Open Chronicles Gods of Stone

[Gerra]

The arid desert of Amol-Kalit gave way to rock and pine at the footsteps of the Seret mountain range, from which spilled the mouths of the two great rivers, the Baal-Duru and the Baal-Asha. The only source of life in the otherwise barren climes. Up the Baal-Duru river came a procession of boats from Annuakat, pulled up river by teams of elephants, crossing dangerous cataracts to reach the city of Kherkhana. Here dwelt the warlike ogres, the blue orcs of the Seret, masters of the forge. The simplicity of their lifestyle was no more evident than in the structure of their city, which was constructed of hewn stone with little gilding or artifice to enliven the rectangular edifices. But as Gerra gazed upon them, he could see a more horrible beauty in his imagination, of corpses piled up beneath the massive walls, a canvas of skin pained with blood and bone.

But he would that such a vision need never come to pass.

The ogres let the Sultan of Annuakat, the Djinn of Rhaqoum, this Gerra with his fiery hair and ashen skin, enter Kherkhana. For he sought the wisdom of the mountain. And who were they to deny him?

Up into the mountains they took him, and his procession of one hundred sand elves and thirty Marya men, until he reached the entrance to a massive cave. Alone, bearing only his torch, Gerra entered.

 

[Aivrid]

Visitors?
Tag: Gerra​

The simplicity of the orcs did not stop at the edge of the city. Each step of the mountain path was marked by small offerings of bone necklaces and what passed for orc art. Hand-painted symbols and images adorned the sides of the cliffs, depicting a black, winged creature eclipsing the sun, as well as the characters of what passed for a written orc language. A few crude shrines dotted the landscape; a small fire lit in a bronze bowl inside a stone alcove was decorated in similar images.

But upon reaching the entrance to the great cavern, it all ended.

Each step on the uneven rocky floor felt like forging into a great unknown, something untouched by the little races. The orcs seemed to fear the mighty beast that resided in the mountain enough to not set foot in its home. Perhaps it was a mistake to be the first in centuries to set foot inside the mountain. Or perhaps it would be the doorway to something greater than any of the little ones' squabbles.

The darkness clung even to the fiery half-giant as he trod into the cave. As the light from the entrance faded it became difficult to determine whether one was ascending or descending. It did not matter -- there was only one direction to go. After what seemed like an eternity of walking, the atmosphere began to change. The air felt slightly lighter, the darkness less foreboding. The light of the torch gave away the positions of small bits of gold and silver; little coins and trinkets minted long before the Age of Chronicles.

Though it seemed impossible, the cavern seemed to open up even further -- the torchlight stopped touching the ceiling. It felt as if the man had crossed a threshold. There was no going back.

The darkness hung in the great room still, but no longer was the little one alone. A deep, heavy, ancient voice spoke, echoing throughout the cavern.

"Why have you come here?"

 

[Gerra]

Tall and proud, the square, stony features of the half-giant revealed no fear, nor any emotion save the perseverance of porphyry, which he looked to be carved from.

The torch sputtered in the darkness.

His molten gaze met the stare of two eyes in the darkness, impossibly vast, and he did feel a shudder through him. If his father and this god of the mountain met, he wondered whether even Menalus in all his might could prevail.

He inclined his head.

"Great one," Gerra rumbled in a rich, oily voice that spoke of volcanoes and the earth. "I come to seek your counsel."

 

[Aivrid]

Fascinating. It has truly been a long time.
Tag: Gerra
​

Aivrid was no god -- not anymore. Not that he much cared, either.

The brilliant purple eyes seemed almost to sparkle lightly at the fiery one's words. They dipped slightly as the dragon moved, seeming to sway through the darkness as if avoiding invisible obstacles. The creature's night-black scales kept his true size a mystery to his visitor. He wondered if the torch brought the half-giant comfort. The dragon preferred the darkness. It was his colour, after all.

"My counsel," the dragon mused. Compared to his initial question, his voice seemed to have become lighter. "I cannot recall the last time someone sought my counsel." Aivrid continued to prowl the massive cavern, allowing the silence to hang for a few more moments. Finally the mighty beast settled, his long neck craning towards the fire-born creature such that the end of his snout might be visible from the torchlight. He wondered of the little one could resist dragon fire. Perhaps there would be a chance to test the half-giant's mettle. Not yet, though.

"Tell me, little one, why are you worthy of my counsel? What matter requires the wisdom that not even a hundred sand elves could provide?" Again the dragon's eyes seemed to glint with enjoyment. Aivrid so often forgot how conversing with creatures could be enjoyable, even beyond seeing them struggle up to his lair. Even with that little sparkle, the dragon's eyes narrowed just barely -- there was a resemblance that this one held with one he had seen before, though he could not quite remember... perhaps, given a name, he might know more.

 

[Gerra]

The cavern trembled slightly beneath ponderous steps. Scales rasped on stone, like swords drawn from sheathes. Then the behemoth settled and was still, only his voice reverberating in the lair.

The torchlight fluttered beneath the breath of Aivrid’s words. Gerra’s fingers tightened around it. His ashen brow furrowed.

“I have many brothers, all boastful. In my father’s halls, they clamored for attention. What they lacked in deed, they made up for in dramatic retelling. The more petty the deed, the grander the drama.”

Gerra stared at the dragon,

“So I will let my deeds speak. I have risen from exile to apotheosis. The Abtati call me Djinn, thinking I have been sent to save them by their god. The Kaliti call me Destroyer, Conqueror, and Sultan. The Kherkhanites sharpen their swords, for they know the peace between us cannot last forever. Yet peace is what I seek. For I will unite these three peoples, and all who live in Amol-Kalit. It is my dream. My destiny. And my curse.”

He spread his hand out to one side, in a gesture of openness.

“This is what I ask of you, how can Elf, Orc, and Man live together under one rule when their enmities run so deep? When Elf raids Man, Orc hunts Elf, and Man enslaves both?”

 

[Aivrid]

The little ones and their squabbles...
Tag: Gerra
​

"The little ones once called me many names, too. I forget them now," the dragon said pensively. Still, the half-giant's words piqued Aivrid's interest -- his own brothers had been like that, as had his sisters. Few of them had the deeds to match their words. The rest were long dead.

The black beast often enjoyed the effect his presence had on others. Gerra was likely boastful as the rest, but it was clear that Aivrid had humbled the man. The destiny complex seemed to seep through into their conversation, though. The dragon respected those who could tell the truth, though -- none of his lair's wards had been activated, so the half-giant's conviction was true and legitimate.

A soft yet rumbling chuckle escaped Aivrid's throat as he heard the traveler's question. In all his time the reasons why they squabbled often escaped him. Still, he could not consider himself wise if he was unable to answer a single question. "True peace will not be achieved in your lifetime, Conqueror. You are a creature of war -- I can see your fire, and you tell me of your accomplishments as one who takes." He paused for a moment. "I suppose if you become as old as I, that may change. But in your time now, this time, what you must do is simple: Lead.

"The strongest leaders bring new allies to their cause without ever asking. They bring unity to those they lead. A single being can shape the world.

"But most of all, time will be your ally. Time heals all wounds, changes every mind, and does things unimaginable. If it is as you say, and your destiny is written, do not lose faith in it. All will go as you plan, should you move with this in mind."

 

[Gerra]

Not in my lifetime.

Not in the time his mortal coil had been allotted at birth. No. But that was a thought for another time.

Gerra had the answer he sought. A confirmation of destiny. With these words, he might sway the Sereti ogres to his side and avoid the carnage that would be brought should he assault their foreboding mountain bulwarks. Even so, could the dragon offer more? Were they not kindred, both children of fire?

Perhaps...

Taller than any man or orc, Gerra feared little in this world. And though he had never faced dragonfire, he wondered if even it would be able to touch him, for no other flame could. The sole blessing of Menalus.

“Thank you, Great One. And yet I must ask of you one more boon. The orcs of Kherkhana revere you, just as the Abtati elves do me. I know not what it is you seek in this world after eons of existence, but I know that our two powers united could bring about what I seek.”

 

[Aivrid]

What do I seek?
Tag: Gerra
​

Again the half-giant made Aivrid think -- after all, what was it that he wanted? After all these years, so rarely did he have desires. Needs, perhaps; needs for food and drink and shelter. In all his years, rarely had he wanted anything. Even in his previously more carnal incarnation, more complex motives were beyond him. Perhaps it was time to want again. Still, it caused a slight stir in the black dragon, and he chuckled lightly. The sound made the ground rumble, the dragon's hoard clinking lightly as well.

"The best way to unite people is to convince them that your goals are aligned. My goals..." Aivrid chuckled again. "I cannot say they cross paths with yours. But I enjoy your presence, half-giant. I would not be averse to aiding you in achieving your destiny."

The dragon lurched forward, his shining purple eyes studying the small creature. His voice lowered, and yet the words seemed magnified. "Ir Karif Lex." He then pulled away. "I will aid you in your time of need, and in return you shall complete a single goal for me. Do not waste my blessing."