"Even the most fickle are faithful to a few bad habits." Mason Cooley
The Gods seldom explained themselves. This Aneira knew as she peered out the small carriage window at the ever darkening sky. In the distance the growl warned of the coming maelstrom while spikes of light danced within the layers of heaven. Her traveling companions grumbled but she paid little mind to the words. It had been much the same since they had left from Wickenbriar a few days hence and she cared nothing for what they were saying. Such manufactured misery no longer could even stir up an inkling of pity from her anymore.
In the growing gusts of wind that battered the side of the conveyance Aneira thought she heard the Moirai laughing. Their humor always spilled forth when they started to toy with the fates of others. Yet, she knew only one would fall victim to their machinations. She had seen it more than once. In small basins of water and in cups of black tea, she found images dancing in black mired puddles and in ripples of lakes and streams, in the blaze of fire and in the dull ember glow of the hearth she had seen. Indeed she had felt them coming ever closer.
She knew not what they wished of her but she was wise enough to realize she could not escape. Those that ran from what was to be, ended up paying a heavy price and sadly, Aneira had not the right kind of coin to pay. No, she had to accept this path before continuing on her journey, thus here she sat, waiting for the crack of sound and the faltering of horses. The Vision was as very clear as it should be, having haunted her for weeks.
Often such sights were not for herself. She saw nameless faces and heard unknown songs in the smoke and shadows of dusk. On high the ravens call brought her understanding, but this time she only heard one thing from the winged messengers. "Go forth!" they cried, before fading into the night.
Nothing kept her tethered to the home of her childhood. Her brother had absconded years before to find glory in some war across the great span of water and she suspected he had forgotten as soldiers were want to do. Her mother had departed to the Beyond, and now resided with the Gods leaving her to find her own way. So when the Moirai had started to sing, she fell under their spell and soon became a gypsy vagabond, a weary traveler, wandering from realm to region searching for the sign of her prophetic foretelling.
(To Be Continued:) Definition of "Moirai" means Fates.
The Gods seldom explained themselves. This Aneira knew as she peered out the small carriage window at the ever darkening sky. In the distance the growl warned of the coming maelstrom while spikes of light danced within the layers of heaven. Her traveling companions grumbled but she paid little mind to the words. It had been much the same since they had left from Wickenbriar a few days hence and she cared nothing for what they were saying. Such manufactured misery no longer could even stir up an inkling of pity from her anymore.
In the growing gusts of wind that battered the side of the conveyance Aneira thought she heard the Moirai laughing. Their humor always spilled forth when they started to toy with the fates of others. Yet, she knew only one would fall victim to their machinations. She had seen it more than once. In small basins of water and in cups of black tea, she found images dancing in black mired puddles and in ripples of lakes and streams, in the blaze of fire and in the dull ember glow of the hearth she had seen. Indeed she had felt them coming ever closer.
She knew not what they wished of her but she was wise enough to realize she could not escape. Those that ran from what was to be, ended up paying a heavy price and sadly, Aneira had not the right kind of coin to pay. No, she had to accept this path before continuing on her journey, thus here she sat, waiting for the crack of sound and the faltering of horses. The Vision was as very clear as it should be, having haunted her for weeks.
Often such sights were not for herself. She saw nameless faces and heard unknown songs in the smoke and shadows of dusk. On high the ravens call brought her understanding, but this time she only heard one thing from the winged messengers. "Go forth!" they cried, before fading into the night.
Nothing kept her tethered to the home of her childhood. Her brother had absconded years before to find glory in some war across the great span of water and she suspected he had forgotten as soldiers were want to do. Her mother had departed to the Beyond, and now resided with the Gods leaving her to find her own way. So when the Moirai had started to sing, she fell under their spell and soon became a gypsy vagabond, a weary traveler, wandering from realm to region searching for the sign of her prophetic foretelling.
(To Be Continued:) Definition of "Moirai" means Fates.