Chapter 1: A Curse . A Dream

_____The Curse_____

Sadness can become the deepest of emotions. Irvon had somehow gone beyond sadness, though. He reached its bottom, on the breach of madness. Irvon reached the bottom and somehow found the courage to break through that sheet of ice and into the cold abyss that lie beyond. Hope once remained somewhere inside him. Thousands of years ago, maybe. Hope, like a tiny ember surrounded by darkness of despair. Now hope was a word used by those who still had something to live for: the love or acceptance of others, dependence, goals and trials, maybe even the joy found in being alive. Irvon no longer held those things. Instead a curse imprisoned him, one that lasted in the perception of man as “damn near forever.” Death would not claim him as his unfinished business would incur the wrath of his goddess. Elves, after all, were created ageless during the dawn of the Second Age, so time refused to claim him also. He roamed aimlessly around the world as if he was dreaming. As if he were in an endless nightmare. A sea of hazy memories: the rise and fall of nations, the changing of tides and the rising of mountains. Yet the things of this world paled in comparison to the penance of his sin. What he had done could never be forgiven. Nor could his pain and despair do anything but fall ever deeper into oblivion.

For a short period, feeling the pangs of exile, Irvon found companionship with the human race. Maybe he could find redemption yet. In the second age the gods of this world took it upon themselves to extract their own judgements, punishments, and revenge upon each other. The price of violence against their own soon became evident though. Eventually, in a collective effort, they created the humans whom they used like game pieces in attempts to avoid further casualty among the divine. The Third Age began, and humankind was but a plaything to the gods. Irvon found a connection with this b*****d race. During the wars that followed in the Third Age, he took opportunity of assisting the humans. He had hoped that this would push the pain of his sin and exile out of his mind but as time carried on his torment only grew deeper, darker, inside him. Silently consumed him like a cancer until he could no longer handle the weight of his burden. Pain, death, and sadness reigned supreme outside the sanctuary of his goddess.

Irvon eventually stopped wandering around this… nightmare world. Deciding that going someplace, but nowhere in particular, had surpassed uselessness; Irvon finally sat upon a stone in a land that once had many names and would surely continue to do so. It was but a vast field when he first arrived. The sight of a once great massacre during the setting of the Third Age. The gods finally decided to leave man to their own demise. Humankind left the blood-marred fields and began creating a world of their own. The field he first paused in was, at the time, called Hegarom, after the god that fell there. Those that followed Hegarom called that land sacred, those that opposed him called it blighted. Either way, Irvon finally found haven for his brooding depression. He sat upon a rock in the middle of the field and he allowed the darkness to finally envelope him. He did not eat, he did not drink, eventually even his breathing slowed to practically naught. His eyes remained open but he fell so deep into himself that he was living in a constant dream of abysmal despair. There the world continued to move on around him, apathetic of his self-deprived behavior. And still, the world continued to move on until the god Hegarom was more myth than reality. The true apathy of time now claimed his field as the township of Haveran. Irvon remained on his rock. And though human and the like knew of his presence they built folklore around him as the town took shape. None dare disturb him, elves were not so active a race during the Third Age and in the dawning of the Fourth Age (the Age of Man), elven folk became most scarce. There was much mystery and wonder birthed in the minds of the humans that soon called Haveran their home: this solitary elf, what could only be seen to most as an ‘ancient child’, perched upon a rock in the middle of what once was a field and now a busy town square. Never once moving, even to breathe, yet still living. A living statue of an enigmatic race mostly forgotten. Houses were built; farms, schools, markets, temples, prisons. Babies were born, elders passed on. Haveran prospered in respects to its surrounding townships. They soon made celebration of their fruitfulness (pomposity and festivity being very favored behaviors of mankind). Irvon became the center of the townsfolk positive superstitions; dare say, some fearful ones even. Irvon remained seated, the face of a tween with a golden-brown beard that ran twice his height. What once could have been called clothing was now cloth-like dustings. His body like a malnourished child with knees against his chest. Coal black eyes that stared off, unblinking, beyond the mortal vale. Pressed between his legs and his chest a box he had crafted those many ages ago; a box that contained the product of his sin. The bones of his apprentice, Ubis.

_____The Dream_____

Irvon knew he was dreaming and cared not for how long. The dream was always the same, the only thing that ever changed was the severity of its pain. Ninuea, his mother… his goddess, arrived the moment of Irvon and Ubis’ transgression; taking only fractions of a second for her anger to manifest. Ubis lay limp in his Master’s arms. Not injured, not damaged, not dead. Undead. He weakly moved his fingers, hands, arms and legs. His mouth lay wide open, his tongue rolling around in it; his jaw sometimes closing and opening wide again as if trying to form speech. And his… eyes. Blank, empty, Rhunless eyes… Elves were never created to cry but Irvon’s body ached all over from the growing guilt of what had just been done. What he was unable to have done for his dear friend… his apprentice, Ubis.

It should have worked! We had it all formulated without doubt… There was no remainder for errors… yet…  

Yet they had failed. He had failed, yet unaware of the dreadful repercussions to soon follow. Ninuea Goddess of the forests and all its wonders. The Fourth of the Mighty Seven that remained to make this world their own. But her manifestation was not one of tranquility and love, as were the only two actions any thought her capable of. Particles of the air around him took on a ‘thicker’ form. A presence of warmth on the edge of heat, static energy causing every part of his being to vibrate. The trees, though rooted deep, seemed to try and bend away from Ninuea’s presence; cowering in fear as if they were the ones who failed her. All the living things she had created, all that adored her very name, fled in terror of this wrath they never dreamed would come from their mother. Yet the wrath was surely present, it almost superseded its wielder. Her voice, nay, the cacophony of her displeasure inhabited his mind. So strong, so loud it did not ring into his ears but between them!

“I would ask what you have done but we both know the answer! I would ask you why but we know this as well. No proper excuse can be conjured by your deceitful tongue. If you were not of my own being I would know you as my enemy. Though I were absent for some time you always knew you were not forsaken. Yet you have forsaken me, all of mine. My children were never made to be broken, especially not by the hands of their own. Ubis was my vessel, he contained a part of what I once held as my own, as do you.

“Vessels and Livings Ones stand familiar: Its sole purpose to contain, to hold, To be filled. The eternal ocean of energy knows no boundary, calls to vessels of all kinds to be brimmed; then emptied. It is called Rhun. In birth of a new vessel, Rhun is present. Something infinite becomes individual. An individual that creates and destroys to its own means. And when its path of conception and annihilation comes to an end, Rhun evacuates. Like a clay jug of water is poured into the ocean, Rhun returns unto itself. One cannot simply dip the jug back into the ocean and expect its original contents to be preserved.

I tell you now, child, the quest you are now set upon is truly a curse. Return to the ocean with my vessel, which you have broken. Return to Rhun and bring me back what is mine. Baptize my empty pot and bring back to me what you have so recklessly poured out. You are not welcome into my bosom until you have done this. You will wander out of my blessed lands, forever burdened by sins you have committed against your own, to yourself, to your creator. Until you have fetched for me that which you so carelessly threw away you shall not know the faces of your kin; shall no longer know the love I have gifted you for so long.”

Before Irvon could plea. Before he could explain to her what had happened, what they had tried to accomplish, to apologize for his transgression, the seeds of fear and despair became planted deep within him. New emotions he had never known to exist. The pain ran deeper than any injury he had ever taken. He crumpled over Ubis, paralyzed in pain.

“Now, be gone from me sinful one! Be gone!”

A final blast of mentally searing heat and electricity overcame him. Irvon clasped his eyes shut. It was only in his mind, yet every part of him burned, as if submerged in boiling oil. He cried out in torment and pain. As Ninuea’s anger blasted towards him, ever stronger, she felt more distant to him than ever. He shut his eyes even tighter. He tried to scream, tried to protest, to apologize. An elf's first ever attempt to cry out in agony. But he was now completely overwhelmed by the goddess’s final touch upon him. Not a blessing of love and acceptance but a searing boundless curse of hatred and disappointment.

Then the dream ends in darkness. Irvon, surrounded once again by the fortress of disparity he had created. There he would remain until he decided to live the moment once again as if to somehow bring himself atonement.

“No!” A voice boomed from the darkness “Stop this insanity now, Elfkind! I have finally found the reason for my troubled slumber and I command you to stop this instant!”

Irvon was gobsmacked. This was not his normal self-deprived cycle occurring. Something, someone was trying to contact him. But why? Who would be tormented by his own pain?

“I… I don’t understand…” he started.

“I do not ask you to understand, speck! I ask of you, NAY, BEG of you to halt your inclement nightmares for my sake! Never have I lived to dream of being tormented so by any of creation.”

Then something happened that Irvon never planned to be part of his nightmare: The darkness parted, light blinded his atrophied dream eyes. He lifted up hands to protect the sight he forgot he ever had. And when hands finally lowered Irvon stood amazed by the sight before him:

A Serpent took up his entire perception. Instead of darkness he stood suspended, surrounded, by… An Auroral Snake! One with the length of itself immeasurable. Crystalline scales weaved in and out of each other. As Irvon began to look around he was unable to track an end to this creature, it took up his vision from all directions!

“Over here,” the booming voice directed, “look upon me and I will share with you the remedy to both our troubles.”

Irvon could not believe his eyes. He was surely still dreaming. The size of the Auroral serpent was monstrous. A feathered mane shimmered in a rainbow variety of colors from a light that seemed to have no source. It’s five eyes were like deep pools of the bluest sky and were placed as if each one were the point on a star upon its forehead. It’s forked tongue dangled from gaped mouth, fangs protruded like tipped ivory towers.

“Do not be frightened,” the disembodied voice came from the serpent’s direction, “I will only be thy enemy if you refuse to comply with my request, godling. I am the Dream Serpent, once known as Ikalpani. Created by a god in the First Age of this planet. A god whom has long left this world for others and, itself, forgotten of his time spent here. I was given dominion not only over dreaming but bringing those dreams into the realm of reality. Your quest, your… curse, is infinitesimal to my powers. If you desire to accomplish the impossible I am here to offer you the chance. You need only to find me and I will make it so.”

“Where… where can I find you? Where have you been all of this time?” Irvon started.

“That is a question harder to answer than to ask. I tell you now. I remain somewhere, alive on your world, but I slumber. I have never known your world in waking since my creation; therefore I have never known my true place in this waking dimension. But I implore you, upon my own honor, favor me. Find my waking body and present to me your true desire. It shall come to pass. Your pain has reached deeper than any living dreamer I have ever known since my creation. It has disturbed my own dreams, nightmares that bring feelings of deepest sadness into my very Rhun. Awaken now, sad one, awaken and free us both from the curse set upon you. Awaken!”