The Last Philosopher

In the wyrd

Wide-eyed like a little boy at a pirates-giving table, he stared at the archipelago. This was real in a way that couldn't compare to one of his visions. It was centuries since he last saw any part of the rugged Absumo. If only he could feel the slippery stone shore under his feet. It would have been worth falling on his arse in front of a god.

"Hmpf," he snorted derisively instead. "What kind of cheapskate prophecy starts in pirate territory?"

As he spoke, time shifted and day faded into night. He was left hovering above the soothing sound of ocean swells. A nice warm breeze blowing up his robe. But even with his lack of underwear, he could always find plenty of reasons to complain. Because if there was a deity involved, he wouldn't be caught looking foolish again.

So, instead of saying anything that might embarrass his inner sorcerer further. He closed his eyes, and thought about the Free and independent nation of pirates. They had been calling themselves that ever since their civil war ended ninety-nine years ago. The fighting started because they couldn't agree on what to call the nation. And ended with the ambush killing of the seven pirate kings. As kings do, they had started a war they never intended to go off and die in. Nowadays, every captain was king of his or her own ship. The structure of their society reminded him a lot of the sorcerers' factions before Empris.

Both claim to believe in death before compromise, but when facing annihilation we chose to negotiate.

Through closed eyes, he could sense a light. He squinted and was dragged towards the yellow glow, like a dog on a leash. It was coming from a ship, sailing downwind without flag. The strong light reflected off the swampy shore of Thetan.

"Must be pirates looking to bilib themselves some volunteers?"

Few on a pirate-ship crew were free and independent. Most were bilibed, strays picked up along Sojurut's coasts. Once they were on the ship and out at sea, they could choose between being sailors or swimmers.

As he was yanked inside the glow, he leaned to get a better look. In doing so, his hat slipped off. On instinct he reached for it, but in vain. All he could do was watch it float down to the deck of the ship. It landed behind a short man, the one the yellow light was centring on. The little guy was alone on the poop deck. Besides the light, the only special thing about him was a strikingly round haircut.

"An Ignoble captain? Is this the prophecy of a pirate? Because I can tell you right now, that will not end well." He sounded like he was talking down to a sorcling, too scared to reply.

Being pulled around in whatever this was, had put him in a bit of a mood. He was used to having complete control of his visions. Here there wasn't even time for some much needed self-pity before the metaphorical leash tugged again. This time he moved back and forth erratically, like a dog sniffing the ground.

Searching for something? Or someone? Either way we're heading to land.

Since he hadn't asked out loud, he got the enigmatic response he would expect of a god. From a soft green light that sprouted out of Thetan's humid swamps. That place had a dark reputation. A prophecy of the swamp-folk could be worse than pirates.

Coming to a stop, he saw a scrawny teenager huddled inside a grey wool-cloak. He was sitting on the edge of a rare patch of dry in the wetlands, his back turned to a decrepit shack. The green glow around him intensified, reflecting off the water. But as it faded, the light focused on the boy's arms. They were cradled around his head. He couldn't see his face, but the youngsters shoulders were shaking.

They boy jumped up at a mean, guttural yell from inside the tiny hovel. He stopped crying and without a sound melted into the dense vegetation. Lyeasrakardsul was back on the move too, floating north over the swamps. Dawn was approaching too fast as he first saw Zanja river.

"Is this all the same day, or are these separate events?"

He flashed forward to stop above some insignificant town. From here, he could see where Zanja river split into three below a depressing hamlet. Another light appeared near the cow town. It was a tattooed, muscular figure dripping in red glow. The man was suspiciously scanning his surroundings in the evening gloom.

Those skulls are Kor tattoos, but he looks small for a warrior, unless he's a half-breed, like me?

"So, a pirate, a swamp dweller, and now a Kor?" Rubbing his chin and talking to himself finally produced an answer.

"Company," a soft incorporeal voice whispered like the twinkling of starlight.

"Oh hateful god! Why so bloody mysterious, just tell me what your stinking p-wyrd is about already," he yelled, hoping to wake up, or die.

Instead, he was launched in an arch towards the north. Rapidly, he ascended high above Dim forest. Below him was the Glade, the great clearing where the Áettar lived, like cattle in a field. He could almost make out the sorcerers road cutting through the woodland.

"Nice view I suppose, not as good as the one from my penthouse in a lightning storm."

Three pillars of light sprouted from the ground, rudely interrupting his mocking. A violent red far to the north, near the Cross-inn. The naked yellow was on the sorcerers road, just inside Dim. And the thieving green rose from Zive river, close to where it split from Zanja. None of this made any sense as far as he could see.

"Gifts." An answer for something he hadn't asked.

"Now look here Lady! If you want me to consider doing whatever it is you are looking to get done, then you better tell me what it is you want. Or at least which murdering psychopath you are!"

Wait a second, his uncommon sense thought, you said Lady? Could this be Her? Even reverse-agnostics like the sorcerers capitalised when talking about Her.

Updated: 25.11.2023