Tale of Hope...

In the wide world of Cibtravay

Next to the sea of Wehclarah lay

The nation of Pixies in the Valley of Winds

Nestled in the sheer cliffs of the mountains

In all directions except the one that faced the sea and the bay

 

Peaceful were the Pixies

Clever and kind and colorful too

It was as if they were crafted from a spring breeze

They were small and slender

4 winged creatures that glided on the gales

(Fairies fly too, but they only have two wings)

 

They had nothing to fear

Till the day that the valley grew dark and cold

Maybe just over a generation ago

 

Now we the Pixies call ourselves the Keldurak-

The cursed people of the Valley of Smoke-

Our wings lay useless at our sides

For Ocht Tōbane killed those among us who once knew to fly

And who knew the lore of a better time

 

Ocht Tōbane is the smoke from the refuse of the graves of evil things

Those that refuse to depart this world

As he refuses to depart the valley

But instead calls himself King

His fortress is at the mouth of the bay

The Smoke, those that follow him

Patrol the cliffs and bar the mountain paths

So none can see or breathe freely

Or leave this land by any way

To go find a better place in the wide world of Cibtravay

 

So the Almighty help me, I, Enune Divateh

Must climb the cliffs untold

Find HOPE, that Weapon of Old

The Destroyer of Despair

The Sweetness of the Air

And destroy the oppression of Ocht Tōbane

 

Though I know not where to find HOPE

Or what I should look for

Many have tried and have never returned

 

Why should I succeed, I who have always been afraid?

I bring with me only what I need

The few things that may help me

A hobbling staff, rope made from the neselthe vine

A cloak, food, and a looking glass

That is clean of the smog’s soot, and shines

 

Now to whatever the future may hold

I have nothing to lose but my life and what little I have left to love

Goodbye! Off I go to toil and climb and find what never was!

 

I have traveled wide and far

 

I stand here now at the top of Futility

The cliff the farthest away from the bay and the sea

I toiled up its treacherous trails

I scaled its slithering, slippery side

The one that has never seen the sun

 

“You came so far needlessly,”

An oily voice said behind me

“Come, listen now to reason

HOPE never was, nor ever will be

Leave with what little is left of your wretched life!”

 

It was Ocht Tōbane!

His red coal eyes were pure hatred

The smoke of his existence

Emitted from the center of his being

It curled from his form in fumes

Of poison and pain and putridness

The very demon himself!

 

“No,” I coughed out overcome with pain

I tried to fight him, but when I hit him my hobbling staff burnt

Burnt like the beads of his eyes in flames of fury

The poison from his blow was a sure end of me

“Then die!” he hissed

“No,” I yelled desperately, “I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain!”

 

I lunged forward

Using the mirror as a shield

My very last resort

Myth had it that light or a reflection

Was protection against evil intention

It withstood his second blow

 

Broken but not shattered

Dented but not demolished

 

Ocht Tōbane screamed

Screamed and threw me off the cliff

The tallest cliff of Futility, farthest away from the bay and the sea

The certain end of me

 

Falling

Falling

Falling

‘God Almighty, help me’

Flying

Flying

Flying

 

With renewed strength

And healed body

Coasting on a sweet breeze

In my hands was HOPE

Shining for all in the valley to see

Reflecting from the plain, clean mirror that was with me

Near the mountaintop of Futility

 

I flew back

Wound the rope of neselthe vine, the vine that never burns

Around Ocht Tōbane

I flew across the valley

HOPE was my strength and victory

I flew above the sea

The sea of Wehclarah far from the bay

And dropped Ocht Tōbane in

To where he can smolder no more

Wehclarah’s waves thundered over his fortress

 

The first waves like the water of a cup set a shaky table

When it spills over, only a little spills out

But with one fatal yaw the cup is knocked over

And the water drips over the edge of the table

So was it with Wehclarah’s vengeful waves that wiped away his strong tower

The winds from the sea sang through the valley

Bringing healing, warmth, and spring

 

I am Enune Divateh

Ruler of the Land of the Pixies in the Valley of the Winds

And this is the tale of hope to be told after me

Comments

dfd

What the shit is a neselthe vine?

C.J. Whitre

The joy of fantasy writing-you tell me! [what a neselthe vine is]. Use your imagination. Pronunciation hint, I hear it as "ness-ULL-thee" as opposed to "NEStle-thuh" or "nes-SELL-thee" for the purposes of internal line rhyming, but the other pronunciations wouldn't be wrong.

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