The Prophecy of The Three Decievers
(Crossing, Zoluren: 31 Akroeg 351)
Dethen told the following tale of how the prophecy came to us, and then word for word recited it. I record the prophecy at the end of how it came to us.
There was a meeting at the shrine, Tasmines, I guess. Suddenly they were overcome with the odor of powerful perfume and shattering of glass. A mirror wraith appears out of thin air. Finthin, one of the people there casts at it, not knowing if it is friend or foe. It died, but put itself back together. A terrible dark cloud hung over Finthin.
Here is how it exchanged a gift of prophecy to us. And it is important… For the one who sent the wraith… To warn us, I guess, was the magess in the moon mages nightmarish visions of the skull. Tezirah.
A mirror wraith says, “I come as an emissary of the Mistress of Ruby and Onyx. That the strands of past and future may remain aligned. I brought you a gift.. but now, it may cost you.”
A mirror wraith asks, “I bring a gift of prophecy. Who dares to lend their ears?” The wraith chitters softly, a sound like fingernails on a blackboard.
Pentaith says, “I do.” A mirror wraith says, “I come as an emissary of the Mistress of Ruby and Onyx. That the strands of past and future may remain aligned. I brought you a gift.. but now, it may cost you.”
A mirror wraith asks, “I bring a gift of prophecy. Who dares to lend their ears?” The wraith chitters softly, a sound like fingernails on a blackboard.
Pentaith says, “I do.”
Maadi says, “I dare.”
Finthin says, “I shall lend my ears to your speak, wraith, but promise no harm to us.”
A mirror wraith says, “Then one must pay the price. For a memory of the future, I demand a memory of the past. One of you, will provide to me a memory of your happiest moment. Something to take back with me, into the Aethyric Cold.”
A mirror wraith asks, “Maaaadiii.. What have you?”
Finthin says, “My happiest moment, mirror wraith, was on my wedding day. All my friends came from parts of the World *just* for me, and brought me presents of kinds along with my wife.”
The wraith shimmers a bit, glimmering as light refracts through it.
Pentaith says, “I remember…when my father still lived.”
Maadi says, “Finthin… do not…”
Dethen says, “Wait, wraith, you sacrafice our memories, but you still have not mention what your news is, i will not be hasty to lose my past, but will gladly give it to an honorable cause.”
Finthin says, “The Priest Wyett wed us”
Finthin says, “It was the best feeling I ever had before.”
A mirror wraith asks, “Where is your wife now, Finthin?”
Finthin says, “I felt like crying, but happy tears”
Pentaith says, “20 years ago,he was killed by Sidhlot.I remember him…”
Finthin says, “Mirror wraith, she had some minor problems… in another realm”
Maadi says, “You give of yourselves so freely and have no idea what you have bought. Or what you have lost.”
A mirror wraith asks, “Pentaith.. What did he look like? Was his voice high, or low in timbre?”
Finthin says, “She could not handle the burden of comittment, and had a bad case of paranoia. “
Finthin says, “But that is NOT the point! I still DO love her”
Songstra says, “Maadi, you must each make up our own minds, you are in no position to criticize anyone else’s actions”
Finthin says, “And if she were here right now, she wouldn’t say the same”
A mirror wraith says, “Of courssse, Finthin.. As do I..”
Pentaith says, “He was a noble Eloth. But,you use us wraith…5 people,flinging memories to you.”
Finthin says, “I can share another happy moment with you if you wish”
Pentaith says, “Pick one. Choose who will receive your prophecy.”
A mirror wraith asks, “Mm.. No, I.. I have a father and a wife, to bring back to the cold.. What more need I? Your gift is fairly earned, and so you shall all hear the words of prophecy.”
A mirror wraith recites the prophecy:
Gather round, good worthies, and hear what I’ve seen,
Reflected in a glassy eye
Heed the truth of my words alone…
…for prophets never lie.
Three Deceivers set forth upon the lands
Emerging from the cold —
While your protectors sleep and dream soft dreams
Their plans already unfold.
No king! No squire! No heart nor reason
Can alone unturn this darkling treason
But an army or a legion
Will find their weapons worthless lead —
‘pon an Elanthia, barren, dead.
And here, pray allow, some light be shed.
To the first, a man with platinum eyes that once reflected moons
He grasps for all he cannot have in a chamber of lapis and gold
For the promise of power he’ll bring forth change…
…And ruination, ere this tale is told.
To the second, once a warrior saint,
Now a fiend to the eyes of the blind.
Only one knows where his path truly leads,
Through battle, and aethyr, and time.
To the third, a bone-yard, and a restless grave,
Lost in the trinkets of a tragic past.
When every hour is spent in delerium dreams,
A moment’s peace is a fortune amassed.
An artisan will become his final work,
When the stars begin to fall.
The first Deceiver re-awoken —
And its brethren hear the call.
Trust not what you know, o worthies,
In a realm of confusion and strife.
Nothing is as it first appears,
Illusion the deadliest knife.
With this weapon the Deceivers shall strike,
And a mighty blow be laid.
An ally will fall, one hope be lost,
In a grave that your ignorance made.
With this weapon the Deceivers shall strike,
And a mighty blow be laid.
An ally will fall, one hope be lost,
In a grave that your ignorance made.
One shall travel a province most unwilling,
Kidnapped by a righteous man.
Blood will be shed as it passes into
Strange circles and stranger hands.
While the wise mourn, the wiser take heed,
And brace against turbulant times —
Now comes the season of discontent,
With a shadow o’er people’s minds.
War begins in an unlikely place,
Fought with precious metal and lies,
Sides are chosen, lives are staked
With a curse the only prize.
Now two are one and one is lost,
Held in a sanctified place.
A dead man knows what the living do not,
But keeps a somber face.
A confession is a treacherous thing,
From a soul so weary and tattered —
But words of truth will unmask the darkness…
… And the work of five centuries, shattered.
With hours left upon the clock,
And doomsday well at hand,
A midnight sun will shine upon
A forever altered land.
And what of the future, o learned ones.
What will become of you —
The choice resides in your hands alone…
… And this is the only thing that’s true.
No king! No squire! No heart nor reason
Can alone unturn this darkling treason
But an army or a legion
Will find their weapons worthless lead —
‘pon an Elanthia, barren, dead.
And here, perhaps, some light has been shed.