#every time i watch it i say ‘WHAT THE HELL DOFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE WHAT WEAPON WE USE’ with sledge like its a line in the song

[webgottism]

the pacific ‘where is my mind?’ edit by who cares on youtube is literally my cocomelon. me when the beats of the song match up with mortars going off in the sand: i’m going to watch this every day of my life now

[pumahat]

The End of Eternity.

The first chapter to a story I am writing. Please Enjoy.

I hate executions. Simple as that.

              Walking down The Grand Basilica’s Western Hallway, Doffer Mao pondered, By the all the gods out there, why does this hallway have to be so long? Maybe there was a point in it, the agonizingly long walk did seem to give prisoners enough time to reflect on their ‘sins’ as they were led past dozens of paintings and statues depicting the ‘glory’ of the Mages. It very well could be the case, but as the Grand Mage of fifteen years, it’s unlikely Mao would ever know what went through the minds of those soon to be purified. Then again, Mao realized, this was a hallway exclusive to master mages.

                After some time admiring the ancient masterpieces of the western hallway, Mao finally approached the large ebony doors at the end of the road. He smirked. And I shall look upon them and dub ‘The Black Gates of Death’. Knocking four times, Mao patiently waited for the doormen to let him into the chamber. Four minutes of dull silence was broken by the soft groaning of the ancient doors. The doors; ancient and still strong, fifteen feet tall, each five feet in width, and five inches of solid ebony wood; masterpieces in their own respect. Although not ornately designed like the rest of the Basilica, the doors held an ominous, almost demonic aura to them. Pitch black doors leading to hell.

Mao remembering his history lessons from decades ago, knew that the wood for the doors were taken from the oldest and largest of the ebony trees of Gods Grave to the east. The cutting of these trees was blasphemy at the highest level to the ‘pagans’ who worshipped the old gods of nature, but a fitting symbol of domination from the heavily Heratik[1] Mages Guild. Even after witnessing these doors open more times than he can count, it was always astonishing to watch the three men it took to open each door, and even then, the process was slow.

                “My dearest apologies for the wait, Grand Mage.” huffed the shortest of the young apprentices in charge of manning the doors. From the nervousness of the apprentices’ face, Mao assumed that he was new, not used to approaching the grand mage.

                “Nonsense child. You’ve done your job as was instructed,” He paused before adding: “Next time you’ll be a bit faster, yes?” as he passed the apprentice, Mao placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder and strutted past, glancing at the expectedly stunned face nodding back at him. In the thirty years as a member of the Mages Guild, Mao has never met another ranked Mage who really respected the apprentices. Most mages who get ranked past adept more often than not acquire a distasteful superiority complex, a curse that makes many see themselves as ‘above’ simply because they held the title “Mage,” they let power get to their head. He knew that this pride is what prevented many from rising higher in the Guild, pride is the pillar and the ceiling. Laughing to himself at the thought of the apprentice that manned the door taking Mao as a role model, he entered the waiting chamber.

                Striding through the great ebony doors into the waiting room, towering over everyone else with long graceful strides and gaunt stature, the Grand Mag Doffer Mao stood out like a redwood in a forest of beech, a giant amongst men as the saying goes. Without stopping, Mao promptly approached the small dull door at the end of the waiting room. Placing his hands on the magical seals locking the door, he focused energy from deep within his core out towards his fingertips. Pouring raw power into the ethereal manometer[2], Mao spun and twisted the magic circles of the manometer into varying positions and altering their sizes to create an intricate design, the deep scent of lilies filled the immediate vicinity as the room hummed with gentle green light. After several minutes, he stopped pouring magic into the manometer and pushed gently on the symbol of a gyrfalcon engraved in the center of the door. The symbol twisted and melted into the door, granting him access as the magic circles dissipated into the void. The magic seals were designed to give access only to those who could accurately release the proper amount of magical pressure while completing a complex series of magical puzzles, a feat only those with skills above that of a Grand Master could accomplish.

Once unlocked, the dull doors shimmered and melted away revealing themselves to be made of pure white mithril. The doors glowed like the full moon in the dark waiting room, with the floating everspark sconces as dim stars in the night sky. The radiant doors stood just as beautiful as the day Mao first set his eyes on them. These doors depicted various Guild stories; from men discovering the arcane arts, to the conquering of the Corellan continent, to the building and completion of the Grand Basilica as it is today some five hundred years ago. Yet for all their beauty, they could not hide was ugliness beyond.

Entering his private viewing area, situated several feet over the rest of the arena, Mao scanned the chamber with his mismatched eyes; one a pale sapphire, another a brown so dark it was almost black. Although called the Chamber of Purity, there is nothing pure about it. The entire arena was suffocated by the stench of charred flesh and dried blood that seeped out of every crack.

Sitting down on a monstrosity of a red velvet Mao couldn’t help but hold back his urge to vomit. The rotten stench of death. According to the Mages Manifesto, the Chamber of Purity can only be cleaned during the equinoxes and solstices, when (according to scripture) ‘the One True Goddess was close enough to see the blood of her enemies washed away along with their sins.’ An old barbaric concept that Mao has petitioned to remove from legislation time and time again but has always faced resistance from the Grand Jury; the Judicial and Legislative body of the Guild. At the very least, the logic behind this is more colloquially known that the cleaning calendar is based around natural energy levels and the aligning of celestial bodies, like how legally the world is flat, but every educated human knows it is a sphere.

Taking up the entirety of the Grand Basilica’s Western Wing, the chamber itself could easily fit close to a hundred comfortably throughout its colosseum-like seating arena. The large domed ceiling was roughly a hundred feet high. Ancient spells etched into the stonework caused the ceiling to seemingly to vanish, summoning various types of clouds and weather phenomena that could be altered through spells and magical auras. The only thing that broke this illusion of a roofless chamber was the ‘Eye of Judgment’, a wretched mechanical monstrosity of magnifying glasses and rune-etched metal, a reversed telescope of sorts, that was situated slightly off of the center of the dome. As Mao looked up at the Eye, he felt as if it was the eye of the heavens, with whatever gods up there looking down upon the world heavy with divine judgement.

Normally only the Jury, Mao, and twenty or so Master candidates were granted access to the chamber, except, this time, in addition to the usual suspects, some nearly fifty expert and adept level mages as well as a handful of the absurdly ornate True Goddess Clergymen occupyed the rest of the normally sparse seating arena. Someone wants to make a show of this, He thought, analyzing the situation. Based off of the current political climate, it was most likely a statement against the Cast Movement. Mao resisted the urge to bite his fingernails. I can think of no one else who would waste this much time and resources for such a trivial thing other than our Supreme Judge. Ah! And there he is, waltzing in.

Slamming through the air like thunder breaking the silence, Supreme Judge Clivus Corduroy roared in his deep booming voice calling the attention of all in attendance.

“Today! My fellow mages, we once again are blessed to witness the purification of another disgusting Eternal. Today on the seventh day of First Harvest, in the year twenty-nine eighty-seven after the Last Storm, we are joined by not just our brothers, but by several esteemed members of the True Clergy. With their presence let it be known that our journey to cleanse the world is truly just and filled with divine purpose. Now as the sun approaches her peak, let us bring forth the wretched Creature.”

‘Wretched’ doesn’t even start to describe what was once a man, Mao said to himself.

Dragged out by chained limbs, stripped of the decency of both hair and clothing, the prisoner was less of a man and more of a pile of bones held together in a thin bag of worn, lifeless skin. Mao couldn’t see much of the prisoner from this distance and requested a zoom scope from a nearby servant. When it arrived, he found the Creature to be more disturbing than he had thought.

The Creature hunched over, stood no taller than the two guards dragging him in, each of which were of average height and build. Although if he had been standing straight, Mao guessed that he would’ve easily towered over everyone in the room by a full head, most likely the same height as himself.

Gaunt, atrophied limbs hung down from his empty torso like ropes, no strength left in his body to even move them. Mao shuddered to himself at the level of abuse the Creature was clearly subjected to. His fingers and toenails ripped off; bulbous and red lash marks throbbed with little time to. Tattooed across his body were ornate pagan symbols of fire, one side of his body representing life, the other representing death, elegantly faded from age and damaged with torture scars of blades and lashes. It was castrated, burned, clearly strangled, stabbed, and beaten. It has died several times already. But what truly revolted Mao was the discovery that the Creature was covered in an unusual amount of spider veins. At first, Mao guessed that it was somewhere around the mid-thirties to early forties but looking closer he realized that they weren’t ordinary spider veins; unlike the normal blue that came with age, they were a bright unnatural green: the telltale sign of magical torture.

This form of torture was banned by the Guild twenty-five years ago, it was deemed unethical due to the extreme process of forcibly shooting waves of raw magic into the victim’s blood stream. Once forced in, the victim was subject to the full manipulation of the owner of said magic becoming puppets on strings. You could break bones and force them back together you could tear muscles and force them to keep moving, anything you wanted to do to the victim was in the realm of possibility. Once injected with the magic the victim became yours to control.

“You sick bastard, Clivus,” Mao cursed under his breath.

Focusing back on the scene unfolding before him, Mao looked into the Creature’s empty defeated eye. They didn’t seem to notice anything in the room around him. Yet something strange happened as the Creature was moved to the center of the arena. His empty eyes suddenly filled with flames of purpose as they looked directly at Mao- no, not at Mao, rather they looked into Mao, into his very being and soul. His heart caught in his throat; his eyes locked in an embrace with the Creature’s now beautiful deep amber eyes. He felt the urge to speak, to answer the voice that called to him in his mind. It tried to show him something, a name, a face, something was there. He could feel it was on the verge of existence in his mind, like the first rays of light of the rising sun. “Serve me” it spoke, and what could Mao do but accept?

In that exact moment within moments, the sun’s beams flooded into the arena through the focusing lenses of the Eye of Judgement. It was a dazzling spectacle, beams of refracted lights moved throughout the arena. With each passing beam, warmth flooded into the arena. The crowd was entranced, they gasped in wonder and joy, murmurs could be heard throughout the crowd. As everyone stared in wonder at the beams of light, Mao couldn’t help but stare at the poor Creature. That’s when he felt it.

“By the gods…” Mao whispered as his attention drew from the Creature’s amber gaze to Mao’s own hand. Slowly branding him was the symbol of the Fire Djinn Agni, the two faces of fire. Life and Death. Creation and Destruction. Light and Shadow. A balance. As he was about to lift his hand to the sun to look at the newest addition to his tattooed body, he found he didn’t need to shine a light upon it, as the brand itself glowed like dying embers. Forcing his eyes off of the wonder appearing on his hand, he looked back at the Creature. But no more did those intense amber eyes look at Doffer Mao. Now they gently closed in peaceful acceptance of his fate. Though this creature was barely human, he still retained his dignity.

Slowly the Creature was shackled to the X-cross in the center of the arena by his hands and feet. Then doing the honors himself, Supreme Judge Clivus Corduroy marked on the Creature three points with ink. A dot on the forehead, a dot on the heart, and a dot below the sternum. Representing Mind, Soul, and Body, respectively; the three aspects of existence. Once Corduroy retreated back to the control panel situated close to the Eye, the purification began.

Using the magic of the twenty master candidates, the Eye of Judgment was adjusted, aimed, and focused. The light of the sun splitting into three concentrated beams of light each precisely aimed over the three corresponding ink dots on the Creature’s body. Slowly the candidates began chanting and drawing magic circles in the air, pouring their magical energy into the 3 beams of light. As the energy flowed through the beams the Creatures skin began to blacken into charred flesh.

“More power! Make him scream!” barked Corduroy, his eyes a firestorm of rage. Following the Supreme Judge’s order, the candidate’s skin began to glow with their focused power, the air filled with magical pressure, and the dust off the ground began to stir into wild tornadoes dancing across the floor. The scents of charring flesh, rotted corpses, and magical essence was a medley of aromas unlike anything else in the known world. Soon enough the charred skin flaked away revealing a bubbling broth of melted muscle and boiling blood. Yet the Creature did not scream.

As frustration and anger filled the Supreme Judge and the candidates, the room of onlookers began to join in. The mob’s fury was a raging inferno, while the Creature, in stark contrast was at peace. Unable to believe his own eyes, Mao drew and casted a magnification spell onto the zoom scope to get an even better look at this Creature. Quite audibly, he gasped to himself in disbelief. Looking at the rage and frustration in Corduroy’s face Mao chuckled to himself. The bastard is truly crazy, He thought. Gripping the arms of his chair, Mao was at the edge of his seat. It was a rare event to see something defy the Supreme Judge Corduroy for this long and watching the anger and frustration flow from his colleague’s face brought a sick pleasure from Mao, he was almost rooting for the prisoner to retain his strength. His face grinned a grin he hasn’t felt in decades, not since he was back in his adventuring days has Mao felt this much excitement.

As much as he hated it, he wanted it to last an eternity. The screams of Corduroy bellowed like the sweet sound of the pipe organ Mao played in his youth. Mao was lost in this sick pleasure. Then came blood curdling scream that disrupted both Mao’s pleasure and the roaring of the crowd.

The Creature writhed in pain. His tensing muscles straining against the leather restraints, fingers moving in a sporadic repetition between a death grip and being sprawled out in all directions. Its torso flailing left and right shaking with so much force that the cross struggled to hold the pained Creature. The Creature struggled more and more to move with the dance of death, his convulsing head slamming against the headboard with so much force that boiling blood seeped from the head wound. Mao could imagine it now, seeing with his mind’s eye as Judgment’s Eye cooked the Creature’s skull like a boiled egg.

Wondering why the Creature is reacting only now, Mao scanned the arena. He noticed that some of the candidates began chanting hyper-sense tomes, designed to increase one’s overall awareness, but in this case altered so that the chant focused one’s pain receptors. The Creature had been resisting death with its fire magic, only now, that protection slowed the inevitable.

This scene of terror went on for almost half an hour before it lost both its strength and its will to live. Slowly but surely the beams of light empowered by the magic of twenty master candidates bored three precise holes through the Creature. It’s lifeless corpse still suspended to the cross by its arms and legs. As the beams of light faded away, judgment has been cast and the room of rage because a chamber of holy silence. Melted meat dropped from the corpse, muscle beneath the skin was noticeably torn and ripped, leaving strange indents and gorges in its charred flesh. The Creature’s amber eyes had long since bubbled and melted away, leaving empty sockets infinitely deeper in strangeness. Smoke radiated from flesh that had turned to smoldering piles of ash. The Creature’s final death was marked by countless others.

After several long minutes, it was the deep brooding voice of Supreme Judge Corduroy that broke the silence.

“Brothers, clergymen. The deed,” he paused.  “…Has been done. Another blasphemous Creature purified from this world. We Mages have done our part in this holy cleansing. Now let us leave the final prayers to the clergymen who have joined us today on this momentous occasion.” Pausing and scanning the room, letting the clergymen speak their holy prayers in ancient Mottenese, Corduroy noticed the disappointment on Mao’s face and held his head high.

After the prayers finished, his voice boomed once more. “Today was more than just the purification of another pagan beast, today is the day we show our strength to the world. Today we show that these ‘Eternal Hosts’ are not people like some would claim. Neither are they the weapons of world domination that the Tyrant to the east want us to think. And they are not eternal. No, these Creatures are no more than rabid beasts, beasts that defy the laws of nature and the laws of Holy Truth. And what do men of logic, men of holiness, men of power do to rabid beasts?”

“We put them down! We punish their sins! We purify their souls!” the mob roared in delightful unison.

“Yes! My brothers and clergymen, today we denounce Lord Cast’s ideas that the Eternal Host’s should be weapons of war. Today we denounce Jordane’s belief that they deserve the same rights as us, the pure. Today we denounce the Eternal Host’s and all those who support them!” Corduroy boomed.

Oh great, he’s talking about me.

“Today my friends, we shall unite our forces with the One True Church and purify this land. Today is when we ask of the Empire to join us and help us purify all of the known world in the name of the One True Goddess! The Goddess of Truth!” The Supreme Judge concluded with deep finality.

Roars of excitement and blind allegiance moved through the crowd like the waves of the sea. The tide of their energy pushed and pulled with the movements of Corduroy’s body. Soon enough the crowd was a mind of its own, Corduroy’s seeds of destruction had taken root. A coy smile flashed on Corduroy’s face. Mao could do little to reverse what he had started; Mao was but one man with little to no allies that could help. Not even all the power and influence he had would be of help now, this was not a matter of magic or politics; this was people falling into the age long plague of rage and hatred. Simple, pure, and near impossible to break let alone bend.

Time was of the essence, and to Mao there was not enough time to get everything done. He needed to act fast before Corduroy could have time to strike. This was a different type of battle. Corduroy had taken the first step, now everything depended on how Mao responded. He could cower in the corner and let Corduroy take the lead, or he could strike back. He moved before he had the chance to even contemplate the possible risks and rewards for either choice. Thinking won’t be enough for this task. It was time to step out of the spotlight and into the shadows.

Being the Grand Mage for decades, Mao has gained too much notoriety within the capital. His face was already known as well as his disposition against the unification of the church and guild. Precautions would already be in place in order to either coerce Mao into submission or to eliminate him as a threat. That final speech was simple, it labeled Mao as an enemy of the new world. He had felt this time was coming, but he did not expect it to be so soon.

He needed to leave the city and go underground. From there, his action could go more unnoticed. A big fish in a small pond made too many disturbances, but out by the sea they would be little more than ripples amongst the crashing waves. Quickly moving out of the arena before the crowd dispersed, Mao moved through the Grand Basilicas halls and stairways. Although the path was roundabout and at many points he moved in circles, he needed to cover his path. Confuse the Jury and their pawns before they could be moved into positions likely to end in checkmate. After some time, he began smudging his trail. Within the palace walls it was impossible to completely hide his trail, powerful spells ingrained in the walls, ceilings, floors, and foundations of the Basilica tracked movement of everyone within. Mao knew this as well as some counter measures. It’d buy him some time, and that was all he needed.

Like time mended a wound into a subtle scar, Mao did the same to his trail, dulling it and confiding it to only the immediate vicinity. Although not completely gone, at a glance one would look right over it. He hoped. It’s never a sure thing, some people like trained mages may be looking for tricks like this; others, usually palace guards untrained in the magical arts, would look for the blatantly obvious. He hoped the latter would be sent after him.

In the center of one of the hallways in the eastern wing, somewhere around three quarter’s down the hall’s length Mao placed his hand on the wall by the tips of his fingers palm up and rotated his hand counterclockwise. Just as the seal unlocked, Mao could hear the movement of people down the hall. Quickly Mao walked through the seal as if he walked through the wall itself. Once through, he spun around and quickly placed his hand back in the place he left it off on the other side, palm down, and turned it back clockwise, resealing the door.

With a sigh of relief, the aging Grand Mage pressed his back against the now solidified wall. He could hear the soldiers moving on the other side of the wall as if it were paper thin, but they would never be able to hear him from his side. Although simple in theory, he had used a very powerful and complex spell in order to guarantee that he remained hidden from the palace’s watchful eyes. The spell itself simply locks whatever the caster wants and can only be opened by the caster or whoever knows the exact steps to open or manipulate the seals. Simple yet effective. After enough time went by, Mao had decided that he had regained some energy and began the long descent down the stairway in front of him.

Suddenly thoughts of fire began blasted into his mind as his branded hand began to glow and sizzle with heat. He knew what was happening. He needed time to research, before it gets out of hand. I must keep moving.

Down and down he went for what seemed to drag on without end. An ancient spiraling staircase built into the earth marked the secret entrance into Yggdrasil, an underground labyrinth of tunnels and passageways that spread out across the continent. Through here Mao knew he could escape without being followed. The vast tunnels were essentially invisible to magic. According to rumor, when the Guild and other groups decided to map the vast tunnel system during the war against the Native Corellans some three centuries ago, they discovered that the tunnels themselves were naturally absorbent of magical energies. This meant that any magic used from within the tunnels would die out extremely quickly. He hoped these were more than just rumor, he needed to hide from arguably the most powerful source of magic on the continent.

                The wheels of change slowly began to turn, no matter what Mao could do, he was only one man. He needed to act, he needed to succeed. Unfortunately, the people of the Empire had to wait for his help, for now what needed to be done could not wait. Staring down at the mark on his hand, he felt an urge, a tugging as if someone were pulling him gently by a string. The job of guardian and guide, and slave, has been pushed into Mao’s arms, he recognized the signs.

Shit.

It was called the Calling, something he’s only read of down in the archives of the Basilica, but without a doubt this was it. From what he could remember the Calling is a form of magical bonding created between an Eternal Host and their target, it was a string of fate- no matter how far the two that are bonded go from each other they are connected. Now the descriptions written down were vague and honestly sounded like a bunch of ramblings of a madman, it went something like …Once the host and target are bonded through time and space, the minds are melted. Not through thought but through feeling, through urges and power. Magic. Strength. Emotions will guide your way, and where your emotions falter so will the body… The general gist Mao was sure he would further understand with time. For now, the issue with the Empire, Church, and Guild had to wait. As a matter of fact, Mao realized that if he let the three fight amongst themselves, he may be able to have more time to find the new Eternal Host and… and what? Keep them safe? Mao wasn’t sure what would happen, maybe in time if he cannot find the new Host, the pain of being apart would turn Mao crazy, maybe it would kill him, maybe it would drive him to kill the new Host. Maybe it would do nothing at all, if the Host never truly awakens, Mao guessed he could live with the subtle burning in his hand.

Unlike most people in the Empire, Mao never found any reason for the hatred and prejudice towards Eternal Hosts, it wasn’t their choice to be given the powers that they have and as a result they were to be systematically executed. It was punishing before there was a crime. It was fear. Eternal Hosts are beings between existences, Humans are beings of the mind, Animals of the body, and Eternals of energy and the spirit. A Host was the combination of them all.

                Reaching the bottom of the stone stair, he sat and caught his breath. I’m forty for the fuck’s sake, I’m not built for exercise. He groaned at the strain of getting back on his feet, stretching his legs, and cracking his spine brought some relief to him. Sighing, Mao moved toward the entrance of the tunnel, and picked up one of the old torches from off the wall.

At first, he tried to ignite the torch on his own but remembered that the tunnels would suck up any magic in them. It wasn’t pitch black down there, there were luminescent fungi and glowing veins of earth magic throughout the tunnel and small cavern that made up the room he stood in. He suspected that the source of the magical absorption may be from these glowing veins, but he couldn’t be sure as the Guild ceased research on the tunnels two centuries ago when faced with conflict from the arriving Akarrans lead by Lord Akira. Yet the prospect of a torch’s warmth brought a smile to his face, Mao unfortunately left his favourite winter robes back in the High Keep of the Basilica, the thought never occurred to him that the tunnels would chill to the bone, it seemed age had taken his wits from him as well as his strength.

After some time, Mao’s search for something to help ignite his torch came up fruitless. Resolved, Mao quickly ignited a flame hovering over the palm of his hand and in a swift stroke ignited the torch. It took to the flames quickly and soon it was healthily ablaze. Before he could let anymore magic become drained from himself, he quickly cut off the flow of energy into the flame and, like a Gaslamp, the flame winked out of existence leaving Mao alone in the cave with only the light of the torch and the glowing mushrooms to keep him company. The feeling of the magic being sucked out of him was astonishing, he could only describe it as if the air he breathed slowly became… less. It was a feeling he didn’t want to keep on experiencing, but it became evident that he would have to repeat this process of quickly igniting torch for warmth several times before he would find a looters city or an exit out into the wild.

                As a First Rate pyromancer, he knew he could last quite a while repeating this process. Granted he didn’t like the feeling of his magic sucked out of him like drinking out of a straw, but it was necessary.

Hours went by down in the tunnel and there was no end in sight, forks in the road occurred every now and then but generally they were marked up in the old tongue which Mao could read. He relished the idea of not seeing any signs of civilization for a while, it left him alone with his thought, time to think without really thinking.

For the thousands of years that the Guild has stood, it was the center of learning. It was where knowledge was unrestricted, as long as you had the skill to understand it. It was where magic flourished, and where logic was the most important trait a mage must have. But ever since Corduroys’ ascension to Supreme Judge ten years ago, the Guild has become more and more religious. More and more irrational zealots fill the halls that once nourished logic and thought. The fate of the Guild was all but certain as of today. No more would the Mages Guild be the center of the learned, now it will be the training ground for Battle-Priests and holy warriors built to cleanse the world of arbitrary threats like the Eternals, who are simply people born with immense magical capabilities. Thinking this much was more too much work for Mao to do right now, his day has seemingly never ended and continuing this walk now would do him little.

After finding a small cave hidden by an old mine cart, Mao decided this would be his place of rest for a while. The cave was little more than a hole in the wall barely big enough for him to lay down but offered much needed privacy in the unlikely event some vagrant or traveler walked by, so it sufficed. As he lay there, resting on a pile of smooth stones with only the light of the glowing mushrooms keeping him safe from the darkness of the cave, he found that instead of worrying about the impending war, or pondering about what uncertain future lay ahead of him, or planning his next move in the great game, he dreamed of fire.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

End of Prologue.

 [1] (her-Ah-tick) The major religion of the Mott empire. The belief in the “One True Goddess, Hera, otherwise known as The Mother.”

[2] Device that measures pressure levels