clay seeks to hoard his Gold, so do the Core-Plane-leechers hoard theirs. And sometimes, even they are unable to sieve Gold from Lead on first-eye. And they push-the-time-that-flows, so the heavy-elements drop to the bottom of the world-bowl."

"The Wind will blow for you on the last bright-star-turn of this weather-distinction-period," it continued, "here in the land of Above and Below, Kalosianna of the Beauty, you shall either embrace, or renounce. What was ancient shall be made anew, and your life-thread shall entwine with others... or snap."

The creature emitted a low sound, as if in pain. It collapsed on its side, and then there was only the child, unconscious but still alive. There was a serenity about her sleeping form that certainly did not exist when she was awake. Hunger had abandoned her form, and her breath flowed in peace, slow and regular.

[Erenthril Mael'tharias]

Eren found the child, the beast lurking inside of her, whatever she was… or it… mildly perturbing and somewhat unsettling. He wrapped his cloak closer about himself, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as he ignored the prickling of hairs upon the back of his neck and stared down the gurgling child that predicted his life so.

He understood what she said at first, or at least thought he did. It would be dangerous to make presumptions here, especially given the ambiguity of a majority of what she divulged, yet he felt he could make sense of the basic principles. The Aetherians weren’t the only ones after him, and that in itself proved stressful for the Elf. He hadn’t minded Phedos – not at first, at least – because the patron of strategy and elves was decidedly neutral in the eyes of most priests, even Alicros had mentioned so. But the fact that he was a wanted item, a token of interest, both amused and dismayed him.

"The Wind will blow for you on the last bright-star-turn of this weather-distinction-period," it continued, "here in the land of Above and Below, Kalosianna of the Beauty, you shall either embrace, or renounce. What was ancient shall be made anew, and your life-thread shall entwine with others... or snap."

The wind… what was the wind? He recognized the reference to the last day of summer, yes, and even the brief allusion towards Aetheria and Aerternia But the word she mentioned, Kalosianna, that made no sense whatsoever and left Eren completely taken aback and perplexed. What was he to embrace? What was ancient? And the risk of fatalities?

Eren felt a surge of bile rise in his throat, and he recalled all too familiarly why he detested the meddling of the gods.

Sighing as he saw the girl collapse and fall into a restful slumber – she seemed at peace, for the first time since he’d been here – Eren rubbed his temples. This had been good, whatever good could mean for someone who had just had a rather disturbing scenario played out before them, but he felt as if he’d gleaned an insight into the future he would not have otherwise. Whether or not he’d instigated anything while doing it… however.

It was complicated, trying to play chess with the omnipotents, and attempting vainly to gain brief dips into the basin of time and forestall the inevitabilities they so artfully sketched.

Taking off his cloak, Eren tossed it over the girl from afar and, deciding it best not to wake her by going near her, turned about slowly and cast soft stone atop a small section of the slab wall. He felt pitifully sorry for her, and her plight, and found himself emotionally moved at her suffering. It was one thing to hear of someone’s misfortune, quite another to experience it firsthand.

Although he could not satisfy her hunger, every brightening the Elementalist was in Chelseanna, and because he could most certainly afford to do so, two weaved baskets of fruits appeared along with the rest of the offerings. Although the others’ believed their tokens as an offering to whatever god inhabited Mount Tuli, the small wicker weaves filled with pomegranates served as a token of the Elementalist’s appreciation.

[Tarot]

OOC: I think we're done here. Not enough casting to warrant XPs for a Master, I'm afraid, but your improvised spell is approved.