The Temple of Lore, Works of the Schola Options

[Black Hand]

This thread is for the stories of the members of Order of the Schola, for any questions you may have please click on the following link.

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=3495

ANYTHING that is not a story or poem or whatever should be posted on the link that was just provided. Thank you, not trying to be mean, just trying to keep our sacred temple clean. Now then, an explanation.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The Temple of Lore is a sacred sanctum of tomes, dreams, thoughts, abstracts, histories, stories, poems, and the written word.

It exists in the twilight, between reality and fantasy, it embraces all forms and images that attempt to define it. It is perception, and the perciever.

There exists an order of men, commonly known to the masses as the Writers Guild, more accurately called the Order of the Schola who have mastered this twilight abstract in the form of storytelling, they alone have the power to transcend to the Temple of Lore, and contibute and take from its threads of knowledge.

They exist amongst us as Journalists, Bards, Old Men sitting on a porch with a glass of lemonade recanting old experiences. If you ask nicely, and your lucky to find the chosen few, a Schola can breathe life into any illusion, any thought.

[jack cloudy]

They say that your mood is reflected in your writing. I don't know what this says about my mood. Whatever, let's stop the rambling and cut to the story.



Forsaken.

When it happened, it felt like eternity. Each moment stretched out into infinity. The harsh words, the curses and finally, the decision. Looking back however, only a blur lingers in my mind. A short blur, like a bolt of lightning shooting down to the land beneath the dark cloud.
That is how I feel right now, like a bolt of lightning, coming from the dark cloud of my kind, to bring the sharp edge of betrayal to the innocent. I should have seen it coming, the end. This is the price I must pay. A price that the world demands of me, for I have performed the greatest crime ever. I have tried to create a monster. I have tried to create an equal.

This blasphemy might have been forgiven, if I stopped there. But no, one monster wasn’t enough for me. I made more, four in total. And now, they are the ones who suffer for my foolishness. I suffer as well, but I deserve to suffer while they don’t.

My experiment has been discovered by the families. The speakers have spoken and revealed their verdict. If I ever want to enter the familygrave for my final rest, I must undo my mistake. I must destroy that which I’ve made with my own hands. If I refuse, my creations will be destroyed by someone else, along with me. Out of the two choices, killing my children seems to be the lesser evil. At least I’ll know that their death was relatively painless if I do it myself.

Now my feet bring me back to the small cabin where I’ve worked. Each step kicks up a cloud of rustling leaves. To me, it sounds like thunder, a steady sound of approaching doom. My doom, and theirs. Who will suffer more before this night ends? Me, or them? I’ll make sure it will be me who suffers most. That’s why I’ve chosen for the night. Hopefully, they’ll be sleeping, which will enable me to end their life with a single merciful wound.

My feet stop. I can hear a fly buzzing nearby but that’s not what has distracted me. In the distance, I can see the cabin sitting by the muddy path. But it isn’t right. I can see the flickering light of a candle shine through the window. They’re awake.

I can’t move, neither forward or backwards. I can’t do this. I can’t kill them. However, if I don’t, someone else will. And that someone won’t show the same regret I will. I must do this, for their sake. I force myself forward, slowly. Each step brings me closer and with each step, I slow down again. Five steps later, I’ve come to a halt again. A single fly buzzes around my head.

I look up at the sky, at the cold stars that are up there. It looks like a lifeless place, yet the stories say that the stars are the birthplace of the Makkrash, of the nightmares. If someone is up there, and looks down at me right now, what would he think? Would he be angry at me? ,,Stop this. You’re stalling, and it’s not working. Go in there now and finish it. There’s plenty of time to pity yourself afterwards.” I scold myself.

My hand reaches behind my back. As the heir of my family, I’m the one who has the right to possess the weapon of my ancestors. A right that is likely to be taken from me when I return. It is a peculiar item, a long needle made from a black material that has so far appeared to be completely indestructible. Or at least, it hasn’t suffered a single scratch yet despite the abuse it has been put through. What the stories claim with words, this needle backs up with solid fact. It was made by the Makkrash, somewhere in a forge up there among the stars.

My hand grips the handle so tight, I can hear my bones crack. I take a deep breath and focus my eyes on the cabin. This is it, the final act.

Time itself seems to slow down as my body enters a state of full awareness. I see the fly hovering in front of my face, its wings beating up and down slowly. I move. My feet are still planted firmly on the ground, but I’ve still moved. One moment I’m standing outside, the other moment I appear in the cabin’s only room, my body pushing the air aside as I become solid again. Outside, the air rushes to fill up the vacuum I left behind.

Now that I’m actually here, I move without thinking. I notice the first of my children, sitting in a chair and reading a book. I reach out with the black needle. The deadly tip pierces the thick air, driving through the book and into his heart. Something moves to my left, a lock of hair being set in motion by the displacement of air I’ve caused. I whirl around and she too, dies by the dreadful needle. I continue the spinning motion till I see the third one and sacrifice him in the name of my people. One last turn, and I gaze upon the last survivor. Her eyes blink slowly, her mind trying to comprehend what that lethal blur is that has appeared so sudden and disturbed the peace. The air around me becomes hot as she forces it under her will, an instinctive reaction to the threat that threatens to kill her. Soon, it will burst into flames. Too late.

This talent to command the environment was exactly what I sought to create, the bridge between my people and the ones who we’d enslaved. Now I know that my experiment has been successful. I’ve created a being, not of our origin yet with the same birthright. Yet she is untrained and can’t match the speed my kind is capable of. She dies before she can kill me. Oh, how I wish she had succeeded. Then I wouldn’t have to hate myself for the rest of my life.

The world returns to its normal pace. The sound of their corpses falling to the floor and the feeling of their blood on my hands will haunt me forever. I survey the destruction I’ve brought, and I am filled by a fury like I’ve never felt before. They didn’t deserve this, they deserved to live. I should have disobeyed, I should have thrown the entire tradition of discipline and servitude away and done what was right! I should have taken them far away from this place, far away from the wrath of my people. But I didn’t, I did what I was expected to do. I killed them. My children weren’t the monsters, I am!

I turn away from the gruesome scene and leave by walking out through the door. Once outside, I focus on the cabin, I focus on what’s inside. Roaring flames shoot out of the brick walls and consume everything within a heartbeat. I walk away, away from the blackened crater and away from the path leading back to my home. I don’t belong there, I belong nowhere. It’s better this way, not to soil the memory of my family with what I’ve done. I will vanish. No one will ever see me again.