#prophet pixlriffs

Pix brushed away some of the cobwebs from the edge of the window.  The glass had been surprisingly intact, perfectly preserved in its original frame.  Some of the original dye still clung to the glass, hinting at what the stained image may have looked at once upon a time.

He stood on the tips of his toes, reaching with one hand to remove the web, but it stubbornly refused to tear from the brick it was attached to.  Irritated, Pix sighed and set his candle down on the windowsill, while he yanked at the cobweb.

“Well, this is new,” a voice said.  Pix stumbled back, startled.  He lost his balance on the uneven ground, and fell flat on his butt.  He muttered a few choice words under his breath.  He picked himself off, and brushed himself off, hoping that whoever had spoken hadn’t seen his utter lack of grace.

He heard the person clear their throat, and he glanced towards the window.  His brow furrowed at the sight.  The figure looked like him, but…well for starters, his beard was neater.  He was dressed in flowing cotton robes rather than the adventure’s gear Pix sported.  He held a candle in his hands, just like the one Pix had set on the windowsill.  On his brow sat a delicate circle of copper.

“What are you?” Pix breathed, drawing closer to the window.  The figure smiled softly.  “We always had a knack for asking the hard questions right away, didn’t we?” they asked.  “There’s not one answer.  You could say I’m a ghost.  Or a memory.  Or a god.  All of them would be true.”

Pix rolled his eyes.  Would it kill people to be a little less cryptic sometimes?  The figure seemed to pick up on his irritation, and he chuckled fondly.  “In my homeland, we called our kind Prophet.  Honestly, I would have thought our line died out when Pixandria fell.  It seems I was wrong.”

“Who are you?” Pix demanded.  “You can call me The Copper King, as I imagine you have the name all Prophets are given,” the figure answered.  Great, more riddles.  Pix snorted, and again, the figure smiled in fondness.  “I promise you.  Answers will come in time.  But for now, continue as you have.  I’m sure you’ll see your first vision soon.”

Pix opened his mouth to ask what that meant, but he was cut off as The Copper King seemed to remember something.  “Oh, and Pixlriffs?  Do look out for Sausage if you can.  He’s always had a knack for getting himself in trouble.  I’d hate to see him get hurt again.”  And with that, the figure blew out their candle.  Pix’s candle flickered out at the same time, leaving him standing alone in the darkness.

The mournful wrath of a mother curses the ignorant to be ever knowing.

———

A pair of horses pulled a wagon in the middle of desert with three passangers on board. One phantom hybrid, a wolf hybrid and unconscious ruler of a kingdom.

Phantom Assassin was dressed in protective clothes to not get burned by the sun and was focused on guiding the horses. Wolf Spirit sat silently next to him fiddling with half eaten bread.

-This feels so wrong. - Vigilante said quietly. They looked at the unconscious bearded man who showed no signs of waking up yet. - Did we really had to do this? We knocked him out pretty hard..

-He will be fine. - Phantom responded not sparing a glance.

-He's been like that for days! You don't know how delicate humans are!

-He is still alive. And not a normal human being looking at what he and others are and can do.

- I know but what if he won't wake up? - They nervously looked at the unconscious bearded man. - What then?

-He's gonna be fine. Now be quiet.

-Or what? Who are you afraid of hearing and finding us in the middle of freaking nowhere? - The prophet friends going after them went unsaid.

-A lot of things actually. - Phantom finally looked at them his green eyes staring right into their soul. - I still can throw a stick and leave you alone to fend for yourself for a long time as a training.

-...You wouldn't do that.

-Try me Wolf.

Jo lay flat on his back, staring up at the stars.  The boat rocked gently beneath him.  The waves lapped against the shore quietly.  It was a beautiful night and not for the first time, Jo wished Skeletron was there beside him.

It was nights like this that Jo could almost ignore the faint ache along his back from where his wings used to be in favor of imagining Skeletron laying beside staring up at the stars, their hands entwined.  But he knew he could never have it.  So instead, he lay on the deck of his ship, dreaming about what could have been.

 Pix dreamed of explosions and fire consuming a ship.  He dreamed of waves crashing above his head as the ocean dragged him down, down, down.  He dreamed of his skin dissolving slowly as he still somehow, impossibly pulled oxygen and water into his ribcage.  He dreamed of clawing his way up to the surface far above.  He dreamed of sailing the infinite ocean and sinking any ship he found, cursing the sailors to his own terrible fate.

He dreamed of slowly building a name for himself, of striking fear into the heart of all who opposed him.  He dreamed of finding a god with beautiful, vibrant wings.  He dreamed of tricking the naive god into falling in love with him.  He dreamed of cutting off the god’s wings.  He dreamed of a hidden cave where he kept the wings, a twisted trophy of his power.

Pix woke with a start, scrambling around as he tried to regain his bearings.  He was tucked into the corners of the ancient mud factory.  He must have fallen asleep there while searching for ancient artifacts.  Now that he was a bit more alert, Pix pulled out a piece of paper from his notepad and scribbled down what he could remember of his dream.  It wasn’t much, just a set of coordinates and a messy sketch of the familiar looking god.  He didn’t know why, but the dream felt important.

Moonlight lit up the ruin, streaming in from the broken window above Pix’s head.  Above him a candle flickered, bathing the windowsill in warm light.  “Well,” a voice said from above him.  “Your powers are progressing quickly.  You’ve only just woken up, and already you’re beginning to see visions.  Potent ones at that.”

The Copper King had returned once again.  The glass was shattered right over where his heart would have been, making him look quite literally heartbroken.  He carried a candle in his hands, but instead of the usual pale yellow of beeswax, it was now a mix of two colors.  The top half was a soft ocean blue.  The bottom half was a startling lime green.  Now that Pix thought about it, the flame on his own candle seemed to burn with a faint green color.

He groaned and slid back down against the wall, staunchly refusing to look at the figure in the window.  The Copper King simply chuckled at the response.  “I’m afraid you cannot stop the visions, Pixlriffs.  You would not be the first of our kind to try.”  “Wonderful,” Pix muttered.  “Just wonderful.  You know what, it’s too late for this.  I’m not dealing with this.”

“I understand,” The Copper King said, a surprising gentleness to his voice.  “I struggled to adjust to my visions at first too.  But you do not know what an important power you have, Pixlriffs.  You do not yet know the closure and peace you are destined to bring.  But, perhaps if it helps, whenever my visions became particularly overwhelming chamomile tea always helped me to sleep.  It might help you too.  And if you really loathe my presence, I would suggest you stop sleeping with lit candles nearby, Pixlriffs.  It tends to attract our attention.”

Pix rolled his eyes, but he didn’t bother to respond.  There was silence for a moment.  Finally, The Copper King said, “Pix?  Please watch out for Joey.  He’s already had his heart broken once.  I’d hate to see it happen again.”  Then he blew out his candle, and the one on Pix’s end flickered out as well.

well, my hypothetical friend. let me tell you that

we don’t know how old pixl is other than a highly suspicious and tentative 34. we also don’t know how old that book is, where it came from, or, crucially, who wrote it. we know that kindred spirits will unite in this world just as before, and we don’t know exactly what that means but it’s a fair guess that it’s about all the emperors who have met in past lives, loved each other, fought each other, lost each other, together again.

so i propose: pixl is the author. pixl is the one seeing these things, writing out these prophecies, knowing they’ll come true. he has known for longer than he can remember that they’re coming, his friends, his enemies, both and neither- he’s seen them, he’s known and loved and fought and lost them countless times before they ever really meet.

Summary: The Keeper of the Storm was the shimmering gate of promise, granting hope in such a lifeless place. The Charge of the Storm was the rod that rung out, calling lightning to it amongst pelting rain. The Herald of the Storm was the undying light, shepherding the rolling grey to welcome back the expansive sky. The Harbinger of the Storm was the omen seen by prophets, bringing the horrid rumble of unchecked thunder. The Dominion of the Storm was the body, within which held the wrath of a typhoon and the grace of a drizzle.

The Dominion of the Storm was a gift to the desert from the gods.

Pixlriffs was a gift to The Dominion from himself.

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Or: I was really tired one night and decided to write a fic about names.

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Rating: G Word Count: 1673 Characters: Pixlriffs Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Empires SMP Setting, Mythology, Story within a Story, Legends & Folklore, Prophetic Visions, Ambiguity, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Non-Traditional Story Structure, Prophet Pixlriffs

No one knows where the Copper King came from.

There are as many theories, as many fragmented stories, as there are grains of sand in the desert, for the man who has led them into the present and will lead them into the future. There is fiction and legend and ghost story, fable and myth and fanciful lie, and, perhaps, a little bit of truth.