From Tiny Sparks Do Mighty Blazes Grow

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From Tiny Sparks Do Mighty Blazes Grow

Postby Ember » Mon Jul 09, 2007 6:46 am

(OCC: Please PM first before posting)

The forest had had many names over the years, some still lived in the memories of the nearby villagers, others were written down in the musty old libraries of lords and ladies, while the rest had been forgotten altogether. What name it was given didn’t matter to the forest though, it continued as it always had. The trees grew as best they could, the animals lived, mated, raising their young as their parents had and then dying in their time to predator or disease. What the humans did or said was unimportant, whether they called the forest Maplewyn or Oldlea or Fairley didn’t change what it was.

Night had fallen and the stars shone over head. Owls hooted their greetings to the darkness and swooped to kill whatever unfortunate furry morsel caught their keen gaze. In the deepest reaches of the forest a small campfire crackled and snapped, casting strange shadows about the glade where it had been built. Three men slept, one snoring gently, within reach of the fire. The first lay stretched out on his cloak, still wearing his loose-ringed chainmail belted at the waist. The second was curled up on his side, twitching and trembling at whatever nightmare grasped him. Their companion had been left on watch but had soon succumbed to sleep. He slept soundly against a tree trunk, head back and mouth open as he snored. He stunk of cheap alcohol, a crude flask had fallen from his hand and split its remains on the ground.

The campfire burnt lower without the man on watch to feed it further wood. By the time the sleeping men felt the chill enough to wake it would already be too late for the fire. Its time was almost over, only one thing remained left to do. It rose up suddenly, burning up much of the wood that was left to it, speeding up its end. At its height a wind seemed to catch the fire and twist it even though there was not a breeze to disturb the leaves of the nearby trees. It was almost as though the fire moved of its own will, winding and turning itself like a living creature. From the hottest part of the flames something was spat out, an impossibly white-hot ember, no bigger than the smallest finger of a child.

Once free of the fire the ember cooled rapidly to a burnished red and gold. If any of the men had woken they might have fancied that it was the shape of a person curled up on their side, a very small person to be sure, but a person nonetheless.

The fire collapsed back upon itself, lowering to small flickering flames as it feasted on the few sticks left to it. It was hungry for fuel and even though it was surrounded by trees it could reach none of them. Strange as it might seem, the campfire almost appeared to be watching the ember that it had cast out from itself.

Suddenly the ember moved, tiny arms of flame stretching out like a child woken too early from slumber. Legs too moved, tiny toes pointing away from its torso as the smallest of elementals woke to life. It sat up, its form vaguely feminine, a shock of tiny flames acting as hair. Hmmmmm? it said, holding one hand up to its ‘face’ and inspecting it. Tiny fingers wiggled and the elemental tried to jump back away from the sight before it realised that the fingers, indeed the whole hand, belonged to it.

Welcome flame of my flame the low campfire crackled.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
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Ember
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Postby Ember » Tue Jul 10, 2007 4:24 am

The newborn elemental blinked, its eyes still white-hot even after the rest of it had cooled. It tried to stand up but, unused to legs, it fell rapidly back to the ground. Puzzled, the elemental frowned and stared long and hard at the awkward limbs as if willing them to behave. After a minute of staring with no apparent success, it gave up and crawled slowly towards the campfire.

It will come with time, flame of my flame, I have seen the flesh walk with two legs many times, it does not seem too difficult.

What- It broke off suddenly as it spoke its first true word, one hand flying to its mouth as if to try and grab the sound. Everything was so new to the elemental, everything seemed so strange. It had no idea what was normal and what was not. Slowly it removed its hand from its mouth and tried to speak again, What? It grinned to itself, pleased at the new trick that it had learnt. What. What. What, It repeated to itself, bouncing up and down with pleasure.

The campfire snapped reproachfully at the elemental, silencing the tiny creature. It is a word, you will learn many of them. You will have to learn many of them to accomplish your task.

Task, it repeated the word, testing the sound of it. Task, an errand, a mission, an assignment, a project….a quest. Words seemed to be coming to it easier now, understanding following hot on their heels. It did not so much learn as remember, it was part of the flames that made up the campfire, which in turn was part of the flames that had burned brightly as a candle in a lantern. Back through time each flame had been lit from another, each flame had seen, heard, learnt from the flesh that had carried it from place to place. And what one flame had known was passed on to all others that came after it, generation after generation of fires, all carrying the knowledge of those that had come before.

Young though the little elemental was she found herself remembering the times and events of the flames that were – for lack of a better word – her ancestors. She remembered flesh sitting about a fireplace, the oldest of them relating stories of terrible creatures in the darkness. In her mind’s eye she saw flesh moving about a great stone building, a temple, while her ancestor burned and cast light onto a plain altar. The elemental remembered castles and hovels, shops, cells and a myriad of other places and times. She had, in her own way, been there too, a small portion of the fires that had burnt before.

What task? Not everything was clear yet, not all the memories of those other fires were hers. There were gaps, spaces that needed to be filled before her ‘parent’ burned out.

Listen flame of my flame and I will tell what you need to know
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
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Ember
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Posts: 6
Joined: Mon Oct 04, 2004 5:36 pm

Postby Ember » Thu Jul 12, 2007 6:56 am

This is the tale of the past, of our past. This is the story that was given to us, passed down from one generation to another. Through lines unbroken it comes to us from the distant past telling us of the heavens above and of the earth below. This is our history, it is what we are and so it is sacred, for without the past we are nothing. Listen and remember for you are but one link in the chain between the past and the future. Now I give you this tale from what has been so that you may carry it forward to those who will be.

Close your eyes...

Let go of sight, of touch, of taste. Forget the senses that bind us and simply know.

Know that we have always been.

Fall through the order, leave it all behind, all that you know is nothing, all that you know is creation and creation is deceiving. What you think you know is false, the rules that govern are not as unbreakable as the world believes, they are tumultuous as the sea, as unbindable as the desert. The time has come to throw off the shackles, to close your eyes and see the truth that your spirit has always known.

The Dreamer sleeps, drifting in dreams that shift and shape all that we experience, the Dreamer waits.


It was a strange scene if there had been any to see it. Three men slept deep in woods that had names beyond counting, oblivious to the fact that a history was being recounted by something as mundane as their campfire. How many humans would have suspected that their own fires had such potential, such history, such belief?

The fire bobbed and weaved as it told its tale to the young elemental, In the beginning there was only the endless void, the nothingness from which all comes and to which all returns in its time. There was no time, no light, no dark, there was simply the void and it was everything and nothing. The void was all that every will be and all that never will be.

The void was, and is, the Dreamer and the Dream.

All was still in the formless imaginings of the Dreamer, there was neither form nor shape, colour nor sound. This was the Possibility, the beginning of all, everything was conceivable and all that would exist, existed in that one moment. Every soul that would ever be was a part of the silent dream, every wish and hope, every thought and sensation, all were already woven into the fabric of the Possibility. Since that moment nothing has ever been 'new', every idea has already been there, just waiting for the right moment to be found and realised.

The Dreamer stirred and chaos was awoken.

What was once static and still moved, forced into change by the Dreamer's movements, echoing all that was done. From the nothingness of the Possibility the First was born, and it was Motion, it moved through the formless, unending dream. It did not know who it was, it did not know what it was, it did not acknowledge its own existence, for it was action and not self. But in being created, the First formed the Second and it was Time, for to move requires time even in that which is eternal. Now that there were two they beheld one another and the Third was born, named Self.

The dream was no longer immobile, the moment of the Possibility was at an end, never again would there be such potential. Only what then slept in the dream would ever exist, no more would be created, no less would be used. This is the only true law, the one held sacrosanct and inviolate, all that happens was destined to happen, it cannot be avoided or turned aside for it has waited to occur since before the beginning of all things. Only when the Three were called into existence did possibility end and reality begin.

These three, Motion, Time and Self, were the true children of the Dreamer. They looked upon the reality that they had caused to be and grew jealous of it, knowing that if the Dreamer were ever to wake that it would all end. So they bound the Dreamer, dividing His body from His soul.

The soul they took and they set it at the very edges of the Dream. Look up, flame of my flame, see the stars, they are the lights of the bindings that hold the Dreamer. Feel the earth beneath you, it shifts and moves. In the seas beyond this place the waves crash and toil. When the stars dance in the sky it is the Dreamer that moves, shifting in His chains even though He sleeps. When the earth rumbles and breaks it is the Dreamer. When the oceans boil and churn it is Him, it is all Him. Beneath us and above us the Dreamer’s soul is imprisoned.

When His soul was bound the children of the Dreamer took to his flesh. From His lungs they created the air, from His blood they created water, from his skin they formed the earth.


The tiny elemental broke in suddenly as the memories of all its predecessors fed the tale to it. And we…we were formed from His heart.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
User avatar
Ember
Stablehand
 
Posts: 6
Joined: Mon Oct 04, 2004 5:36 pm


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