An Ode to Myrathra
Wilders to elders,
Cobbles to prayers
So did the leaders ascend mountain stairs.
Petitions twice answered,
A third was denied
For a crown built a tomb where all twelve would lie.
Ten fingers to beckon, the left and the right.
Eight lig'ments to bend and extend the crown's might
Six swaths of skin to silk and to oil
Four mounds of bones to crush victory spoils
Two eyes to see all that the Crown called Domain
That twelve made the Crown, and none would remain.
A head would find fit, and fight feral lands
As twelve foolish elders cursed the world that now stands.
Ten years the King ruled,
First of his kind.
Eight rose to his fall;
Six mortals, one mind.
A fourth petition was made
To see a second chance.
No King would last forever,
As the Crown's Cycle danced.
A Rhyme of The Seven Saints
A Seer to beseech the Divine from their scorn.
A Weaver to clothe and to mend what was torn.
A Smith to raise arms against the King's men.
A Builder's raised walls to staunchly defend.
A 'Pothecary's brews both vital and vile.
A Performer's quick rally with grace and a smile.
A Painter's deep strokes in both blood and paint.
And a Messenger's delivery of sevenfold Saint.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE (in order of appearance or mention)
Lugh Cassander Douglass - he/him - Changeling - 22 years old - Recent college graduate, burgeoning cartomancer, and unwilling empath.
Shepherd Phillis - he/him - Dvergr - 68 years old - Leader of Sandsprit Proselytory of the King's Seven Saints.
Einya Maeve Douglass - she/her - Halfling - 56 years old - Caretaker Coordinator at Sandsprit Mental Services, mother of Lugh Cassander Douglass
Phelia Min Cheng - she/her - Elf - 79 years old - Landlady
Maraevas Gloria Thedrenos - she/her - Half-Elf - 26 years old - People’s Warden and assistant priestess at Saint Weaver’s Cathedral of Septuasancti
Taliesin Eaton Montgomery - he/him - Hyena Beastfolk - 24 years old - College dropout, record store owner/squatter, free-range mechanic and recycler, proud punk, shy musician
Ashe - they/them - Ostensibly Human - business partner of Maraevas and independent contract deliveryperson.
Mananan Mac Lir - they/he - ??? - Old - mysterious silver-furred sea-goat person, with some shared history with Taliesin.
On pews of wood, in walls of plaster, under windows of saints, on the hottest Sunday of the year; Lugh Cassander Douglass found himself sweating in church. He was unsure if there was a certain amount sin to warrant such penitent perspiration, but then again - he was certain he could sin at any moment. The Sandsprit Proselytory of the King's Saints was particularly crowded as it was an oathtaking service and many family members from out of town were crammed into the pews to watch their kids go down the aisle to the elevated stage.
Lines upon lines of eyes all stared forward as Shepherd Phillis continued his reading of scripture. Cassander knew the sounds by heart, and he'd heard it up close when he was ten. It had been twelve years of hormones, homework, student debt and aether station shifts to sit in the middle-back of the rows. He was wedged between a portly dvergr that had prepared his fishing shorts as church khakis and an elven woman who was liberal in her bathing of perfumes. His eyes stung slightly as he blinked, and he could hear the elven woman sigh adoringly as he rubbed away the overpowering scents.
The number of fancy clothes outnumbered the regular attendees, as three children stood at the front with Shepherd Phillis. A young orcish girl fiddled with her bright yellow sundress, her hair braided into little poofy buns that matched her tiny tusks. Next to her, a red-haired gnomish boy looked as though he'd been wrestled into a baby blue tuxedo with the tiniest droplets of stains on the white button shirt. Cassander could feel a parent's gaze bore into it like a sniper's laser sight. Lastly, a freckled kobold bounced up and down excitedly for their name to be called, their horns pointing back like a baby goat and holding their own tail under a pink poofy dress. The wait was soon over as the Shepherd smiled, "And now, as we carry out that which we are called to do as followers of the Craft in the world of the Crown, we see three little ones make their Vocations before our flock."
Phillis was the picture for "kindly old man" in Cassander's dictionary, complete with smile wrinkles, a puffy white beard, and a pair of small glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose. The dvergr's hand gently rested over the three as he began to pray for blessing in their lives, that they would be made into the masterpieces that each of them were meant to be.
A wave of "biodh e mar sin" washed through the pews as the kobold stepped up to the altar with the Shepherd. On the table, there lay an array of mismatched items: a mound of clay, an assortment of paints, a mixing bowl and spoon, a small drum, a toy hammer and nails, and a ball of yarn. The kobold looked among the different implements and looked back to their family in the crowd. Cassander could see a large man of a drakefolk watching eagerly with thumbs up and smiling encouragingly.
The kobold turned back and reached for the ball of yarn, turning it over and over in their tiny hands. They held it aloft, as if expecting something, and there was a slight jittering as the ball began to float up.
Eyes were all trained on them as string began to unravel and weave over and under in small knits, the kobold's eyes wide in wonder and excitement. Eventually, a small knitted band tied itself off from the yarn and gently dropped into the child's hands. There was an uproarious applause as the kobold eagerly scampered down to their family and was swept up in a hug. Cassander mirrored their smiles and clapped along.
Next was the orcish girl, as Shepherd Phillis leaned down to hear her vocation whispered in his ear. He nodded as she moved for the mound of clay and began rolling it between her hands. The clay stretched and styled without any carving tools or even a pottery wheel as her hands wrapped around the shape into a curved oblong cylinder. The clay began to rapidly harden and a newly made small vessel rested in the girl's arms as a second wave of applause swept through the sanctuary.
Cassander's eyes trailed to the boy that was left, seeing a small quivering of his lip and balled up fists in the baby blue fittings. The lighting shone down on him like the heavens themselves opened up in anticipation, and there was a trepidation as Cassander could see the atmosphere change. Expectations, doubts, worries, fears and hopes all clamored against one another in a swirling mass focused on the remaining child as the Shepherd announced his turn. No one seemed particularly bothered by the roiling miasma, though as far as Cassander knew, nobody else could see it. All that was left was to see how the little gnomish child weathered it.
The boy began to shakily recite a vocation through psalm. His voice was charmingly amateur, though Cassander could make out a woman in the crowd mouthing the words with small conductor hands "guiding" his performace from the pews.
The vibrations in the air gave way to sights as he sang,
"What to make for the Maker?
What to take for the King?"
Something prickled on the back of Cassander's neck as a distortion in the air above the small child. No one else seemed to notice as he continued,
“What do we offer up
To the one who's got everything?
I'm a lamb to the flock
A wool to the fleece-”
Cassander could see a fumbling in the kid's eyes, where the words were leading him rather than him leading the words. The distortion was growing larger and began to form a ring with a circle of protrusions like a crown. Cassander's knuckles went white his lap as his eyes darted to the windows.
We're all works-in-progress
For Your masterp-"
The song was abruptly halted when a window crashed open and glass fell onto the stage and over the empty church piano. The congregation cried out in surprise as Phillis shielded the young child and the boy snapped out of his incantation. The distortion disappeared as quickly as it came, and the Shepherd raised a hand as concerned members were raising from their seats and panicking - attempting to calm his flock.
"It's quite alright. We are blessed to have these three children make their Vocations known, that their gifts would be used in accordance with the Saints and the King, according to the Crafter's will."
There was a hesitant applause as some who were in the process of standing up to leave began to take their seats again. Phillis smiled, "As we go from here, may the Crafter shape you into the work you are meant to be."
There was another wave of benediction as the crowd rose and began to disperse, some staying behind to sweep up the broken glass. The boy fiddled with his jacket as a gnomish woman with an updo and a trailing shawl fussed over him, examining his face with long painted finger nails.
Cassander felt a touch on his shoulder and came back to his mother standing beside him. A homeling of stout build with hair that would've been an earthy brown in her youth, green eyes that have since faded to a duller grey. Her smile wrinkles worried into her brow as her salt-and-pepper bob shifted to the side, "You okay, hun?"
He never knew the answer to that question, so he gave a smile and a nod.
As the two emerged from the church and Cassander looked out into the summer sky with its stormy clouds on the horizon, he smiled and shook hands with the other churchgoers. They'd ask questions about what he was up to and how things were at home. He’d answer with the same old “oh, well you know” and “I’m so lucky for the opportunity”. They'd say that they’d be praying for his success in the big city, that he grew into such a fine young man, that they were sorry to see him go.
He wasn't sorry. Today was his last day in Sandsprit, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever come back.