Namoric
March 16th, 2009, 05:53 PM
A Silence in the Web
by Santiago
The traveler paused for a moment and lifted his gaze skyward, to a sight that never failed to fill him with awe. A thousand, thousand, thousand filaments of shimmering silver light filled the air, stretching on and on as far as his mere eyes could see. It was as if the Celestials had fashioned a giant tapestry of light and then unraveled it, leaving behind a vast, sprawling tangle of glowing threads that now hung in disarray throughout the infinite expanse of the Void. Without those threads, the Void would have been nothing but a vast, empty space -- cold, dark and utterly hollow. But the coruscating network brought light and life to the Void, bridging its vast distances and helping to connect its disjointed inhabitants. Instead of darkness, there was a soft, crystalline luminescence not unlike the hope-filled light of a new morning.
But it had never been this quiet before. The silver webs were usually alive and pulsing with activity; the air usually filled with the sound of wind chimes echoing from everywhere. It was like the music that angels might have played -- only now, that music had died. In its absence was an unsettling silence, scored only by the hollow moans of the wind that breathed through the lifeless webs, causing them to sway about like phantoms.
The traveler peered over the edge of the precipice, where the webs continued into the silver depths far below. He took care not to misstep, for a fall from this height would never end. Strangely enough, he could see lights in the distance; the rest of the Web was still alive. It seemed as though the spell of silence affected only this area, which was his own domain.
And he began to worry. For there were serpents in this paradise, and it was possible that one of them had somehow infected his own garden. They were known as the Plague-Bringers; and why they did what they did was a mystery. Perhaps it was cruelty -- or maybe just simple boredom. Who can say why some seek only to destroy what others create? Whatever their reasons, the Plague-Bringers devoted much of their time to the study of the Dark Arts. Nothing delighted them more than using the veins of the Web to spread darkness and disease. The traveler sighed and steeled himself for a confrontation.
But perhaps it was nothing. Sometimes it was nothing more than a broken strand in the web, and the Spinners could take care of that. Left too long, however, and the problem would become more serious. Travelers would eventually cease to visit, and this domain would become nothing more than dust and cobwebs, neglected and forgotten. It had happened to other sites, but the traveler vowed that it would not happen to this one.
A whispered word teleported him to the steps of the Nexus, where one of the Spinners was busy examining one of the filaments. The creature noticed the traveler, and scurried toward him on its eight legs. "This place is closed," hissed the Spinner. "You can't be here."
The traveler drew back the hood from his cloak, and the Spinner's red eyes widened in fear. "F-forgive me, Lord Brimstone! I...I didn't expect you to come here today..."
"What has happened?" asked Brimstone calmly.
"Ah, it's the Core, sir." The creature opened the door and pointed one of its sharp legs toward the center of the chamber, where the crystal heart of the domain usually hovered in mid-air, shining brightly enough to illuminate the entire area. In its place sat an unimpressive lump of grey rock. "It's dead or somethin', sir. I been tryin' to get it back to life, but I think it's a done deal. We might have to go an' get a new one."
"See to it," said Brimstone. "I want this place alive again."
"Y-yes sir! I'm on it!" The Spinner bowed and scuttled off across the ceiling.
The very next day, Brimstone stood once more at the precipice, listening to the sounds of morning. The web was alive again, its strands aglow and pulsing with the soft hum of activity. As the members of the Lost Order began to return, they shared with each other the tales, news, jokes and all the other pleasantries that old friends exchange, even when separated by distances vast or small. For time does nothing to dissolve such bonds; and just as a break in one strand can cause a silence in the web, so too is the strand easily repaired, and all is as it was before.
by Santiago
The traveler paused for a moment and lifted his gaze skyward, to a sight that never failed to fill him with awe. A thousand, thousand, thousand filaments of shimmering silver light filled the air, stretching on and on as far as his mere eyes could see. It was as if the Celestials had fashioned a giant tapestry of light and then unraveled it, leaving behind a vast, sprawling tangle of glowing threads that now hung in disarray throughout the infinite expanse of the Void. Without those threads, the Void would have been nothing but a vast, empty space -- cold, dark and utterly hollow. But the coruscating network brought light and life to the Void, bridging its vast distances and helping to connect its disjointed inhabitants. Instead of darkness, there was a soft, crystalline luminescence not unlike the hope-filled light of a new morning.
But it had never been this quiet before. The silver webs were usually alive and pulsing with activity; the air usually filled with the sound of wind chimes echoing from everywhere. It was like the music that angels might have played -- only now, that music had died. In its absence was an unsettling silence, scored only by the hollow moans of the wind that breathed through the lifeless webs, causing them to sway about like phantoms.
The traveler peered over the edge of the precipice, where the webs continued into the silver depths far below. He took care not to misstep, for a fall from this height would never end. Strangely enough, he could see lights in the distance; the rest of the Web was still alive. It seemed as though the spell of silence affected only this area, which was his own domain.
And he began to worry. For there were serpents in this paradise, and it was possible that one of them had somehow infected his own garden. They were known as the Plague-Bringers; and why they did what they did was a mystery. Perhaps it was cruelty -- or maybe just simple boredom. Who can say why some seek only to destroy what others create? Whatever their reasons, the Plague-Bringers devoted much of their time to the study of the Dark Arts. Nothing delighted them more than using the veins of the Web to spread darkness and disease. The traveler sighed and steeled himself for a confrontation.
But perhaps it was nothing. Sometimes it was nothing more than a broken strand in the web, and the Spinners could take care of that. Left too long, however, and the problem would become more serious. Travelers would eventually cease to visit, and this domain would become nothing more than dust and cobwebs, neglected and forgotten. It had happened to other sites, but the traveler vowed that it would not happen to this one.
A whispered word teleported him to the steps of the Nexus, where one of the Spinners was busy examining one of the filaments. The creature noticed the traveler, and scurried toward him on its eight legs. "This place is closed," hissed the Spinner. "You can't be here."
The traveler drew back the hood from his cloak, and the Spinner's red eyes widened in fear. "F-forgive me, Lord Brimstone! I...I didn't expect you to come here today..."
"What has happened?" asked Brimstone calmly.
"Ah, it's the Core, sir." The creature opened the door and pointed one of its sharp legs toward the center of the chamber, where the crystal heart of the domain usually hovered in mid-air, shining brightly enough to illuminate the entire area. In its place sat an unimpressive lump of grey rock. "It's dead or somethin', sir. I been tryin' to get it back to life, but I think it's a done deal. We might have to go an' get a new one."
"See to it," said Brimstone. "I want this place alive again."
"Y-yes sir! I'm on it!" The Spinner bowed and scuttled off across the ceiling.
The very next day, Brimstone stood once more at the precipice, listening to the sounds of morning. The web was alive again, its strands aglow and pulsing with the soft hum of activity. As the members of the Lost Order began to return, they shared with each other the tales, news, jokes and all the other pleasantries that old friends exchange, even when separated by distances vast or small. For time does nothing to dissolve such bonds; and just as a break in one strand can cause a silence in the web, so too is the strand easily repaired, and all is as it was before.