The Chosen of Zephyr (Solo)

In the town of Lermain, on the island of Pietá, in the Kingdom of Qaddisa, there is a temple. It is a temple to the four main religious figures in Zephyrian myth, those being Zephyr, Dinja, Solara, and Lume. Among the priests and the monks, and the downtrodden and sick whom they cared for, lived a young man named Tarbi.

It was just before midnight when Father Vidar fetched Tarbi from his room. The two marched through the halls, a motley little crew: a rosy-cheeked teen and a cold-eyed former holy warrior turned priest. Ragged, hacking coughs echoed through the halls and the air was hazy with the faint smell of smoke from the crematorium; plague had ravaged the island for the last several weeks.

As the two passed the packed infirmary, the door opened and two priests exited holding a long canvas-wrapped object. Through the briefly opened door, Tarbi could see beds packed with pale, ashen figures and the masked clergy-people taking care of them, attempting to cure them. The two bowed their masked heads, “Father.” Though Tarbi could not see the mens’ faces, their body language spoke of their grief and exhaustion.

Vidar returned the quiet salute and said, “Brothers. Another? They are the thirty-fourth in the last tenday. Take him to the crematorium, give him his rites and send him on to the next life. Then, brothers, get some sleep. I will send for replacements. You have done good, you may rest easy.”

As the two shuffled away, their morbid cargo still held between them, Vidar quietly spoke his mind to his young companion. The fire behind his eyes formerly seen in battle rekindled. “What have we done to deserve this plague? The men and women in that room have done no thing that is not acceptable or have repented for their transgressions against the gods. If it be an issue of faith, may the gods give unto me a deadly malady in the place of them. Perhaps Lume will reveal how to save them to you, Brother Tarbi.”

Tarbi nodded, “I hope so as well, Father.”

Vidar took him through the temple’s countless halls to one of the most important spaces in the building. Or rather, outside of it; a small courtyard open to the moon which now hung full and brilliantly white overhead. And Tarbi was commanded to sit in the grass there.

“Brother Tarbi, as you know, today is your eighteenth birthday. And on every young person’s eighteenth birthday, they will try to commune with the gods. This will help you on your divine journey through your life as you enter adulthood.” He paused and stroked his long, graying beard. “It is maddening to think it has been sixteen years since you arrived on our doorstep. I have no doubt Lume will speak to you, Brother. I will come and fetch you in the morning. Bread and water are in that basket if you need them. Are you ready, Tarbi?”

“Father Vidar, I am ready. May Lume’s light guide me in my meditations.” Tarbi kneeled and placed his hands on his knees.

Father Vidar bowed and Tarbi returned it, “And Lume shall guide you. We will be waiting for you, Tarbi. Allat ikunu miegħek.” * The old warrior turned priest and closed the door behind him as he walked out. With a click the only way back into the temple was locked until daybreak.

Nyx
Plane of Shadow

In the Plane of Shadows, there lives a dark god. Nyx, God of darkness, deception, manipulation, and destruction. Among the legions of demons, abominations, and mutant races that call the Shadows home is a dark castle. Within lives an aspect of the evil god Nyx.

Nyx was preoccupied with commanding his armies along the front against the celestial hordes sent to assault his domain by that foul pretender, Zephyr, when a demonic commander approached his aspect within the tower. Nyx could taste his fear in the air as his swirling, black misty spirit fluttered around the devil. He coalesced before the infernal being, towering over him, robes fluttering in the wind and eyes aglow with the fires of the sun he so desperately wanted. “Speak, General Pyrlok, before I consume thee. It is not often I get the pleasure to sense the fear of an arch devil.”

The demonic general quickly prostrated himself before uttering, “Salroth’s forces rally among our own, my lord. With these reinforcements we shall surely be able to break through the pretender pantheon’s lines. We will have collaborators when we enter the material plane, correct, my lord?”

“Yes. It is so. The corruption of the souls has festered so deep not even the pretender Zephyr can resolve its full extent. I will come to a chosen few tonight to issue forth fake prophecies to them. Riches beyond imagination. They will do the searching for us. The Shadowed One will rise once more and a new era will reign.”



*Gods be with you

Tarbi.

The voice flowed like silk across Tarbi’s mind. Both heard and unheard. He had been in meditation for what seemed only moments. Was this a god calling to him?

Awaken, Tarbi. Open your eyes.

Tarbi hesitantly opened his eyes as the voice’s silvery prose had instructed him to. To his surprise, he found himself not in the familiar courtyard of the temple, rather he seemed to be floating in the night sky. But something was amiss, the constellations were just slightly off, the sky was not its usual velvety black. It was as if it was an imperfect recreation, too perfect, like a dream. Tarbi nervously searched his surroundings for something, anything to anchor himself to. Was this a dream? A nightmare? Something worse?

His attention was grabbed by a dark spot on the horizon. Or perhaps it was right in front of him. Tarbi couldn’t really tell. The spot rapidly fluctuated in size and shape, its shape and color shifting subtly as Tarbi watched it. Slowly it formed itself into some sort of figure, like a clay doll shaped by a toddler. Its body slim and proportioned just subtly wrongly, cloaked in some white garment that flowed as if submerged underwater. Tarbi found it hard to tell where the figure ended and the space began. Its face could not be discerned, or even if it had a head. The longer he looked at it, the more Tarbi was unsure about anything he was seeing.

“What?” Tarbi muttered, almost unmeaningly. The figure finally seemed to take notice of the young man that seemed to have invaded its space.

Tarbi. I’ve been waiting for you. The form seemed to float nearer, finally taking the shape of what could be a man, though its head remained wreathed in some sort of energy and unseen. There is no reason to be afraid, Tarbi. I am here to talk to you as a friend.

“What are you?” Tarbi asked, his voice trembling.

I think you know the answer to that. I am a messenger.

Tarbi tried to regain his composure as he was faced with the realization that he was talking to the God of Prophecy himself. “Lume.”

Yes.

Tarbi had the sudden urge to prostrate himself before the entity he had worshiped since before he could remember, but he could not as there was no floor. He settled for trying his best not to embarrass himself. “What has the Lord Zephyr seen fit to communicate with me, oh great Lume, messenger of the gods?”

Champion of the Divine, hear my decree. The time has come for you, chosen among mortals, to embark on a sacred quest. The mantle of responsibility falls upon your shoulders as you are destined to purge the halls of power tainted by darkness. Root out the shadows that have entrenched themselves within your country's leadership, for corruption festers where virtue should reign.

But your mission extends beyond the temporal realm; the sacred halls of worship must also be reborn. Reform the hallowed institution that bears the name of the divine, cleansing it of intolerance and embracing the spirit of compassion. Let tolerance be the cornerstone, and understanding be the mortar that rebuilds the Church.

Go forth, our Chosen One, with the divine light guiding your path. The fate of your land rests on your unwavering shoulders. May your resolve be unyielding, and may justice and benevolence be your guiding principles.

“What?” Tarbi asked, still detangling the yarn the god of prophecy had just spun.

Go, Tarbi. You are the Chosen of Zephyr.

And as suddenly as Tarbi as Tarbi had found himself in Lume’s dreamscape, he found himself doused in a cold sweat and laying shivering in the grass back in the temple’s courtyard.

The thick rays of the morning sun illuminated the sticky morning dew as Tarbi lay there in the grass. The leaves of an old pine swayed lazily in the breeze. A beautiful mural compared to the inner turmoil that boiled within Tarbi. While the prophecy issued by Lume had seemingly branded itself to his brain matter, his head swam like he had been hit in the head with a bat. The door into the court creaked itself open and Father Vidar stuck his wrinkled face through the crack. “Tarbi,” he hissed, “are you awake?”

Sitting up and rubbing his head, Tarbi replied, “I think so, Father Vidar.”

The elder priest approached with careful steps across the grass and helped Tarbi to his feet. His eyes glimmered with an unfamiliar curiosity, “You saw him didn’t you?” I can see it in your face.” Vidar saw the look of confusion on Tarbi’s face and a twinge of concern entered his face. “Was it about the plague?”

“It… wasn’t.” An expression of profound worry spread across Tarbi’s expression as the importance of the prophecy he had been given began to sink in. “It was so much more.”

A look of concern had now firmly planted itself upon Vidar’s scrunched brow “We have much to discuss, Tarbi. Come.” Vidar led Tarbi back through the winding halls. The fetid stench of the crematorium and the hospital had begun in earnest as the morning shifts took to their jobs. As they approached the door to the infirmary, Tarbi felt something pulling on his mind, urging him to enter.

Heal them

The voice echoed through Tarbi’s skull like one thousand singers. Tarbi almost bent over from the nausea it brought on. It was Lume. It had to be. But Lume only spoke to mortals through prophecies, Tarbi thought. His feet moved without his conscious input towards the foot to the infirmary. “What are you doing, Tarbi?” Vidar said, the faintest droplets of distress leaking into his otherwise gruff voice.

“He’s telling me to heal them.” Tarbi replied, now sure of his actions. This was what he was made to do. Lume had told him to rid the world of corruption, was this what he had meant? He pushed open the door. The scene presented before him was something out of his nightmares. The infirmary was filled with men and women laying on cots, ashen and pocked lay coughing in beds lining the walls. A half dozen priests clad in thick, black, oily robes and whose faces were obscured behind wetted cloth masks as they tended to the sick and dying. And Tarbi knew that the dying would be dead if he did not intervene.

Vidar’s thick hand grabbed Tarbi’s slim shoulder and spun him around in the doorway. The concern was now written across the elder priest’s face in big bold letters. A slight waver had crept into his voice, “Tarbi what in the gods names do you think you are doing?”

“I can help them, Father Vidar.” He glanced over his shoulder. The man nearest him stared at him with glassy eyes. “I can heal them. The gods are telling me to heal them.”

Vidar guided Tarbi’s face back towards his own. For an old giant of a man he was surprisingly delicate and dexterous. “Tarbi, child, the gods tend not to speak with us. Let the brothers do their job. There is nothing you can do for these people.”

Tarbi removed the Father’s hand from his face and held it in front of him for a second. “I’m sorry, Father Vidar. I have to do this.” Before Vidar could utter a protest, Tarbi let go of the elder’s hand, turned, and ran to the nearest man. Quickly placing his hands upon the sick man’s chest, he did his best to ignore the repulsiveness of his actions. The man’s skin was uncomfortably warm.

A cool, tingling feeling spread through Tarbi’s hands. He watched as his hands began to glow a radiant silvery color. The glow emanated out from his fingers and spread over the ill man’s chest. Everywhere the light touched seemed to regain its color and the pox disappeared from his skin. As the glow reached his head the man’s eyes regained their focus, his formerly cavernous cheeks returning to their usual fullness. Tarbi felt Vidar’s presence next to him as the glow faded. “Tarbi… how did you do that?” Vidar’s voice was one full of concerned curiosity.

Tarbi was almost as surprised as Vidar was at his newfound skill. “I told you. The gods told me to heal them.”

“Then do as the gods ask of you, Tarbi.”