The Nightmirror - Æh'lla Temarh
This accidental second place in race against the seconds, a power that can't be bought, wasted describing a light that makes the sun seem cold. With shadows echoing and darkness sending dreams in war with stars, but echo collapsed the many darknesses and one unto the next the quintessential doors of perception fell into frame, collapsing stratos structure pentagram the architecture of five archways became illumination and gateway, the Æh'lla Temarh.
1-Whispering Flowers
Three moons of red and white and red the likes of shadows soft and high above the moonlight paths, staring at morose verdant grass, the blades without sway holding the dew while threatening the afterglow. Shining glitter drops across field fallow and edge of frost where the circles of moons soon followed each other than passers by the tide of dark ocean air distant from the valley, where the tally of footsteps are forty six and two, and two, and two…the crickets from the thickets or the easy breeze or the snap of twig and thatching from the woods stares back at me. The whispers behind me and everywhere I see, the thunder in the distance, the sleeping leaves on guarding trees, intent to listen where bright darkness takes curiosity there is a song of petals in imagination that tells as much as rain, but at the sudden loss of fear completely lost in trust, certain everything is nothing wide awake I fall asleep in the road beneath my feet. Kneeling as if into a bed, in my head a need and indeed I’m clawing at the dry soil as if falling from a dune, and in soon of sundry sunder comes thunder of men and beast.
2-The Silent Moon
My feet are bound to a rope and a tarp that drags beneath me dragging, crags and gravel grinding, against my skull the stones reminding little choice but pain and waking, and their gentle time are taking, twenty less than men and more than wolf, whose sight in passing see me laughing at my trappings only a web of dreams can make. So they take to stopping thusly and in my eyes inspect and push my face to see my teeth, my fear is confusion their amusement is my status less than pet. They sit like dogs and haunches quick to rest on their spots in hunches bothered not, to such their leader rises on four pawed limbs not quite standing making whispery demands at the moon in sounds like “draeull, lsevi, aeihlluei, iq ahofvi ea,” but the moment returned the thoughts of the moon, mind of madness wars of sadness as the colors moved the world, shelves of hillside slide like rivers of spectral diamonds while thoughts from marrow self-consume, a soured nepenthe, followed by the first moment of sanity described in panic as tragedy or the screaming hells full of snakes of trees. Again the werewolf speaks at the lunar deities, “el minur, roraed, ihrhueit’d, oaurr’iq’ae,” one of the moons seems to be different and fall asleep while the waves of moonlight crashing against my mind, and the beast turns to his pack, now standing tallest “arr’um” he yells, “Reimnae,” and another of the larger rises to marching orders, “ejh, Esova,” to superior, and to Reimnae the order was given, “arr’omni,” which is order to hit me on my head.
3-Ship of Shadow
I pretend to sleep as my eyes open, dragging along a black river with fighters readying for a fight, I can’t tell the rise and set of moons if closer day or growing night, and now sounds of waves from an ocean of darkness, moonlight in the echoes of contrast where glimmering shadows and glowing sea floor insulate the world from the passing stormclouds. It’s not an ocean but a swamp with tide with vines thinning at the shore and in the distance giant spines of beasts that came before as mountains waiting for the rise of the black sun. In the vast swamp of rivers a small boat of black steel and obsidian with sails of black raven and red raptor feathers and I am sold to sailors three.
4-The Voyager’s Birch
This river runs slow and the vines crawl looking for ground and ghouls to nourish the vast wasteland of moss and black roses. One of the vines grows toward the ship, as water turns red aside the vine a sailor shoots an arrow a single time, missing completely the vine almost whips to coil around it, hoping it would pull it free it crushes to consume, and in the arrow a single seed to grow a birch that thrives on the cursed water. The white bark cracks as it grows new leaves and moves almost as fast as if were living to fight the vines from beneath the moss filled sea. We watch as it grows and stops the vine, but from behind another holds its feet forcing roots to dig deep for water to grow and making it slow, as it is torn in two as if the swamp was looking inside it, only to discard it. Another vine, another seeded arrow, again.
5-The Edge of the Snake
The sky grows light and shines thru the clouds as they drag boat onto yellow sand, but dark clouds recover control and day becomes shade, the sand is soft and light beneath my feet as they make we walk across it. Ahead and around are jagged edges of broken paper lanterns, farther not lanterns but husk, farther still not husk but molted snakeskins. We come to the ruins of an ancient city of stones and hallways whose canvassed windows have turned to dust and wooden roofs decay to kindling, filled with curious holes at walls and floors where snakes come to observe only to be hunted by others. Sight thru window of bones whole families now dining skeletons with plates of bones and many floors with long empty grain sacks. They throw me at the feet of the crown serpent king, a patient squinting man with scales like fingernails from hand to head as armor of white tiles.
6-Dying in the Souls
The serpent king whispers, “aerraekhielhoan,” and the few tiny serpents scatter, in their stead two guards with smaller beaded younger scales bring a prisoner out, cutting her restrains and unmasking her, tossing her at them they all run from the desert castle without regret. I stare at the reptilian king, unblinking, tilted stare and jilted guards who leave us to wonder willingly who the villain is in each other’s story, his fork tongue tastes the air and fear makes me run, colliding in corridors at each turn, taking a torch that doesn’t burn to swing as he finds me. Clubbing him does little and none and he holds out glass sphere, a yellow eye much larger than his. I run and he catches me with clawed hands, like thorns stabbing tearing my arm and chest and throws me to the ground to rest. What could be a smile and this laughing reptilian foe rolls the eye to me and shreiks “dinnra-aenne'ssiuhj”
I wake in the throne of the moon in the forgotten city holding the eye, tasting the air, checking my scales for flaws, and hear the wailing battlecry of a cat echo over the ruins of stone. A tale that swaggers counting methods of attack as it breathes before pouncing as I dodge before running back. Across the discarded sands, thru the bleeding swamps over the heart of darkness, into the forest of werewolves. I dash at the ornate obsidian mirror in the road, in a new world the pentatonic gate closes and breaks into five meaningless objects, but I am still a new beast with magic eye in a world of humans who are to have seen their first.
/6ch /mjbanks
This accidental second place in race against the seconds, a power that can't be bought, wasted describing a light that makes the sun seem cold. With shadows echoing and darkness sending dreams in war with stars, but echo collapsed the many darknesses and one unto the next the quintessential doors of perception fell into frame, collapsing stratos structure pentagram the architecture of five archways became illumination and gateway, the Æh'lla Temarh.
1-Whispering Flowers
Three moons of red and white and red the likes of shadows soft and high above the moonlight paths, staring at morose verdant grass, the blades without sway holding the dew while threatening the afterglow. Shining glitter drops across field fallow and edge of frost where the circles of moons soon followed each other than passers by the tide of dark ocean air distant from the valley, where the tally of footsteps are forty six and two, and two, and two…the crickets from the thickets or the easy breeze or the snap of twig and thatching from the woods stares back at me. The whispers behind me and everywhere I see, the thunder in the distance, the sleeping leaves on guarding trees, intent to listen where bright darkness takes curiosity there is a song of petals in imagination that tells as much as rain, but at the sudden loss of fear completely lost in trust, certain everything is nothing wide awake I fall asleep in the road beneath my feet. Kneeling as if into a bed, in my head a need and indeed I’m clawing at the dry soil as if falling from a dune, and in soon of sundry sunder comes thunder of men and beast.
2-The Silent Moon
My feet are bound to a rope and a tarp that drags beneath me dragging, crags and gravel grinding, against my skull the stones reminding little choice but pain and waking, and their gentle time are taking, twenty less than men and more than wolf, whose sight in passing see me laughing at my trappings only a web of dreams can make. So they take to stopping thusly and in my eyes inspect and push my face to see my teeth, my fear is confusion their amusement is my status less than pet. They sit like dogs and haunches quick to rest on their spots in hunches bothered not, to such their leader rises on four pawed limbs not quite standing making whispery demands at the moon in sounds like “draeull, lsevi, aeihlluei, iq ahofvi ea,” but the moment returned the thoughts of the moon, mind of madness wars of sadness as the colors moved the world, shelves of hillside slide like rivers of spectral diamonds while thoughts from marrow self-consume, a soured nepenthe, followed by the first moment of sanity described in panic as tragedy or the screaming hells full of snakes of trees. Again the werewolf speaks at the lunar deities, “el minur, roraed, ihrhueit’d, oaurr’iq’ae,” one of the moons seems to be different and fall asleep while the waves of moonlight crashing against my mind, and the beast turns to his pack, now standing tallest “arr’um” he yells, “Reimnae,” and another of the larger rises to marching orders, “ejh, Esova,” to superior, and to Reimnae the order was given, “arr’omni,” which is order to hit me on my head.
3-Ship of Shadow
I pretend to sleep as my eyes open, dragging along a black river with fighters readying for a fight, I can’t tell the rise and set of moons if closer day or growing night, and now sounds of waves from an ocean of darkness, moonlight in the echoes of contrast where glimmering shadows and glowing sea floor insulate the world from the passing stormclouds. It’s not an ocean but a swamp with tide with vines thinning at the shore and in the distance giant spines of beasts that came before as mountains waiting for the rise of the black sun. In the vast swamp of rivers a small boat of black steel and obsidian with sails of black raven and red raptor feathers and I am sold to sailors three.
4-The Voyager’s Birch
This river runs slow and the vines crawl looking for ground and ghouls to nourish the vast wasteland of moss and black roses. One of the vines grows toward the ship, as water turns red aside the vine a sailor shoots an arrow a single time, missing completely the vine almost whips to coil around it, hoping it would pull it free it crushes to consume, and in the arrow a single seed to grow a birch that thrives on the cursed water. The white bark cracks as it grows new leaves and moves almost as fast as if were living to fight the vines from beneath the moss filled sea. We watch as it grows and stops the vine, but from behind another holds its feet forcing roots to dig deep for water to grow and making it slow, as it is torn in two as if the swamp was looking inside it, only to discard it. Another vine, another seeded arrow, again.
5-The Edge of the Snake
The sky grows light and shines thru the clouds as they drag boat onto yellow sand, but dark clouds recover control and day becomes shade, the sand is soft and light beneath my feet as they make we walk across it. Ahead and around are jagged edges of broken paper lanterns, farther not lanterns but husk, farther still not husk but molted snakeskins. We come to the ruins of an ancient city of stones and hallways whose canvassed windows have turned to dust and wooden roofs decay to kindling, filled with curious holes at walls and floors where snakes come to observe only to be hunted by others. Sight thru window of bones whole families now dining skeletons with plates of bones and many floors with long empty grain sacks. They throw me at the feet of the crown serpent king, a patient squinting man with scales like fingernails from hand to head as armor of white tiles.
6-Dying in the Souls
The serpent king whispers, “aerraekhielhoan,” and the few tiny serpents scatter, in their stead two guards with smaller beaded younger scales bring a prisoner out, cutting her restrains and unmasking her, tossing her at them they all run from the desert castle without regret. I stare at the reptilian king, unblinking, tilted stare and jilted guards who leave us to wonder willingly who the villain is in each other’s story, his fork tongue tastes the air and fear makes me run, colliding in corridors at each turn, taking a torch that doesn’t burn to swing as he finds me. Clubbing him does little and none and he holds out glass sphere, a yellow eye much larger than his. I run and he catches me with clawed hands, like thorns stabbing tearing my arm and chest and throws me to the ground to rest. What could be a smile and this laughing reptilian foe rolls the eye to me and shreiks “dinnra-aenne'ssiuhj”
I wake in the throne of the moon in the forgotten city holding the eye, tasting the air, checking my scales for flaws, and hear the wailing battlecry of a cat echo over the ruins of stone. A tale that swaggers counting methods of attack as it breathes before pouncing as I dodge before running back. Across the discarded sands, thru the bleeding swamps over the heart of darkness, into the forest of werewolves. I dash at the ornate obsidian mirror in the road, in a new world the pentatonic gate closes and breaks into five meaningless objects, but I am still a new beast with magic eye in a world of humans who are to have seen their first.
/6ch /mjbanks