From: bshsiung@undergrad.math.waterloo.edu (Bernard Hsiung)
Subject: [R] Dariel:  flashbacks, part 1/2
Organization: University of Waterloo
Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1992 00:54:39 GMT


[ADMIN:  Part 1 of 2.  I know that some of the following contradicts some of
 the stuff in the character description.  My apologies; I'm still thrashing
 out a cosmology.  The later stuff (i.e., this) stands.]

     I sat cross-legged in the exact center of the mirrored enclosure, watching
my reflection watching me watching my reflection.  Out of the corner of my eye,
I saw a magical probe studying me.  From my captor, no doubt.  I wondered what
he would learn, if anything.
     I needed time to recover strength and examine myself.  I sealed my
thoughts, turning my attention inwards.  Fragments of memories rose unbidden
to my mind...

     It was very long ago.  Gabriel, first Herald-Wayfarer, strode forward,
arrayed for battle.  Eyes flashing, he shouted the proclaimation in a loud
voice, brushing aside the shadows that rose to greet him.  "The Keeper of the
Beacon of Hope, issues challenge to the one named the Reaver of Life!  From
this day onward, the Master of Stronghold and His Servants do offer the Reaver
and His Servants resistance with all their will and all their strength, until
One or the Other are ended."

     Nothing.  Emptiness, void.  A spark.  Flame, heat and light.  A pattern.
Form, shape and substance.  "Dariel."  I heard a richly musical voice.  "We
Name thee Dariel, Seeker of Enigma," the voice said.  I opened my eyes for the
first time.  I was in a vast chamber.  All about me, I saw a blaze of
shimmering fire, fire of all colours and none.
     I found myself standing on the palm of an enormous hand.  I looked up at
the figure who held me, and knew at once that His face was my face, and yet
also not my face.  I knelt and bowed my head.  "Master."
     "Abide and observe, Dariel," my Master said.  He spoke a Word.  A tongue
of blue-green-red flame twisted, tore loose, and flickered next to me.
"Zhinael."  A halo gathered around the flame, rapidly coalescing into a form
not entirely unlike mine.  "We Name thee Zhinael, Mender of Spirit."
     Zhinael raised her head, then lowered it again quickly, kneeling by my
side.  "Master," she said also, her voice reverent. 
    "Abide and observe, Zhinael," He replied.  In a similar manner,  He created
Kuilam, Warden of Trust; Wekmael, Warrior in Brown; Nireen, Dancer on the
Paths; Jandiel, Student of Air; and Disquai, Archon and Shaper of Stars.  He
explained our stations and duties, He blessed us, and then He sent us forth to
do His bidding.

     Nireen and I fled the ravaged lands, the laughter of the Enemy echoing
through our minds.  The screams of the dying inhabitants were not half as
horrifying as the way in which they died, torn to pieces by each other to feed
the gibbering Dark.  [The creature of Despair blocked our way...]
     "Hurry, sister," I gasped, "there is not much time."
     She nodded.  "Almost there, Dariel."  She pointed to a knotted tangle of
Power not more than five hundred paces away.  "That's the Doorway."
     Too late.  The meaning of the sudden silence was more terrible than the
screaming.  A silhouette slid before us, snapped into focus above the Doorway.
The Reaver's new Servant drew its existence from the death of a multiverse.
     It was centipede-like, its eyeless head a gaping maw of gnashing teeth.
Its legs bristled with sharp spikes ending in clawed hands.  Yellow slime
oozed between the armor plates of its segmented body.  Incongruously, it
smelled of peaches.  It reared back, standing half again as tall as me, and
watched us.  "Slaves of Stronghold," it said, mockingly, "I will set you free."
     A radiant spear of gold appeared in Nireen's hands as her silvery wings
manifested.  [I stood over Nireen's body, bitten in half, her empty blue eyes
staring up at me.]  "No, Nireen!"  I caught her around the waist as she
unfolded her wings, lifted her in my arms, and transferred us to one side of
the monstrosity.
     Nireen instantly released her wings and spear, shifting to defend us
instead.  The beast's head swiveled quickly and its mouth opened, exhaling a
shower of ebony ice that melted harmlessly on her shield-ward.  I watched the
scuttling of its legs as the rest of it turned to face us.  For an instant,
the Doorway was clear; I shifted us there, under its belly.
     I let go of Nireen and raised my hands, wrapped in force, to slice off one
of the creature's limbs, but was too late to stop a second leg from slashing me
across the chest.  I hewed at its forest of claws and legs, but there were too
many, everywhere, rending and cutting.  Then Nireen grabbed my shoulder and
pulled me through the Doorway, sealing it shut behind us.

     In the Eye of the Beacon, in the midst of the colorful fires of Hope,
Amunpenhar struggled uncomfortably.  I held one of the god's arms.  My Master
stood before us.  "Make thine choice, healing or binding," He said gently.
     The god spat in His face, the saliva hissing and charring the flesh it
touched.  "The Reaver take You!" the god said in a voice of thunder.  "I serve
no one, and I have no need of Your healing."
     "Our Enemy may defeat Us yet, but while We stand, We stand."  His face was
whole again.  "Harken unto Us, thou deity of destruction, and learn.  Thou
thinkest that thou servest none but thyself:  it is not so.  Destruction in
itself is not always for ill--with no forgetting, there is no advancement, no
betterment.  But, as We stand for Hope, so the Reaver is the Void that wills
obliteration absolute, and thy wanton indulgences do serve Him."
     "How can You judge me?" Amunpenhar retorted.
     "We do not judge thee.  Thou wilt judge thyself.  Healing or binding?"
     The god considered, then said, "I choose binding."
     My Master smiled.  "Even so.  Thou knowest Hope better than thou knowest
thy old Master; when thou art bound, thou wisheth to be free.  We know that
thou believeth that thou mayest escape and wreak thy vengeance against Us.  Is
this not some manner of Hope?  Fret not.  The manner of Our binding is service
in freedom."  His voice grew stronger as His stature grew to match that of the
room.  We released the god's arms, stepping aside as my Master grasped the god
in His hand.  "Thou art Freed, Amunpenhar.  Dance in the Flames."  The god's
body glowed as it became an azure fire burning in my Master's hand.  It flew
from His fingers to dart around the room with the others.
--
Bernard Hsiung (bshsiung@descartes.waterloo.edu)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn