Purpose
CLANG. Breath. CLANG. Breath. CLANG.Â
Each strike of the smithâs hammer saw Shaedoril breath out, more for the sake of practiced repetition than breathing heavily. It was what calmed him. The rhythmic crash of the hammer against the anvil as metals were shaped. Out in the world, that ego driven big personality of his always shone brightly. Perhaps genuinely, perhaps to numb him to the world. Keep all but his closest friends and family at arms length. In reality, it was some combination of the two.
Today though, he was alone in the forge of Sundown, no one to see as he relentlessly drove the hammer against the moonsteel on the anvil. Only days prior had he learned of a way to reach the Maw. A way to find a fragment of his motherâs soul. Heâd been filled with rage in the moment, not for the need to rush off. Rather for the fact others kept making choices for him.
CLANG.
Breath.
CLANG.
Breath.
CLANG.
Heâd had it out with Aydri, in a heated argument spurred on by the unending fog that plagued the harbor. Each strike of the hammer was a curse in his mind on the gods that caused it, the so called âSistersâ. His wife had suffered nothing but pain and anguish at the hands of a god like them and then here he was, finding out many people around him pledged to such things. âBenevolentâ gods, âgiftingâ power but always at a price. He could feel his rage boiling again.
CLANG.
Breath.
CLANG.
Breath.
CLANG.
He didnât need gods. No one needed gods, in his opinion. He made himself strong and so could everyone else. At the end of the day, he answered only to himself on a cosmic scale. Which was just fine by him. The fucking fog though, that shit had been old after the first day or two. He hadnât seen the sun in nearly two weeks. Fuck gods and their games. Aydri, Eilithe, Reveria, whoever else. They could have them. Fuck the-
CLA-
The hammer struck at empty air suddenly, leaving Shaedoril to stumble forward a step or two. A step or two he shouldnât have been able to take, with the forge in the way. Darting his golden eye around, he suddenly stood up straight. The place he now stood was not the forge. It was unlike the forge in any regard. An endless plane of still water, reaching off into the infinite which was a dark, star filled sky. Nebulae swirled in dark yet somehow vibrant colors, the flickering lights deep within them hinting at the immense shape of an upside down pyramid.
Just as he was about to find the downward peak, a blinding flash of light scorched the dark. In its wake, a figure hung in the air, brilliant white with a hooded visage and robes that hung in masterfully sewn strips about the figure. It seemed feminine, yet not. Arms extended outwards, hands held palm up. The distinct feeling of a gaze out of time and with ancient intent fell upon him, as the hooded figure looked to Shaedoril.
His hand tightened on the hammer, not that it would be of any use. He had no idea where he was and this thing was but a memory of years past, itching at his mind to recall the circumstances. The entity floated closer, hovering about ten feet over the surface of the watery plane. Perhaps another ten from Shaedoril. There was no breeze, yet the straps of its robe still seemed to blow in one.
âWe have been watching you, elilâdura.â
The voice was feminine, yet there was the sound of other voices at the edges. LIke many spoke at once but one spoke louder. The itch of familiarity was like a rash on his brain, something he could feel but couldnât do anything about.
âOh yea? Whyâs that? You gods taking an interest in olâ Shaeshine after all this time?â
His arms spread, as if to show his sarcasm even more clearly. His lone eye stayed locked on the entity, which seemed to have little in the way of strong reactions.
âWe do not require your belief, elilâdura. You have seen the signs yet choose not to believe. The fact you carry the coin still is enough. The many faces will align and you will find yourself in the depths of despair. Use those faces. Save what you seek and free those that cannot free themselves.â
Shaedoril stared blankly at the entity for a time, as if aghast that such a thing would just⊠Expect him to do something. One hand sat upon his hip, the other holding the hammer to gesture about.Â
âOh is that all? Anythinâ else I can do for ya while Iâm at it? Pick up the groceries? Get the dry cleaninâ?â
The stars twisted and turned over the waters, like a portion of the night sky coiled and warped the reality of the place. A serpent, made of the heavens coiled and lay still off to the side.
âEven after she is saved, your purpose is yet unfulfilled. Remember the faces.â
Throwing his arms wide, Shaedoril went on in a demanding tone.
âPurpose?! What purp-..â
CLANG.
Breath.Â
Shaedoril blinked, warily peering around with his amber eye, as the smells and sounds of the forge once more made themselves known. Gone was the strange landscape. Gone was the entity that itched at the back of his mind. Gone was everythi-...
He drew the hammer aside and where the blade he had been working on should have been, was instead the coin. That many faced, ever changing coin. Untarnished even by the strike he had thrown a mere moment ago. The face that haunted him showed. The face he never understood. An upside down pyramid. Â
