Worlds of Lamethia: The Hunt

The Shadow Of A Prophet

The cool breeze air flowed through the valley as the man looked over his books. The window had been left open with a steady breeze jogging through. The stone walls where secure with the scholar brushing over his works. His hair was brown and fell to his brown like blades of grass. He had a part in the center of his, pushing his hair to the left and right. His soft skin adorned his handsome face, as his green eyes looked up from the parchment he was reading from. He blew on the paper, as he watched his ink dry. He had been writing with his quill, and now studied his words to review them.

"And thus, it shall be. The Gods have sent the Mon to punish his people for their vain practices of magic." The man begun reading over his lines, "That's good, I should keep that."

He started back again at the parchment, when another man walked into the room, "Baal, the people wait."

The man glanced back smiling, "Yes, sure thing."

The young priest placed the quill back in the inkwell, shifting his body as he left the chair, he sat in. The wooden chair was gentle placed back into place, scratching the stone floor as the young priest made his way outside. He walked out of the stone interior to the battlements outside. He glanced over the hundreds of people gathered to listen to his words.

An announcer came forward to announce him with the following words, "OUR PROPHET WILL NOW ADDRESS US. LISTEN TO HIS WORDS, FOR THEY ARE THE WORDS OF THE VERY GODS THEMSELVES!"

The young scholar moved forward, as the announcer stepped away. The crowds cheered as they saw the man approach the edge. His hands were placed on the stone battlements to his left and right as he smiled down on the crowd.

"It is a lovely day!" The man began, his handsome smile stretching across his face, "I know why you have come to me this day. Some of you seek retribution, penance for your sins. Your associations with the black magic used by these so-called mages. They may call themselves mages, but they are little more than sinners. It is there sin that brings blackness raining upon us. You know of what I speak of. The Mon! The darkness covering this land! How much longer must we wait before their sins, overwhelm us, and the gods deem us, no longer worthy? We must convince those sinners, our brethren, to halt there uses of magic, to come back unto the fold, to worship the true gods. It is their misuse of these sacred powers that has caused the gods to send these great evils against us!"

The crowd cheered at the man's words, giving him time to breathe and take a break before continuing.

"I am Baal, the prophet of the gods. Some of you seek to bring your loved ones back into this world. Others have come for me to heal your sick. But of this day I cannot do such things. Instead I leave a curse upon this land, for its inequities. You must repent of your evil ways! Turn ye against these ill practices of magic, and once you have done such, the gods will open their mercies upon you, and I can heal your maimed, and resurrect your dead!"

The crowd was silent as they listened, understanding the gravity of the situation.

"This land shall be cursed with a curse. A plague will come upon your crops. And all those who shall refuse to repent will have not to eat. But unto those who shall seek forgiveness, and with earnestness of heart give offerings to our gods, unto such will be given tenfold; even such great bounties as to feed your families, your cattle, your man and woman servants, and your neighbor. But unto such you shall give not, even those who aid the wicked in their magic. To such you shall give none. Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you do not heed my words, there shall not be so much as an empty husk of corn to be seen across the land. And it shall come to pass."

Suddenly a mask flashed across Mitz's vision. A man walked up to her, wearing black. His face had the mask she had just seen, and he was incredibly nimble. Slowly placing two fingers against her head, he spoke softly with a raspy voice, "Unto those who shall not repent, the gift is taken."

Suddenly, Mitz woke in a cold sweet. She began to rub her head, unsure of what she had just witnessed. Who was the man? Why was he preaching against magic? Mitz knew that there were people against the used of magic. Something that was hard to understand was always feared or misunderstood. She just couldn't understand why this gentleman would preach such strong words, who was this Baal?

She looked around seeing Yavier and Ralh sleeping. They had buried Jason's body earlier that day, yet everything still felt like she hadn't woken up yet. She was hoping it wasn't a vison, but she knew all too well that it was. She glanced over the wooden room they slept in. This inn was cozy, yet Mitz had never felt so unsafe before. There was something coming, something dangerous, something deadly.

In the back of her mind, the elf couldn't help but wonder if he was right. Was the reason the Mon were coming because of their overuse of magic? Could the gods really be so angry with them? Nothing was impossible, but Mitz thought it unlikely. Despite this, she knew no matter how likely, there was always a chance of such. Besides the Mon were mostly immune to magic anyway. No one truly knew where these creatures even originated from, they were as much a mystery as her vision. 

Perhaps the mostimportant thing she had gnawing at her brain was what the mask figure has said."Unto those who shall not repent, the gift is taken." What did he mean? Whatwas he doing when he placed his fingers on her head... what did any of this mean.