05-22-2018, 01:25 AM
“Oh?” Luci said with an eager gleam in her fluorescent eyes, “Sounds juicy! What is it?”
The Sage opened his mouth to answer, but said nothing, and after a time closed it again. Luci gave him a look and raised a hand towards the gate behind her. The Sage sighed in defeat and motioned her to wait.
“Every person must have purpose if they are to achieve anything of worth in life. Some seek power, and amass armies to their beckon call. Others seek wealth, and hoard great vaults of gold and jewels within nets of locks. Yet others seek knowledges and steal secrets away from the world’s learning, to be bartered and traded for still more secrets.”
The Sage walked past Luci and rested a hand on the smooth metal of the gate.
“I covet all of these, as do you, as does any man. Yet I do not seek them. They are tools towards the same goal. The colors with which we deface the canvas of our history.” His back was still to Luci, and he idly tapped a rhythm on the metal as he spoke. She almost couldn’t tell if he was talking to himself at this point.
“It is the story that matters in the end. The defiant warrior standing down a thousand foes dies in vain without the skald to tell his story. The doctor who cures ailments without reward is vindicated in the tales her patients spin of her miracles. The merchant prince who secures peace for his people at the cost of his coffers serves himself well only if the peace is acknowledged in chronicle.”
“History and story, the ingredients of legend.” The Sage said simply, turning back to face Luci, his astral key spinning between his fingers like a coin. Luci’s eyes tracked the key with an unnerving hunger.
“You didn’t answer what’s in there though.” She pointed out, still focused on the key.
“I know.” The Sage responds, “But I’m not going to. The contents are… less important than their part in the story anyway. Think about it.” He stopped twirling the key and spread the hand wide. To Luci’s dismay the hey had vanished again.
“After many trials, fears and conquests, we have reached the very core of my mindscape. Beyond those gates could well be my very soul itself. Where else would one expect to find such an article as an astral key?” Luci looked at him incredulously.
“You cheeky bastard! You had it the whole time!” she exclaimed, though the outrage was mostly good natured. The Sage did not deny the accusation, producing the key and a book from within his robes.
“Unless I am even more a daft old fool than I believe, you are on a course into darker waters than you have hither to plumbed. I cannot stop your story, but I can help you to properly record it. When you lose track of where is now and how is next, it may serve as a map of sorts.”
Luci took the book absently, her gaze focused on the silver key, now attacked to a thin copper chain. The key caught the light of her reflection and cast rainbows on the clouds. She glanced back at the Sage briefly.
“That’s not your soul in there.” It was a statement more than a question. The Sage gave her a pained look, but shook his head.
“No. The real stories in life are never that simple, I’m afraid.” He pointed towards the key she now held, “Who will be the next host of your Icarian flight, Chapel eyes? The demon or the madman?”
The Sage opened his mouth to answer, but said nothing, and after a time closed it again. Luci gave him a look and raised a hand towards the gate behind her. The Sage sighed in defeat and motioned her to wait.
“Every person must have purpose if they are to achieve anything of worth in life. Some seek power, and amass armies to their beckon call. Others seek wealth, and hoard great vaults of gold and jewels within nets of locks. Yet others seek knowledges and steal secrets away from the world’s learning, to be bartered and traded for still more secrets.”
The Sage walked past Luci and rested a hand on the smooth metal of the gate.
“I covet all of these, as do you, as does any man. Yet I do not seek them. They are tools towards the same goal. The colors with which we deface the canvas of our history.” His back was still to Luci, and he idly tapped a rhythm on the metal as he spoke. She almost couldn’t tell if he was talking to himself at this point.
“It is the story that matters in the end. The defiant warrior standing down a thousand foes dies in vain without the skald to tell his story. The doctor who cures ailments without reward is vindicated in the tales her patients spin of her miracles. The merchant prince who secures peace for his people at the cost of his coffers serves himself well only if the peace is acknowledged in chronicle.”
“History and story, the ingredients of legend.” The Sage said simply, turning back to face Luci, his astral key spinning between his fingers like a coin. Luci’s eyes tracked the key with an unnerving hunger.
“You didn’t answer what’s in there though.” She pointed out, still focused on the key.
“I know.” The Sage responds, “But I’m not going to. The contents are… less important than their part in the story anyway. Think about it.” He stopped twirling the key and spread the hand wide. To Luci’s dismay the hey had vanished again.
“After many trials, fears and conquests, we have reached the very core of my mindscape. Beyond those gates could well be my very soul itself. Where else would one expect to find such an article as an astral key?” Luci looked at him incredulously.
“You cheeky bastard! You had it the whole time!” she exclaimed, though the outrage was mostly good natured. The Sage did not deny the accusation, producing the key and a book from within his robes.
“Unless I am even more a daft old fool than I believe, you are on a course into darker waters than you have hither to plumbed. I cannot stop your story, but I can help you to properly record it. When you lose track of where is now and how is next, it may serve as a map of sorts.”
Luci took the book absently, her gaze focused on the silver key, now attacked to a thin copper chain. The key caught the light of her reflection and cast rainbows on the clouds. She glanced back at the Sage briefly.
“That’s not your soul in there.” It was a statement more than a question. The Sage gave her a pained look, but shook his head.
“No. The real stories in life are never that simple, I’m afraid.” He pointed towards the key she now held, “Who will be the next host of your Icarian flight, Chapel eyes? The demon or the madman?”
If history is to become legend, it first must be recorded.