Altim
H E A N S W E R S T O A N S U R________________
Altim followed the guard up the steps in an ascent that he hadn't made since he last walked the earth, perhaps earlier. Except that this time, the Bastion of Light was truly lifeless, and the only solace was the worldly glow of the two stars that had illuminated the land of Ansus for ages. The inscriptions that covered the walls of the Bastion had remained as in tact as they alwas had, but something about them felt empty and lacking. As if some great treasure had been stolen from the shrine to the gods, Faerthus's chosen and the guard scaled the tower at the quickest pace they could achieve, the guard taking a hasty lead over Altim. Time had taken no toll on the monolith, but a malicious force had; its fires were cold, only ash and soot from the fallout, the day when the gods died.
The space became more cramped but also comforting as the pair took their course up the steps. When they reached the top, the packed atmosphere opened into an open landing before the grand door to the Chamber. The guard pushed through the door and bowed, and Altim, unknowingly, raised a brow in curiosity as he laid his warm, amber eyes on the room. His violin, next to an inscription in his honor, and a rock of a person, who knelt in front of the remnants of the ancient flame. The images on the ceiling and wall gave the bard the answer, and he quickly prostrated himself before Ansur, the Forefather. With splendor and awe, Altim exclaimed:
"Blessed! I am humbled to kneel before the Patriarch of Ansus." Ansur, however, did not expect the door to be flung open with such wild abandon, but was not visibly startled by the sudden onset of words by a voice unfamiliar. Slowly, he turned, meeting the gaze of the one who had found his way to the upper levels of the Bastion of Light.
As Ansur looked upon he who had thrown himself to prostration before him like a devout follower of some clandestine cult, he noticed that this newcomer's eyes were much similar to his own. Ansur thought little of it, but slowly and purposefully began striding towards him.
"The afterglow of the Gods burns in you. Kneel not, for I suspect you have come with purpose." He, after some deliberation, rested his hand for a very brief moment upon the new arrival's forehead; as if it were some traditional symbol of respect from times long past.
"What is your name?" Altim felt the muscles in his legs go weak as Ansur approached, and although Ansur's presence was a softening one, the chosen of Faerthus was paralyzed in the presence of such an honored legend. Ansur had urged Altim to his feet, and the chosen of Faerthus did so obediently and humbly. The hand on his forehead expelled all anxieties, and Altim rose with more dignity, sans trembling fear.
"I am Altim of Cynderia, chosen of Faerthus, he who united the West." Altim bowed again, but this time less out of subservience and more out of courtesy.
"I never dreamed of meeting you, noble Ansur. The people have sung your praises for ages." Ansur nodded ever so slightly, not wanting to come across as controlling, unapproachable, or less humble than he truly was. But the notion of his own heorism came as a surprise to the Forefather.
"I am sorry I do not know you by name; it has been many years since I walked the land. But I am honoured to be in your presence. His holy light flares in your eyes; the shimmer of wisdom is still alight in your soul." Ansur stepped back as Altim rose to his feet. He allowed the Chosen of Faerthus some space to rise to his full height, but all the while, Ansur's eyes were fixated on those of Altim's.
"I understand that this may be a little more than odd for you, as I have my suspicions that you, too, do not belong to this time and place. Were you also pulled from beyond life? For a reason that has yet to reveal itself?" Ansur barely gave Altim a chance to reply before he turned himself back to the central pyre, excusing the guard while he moved. The stuttering man obeyed, and left with a single bow and no sound.
"Altim, Chosen of Faerthus. I am filled with regret that we did not have a chance to meet upon better circumstances, but for all the times I have spoken with the Gods, not a single one will answer anymore." He ran his hand across the old, skeletal remains of the pyre's contruction: a grand pyramid of wood, dusted with the ashen remains of sixty-thousand years of fire. It was crusted over with the residue of time and decay, and felt as though it could snap with a single touch.
"The Gods are gone, and the fires have all been extinguished. Once where the heavens were is now simply a whispering darkness devoid of stars. I fear that the Gods did not simply cease to be," he said in the most grave tone he could muster.
"I fear that they were killed." "This is true. One by one," Altim paused and met Ansur at the pyre.
"Their lights were extinguished. I am troubled. In my life, it was Faerthus's Wisdom that led me to the right path, but this terrible happening has me lost." He put his hand on Ansur's shoulder before taking his hand off and walking to his violin. Altim gently took it in his deft hands, the bow in his nimble fingers, and he played a solemn, grieving dirge on his beloved instrument. As he played, water appeared from thin air and, glowing, matched the inscriptions on the walls of the corridor; the spectacle venerated the gods and lamented their end, and the holy inscriptions glowed in return. When he finished playing, Altim returned his violin to its normal position on his back, the water evaporated instantly like mere illusion, and the glow faded into the dim light of the Chamber.
Ansur watched with awe at the display of magical serenity by Altim, and was overcome with a sense of pride about the achievments of his kin and their descendants. The fact that they could develop such power for the sake of peace, wisdom, and unity was beyond merely comforting, rather
inspiring.
"There are others like us, Chosen of Faerthus. Others who have been called from beyond the veil of life. I fear the death of the Gods, and I fear the task that awaits us, but most of all I fear the Starless beast that surely now descends upon Ansus. With no Gods to protect us, we are surely the last line of defence. We must find the others, and we must find them fast, for a shadow gathers upon the horizon." Ansur gestured for Altim to follow him to the small window at the far end of the chamber, through which the last light of day was filtering through in transient spears of dusty incandesence. He pointed a careful finger into the sprawling landscape beyond the Bastion, where one could see the capital, Kolantis, vaguely in the distance. Its shilouette stood stark against the sunset, yet the sunset itself was crowned by an unnatural shadow gathering like a hurricane. It was darker than night, yet wispy and ethereal, and the last sunlight scintillated through its body like a firefly through the fog.
"Altim... the world is dying. The end is upon us. We must find whoever else has been raised from times past, and we must make our stand." "Whatever miracle has been granted, we must use it wisely," Altim resolved as he observed the suns' setting and eyed the capital, remote from the Bastion.
"Shall we embark for Kolantis?" "That we should, friend," Ansur started.
"I only hope we can make it before it is too late. The shadow grows quickly."
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