Children screamed as parents gathered them into their arms, their small bodies held tightly, trembling. Panic reigned supreme through the streets of Sabattann as the sky turned a fevered hue of crimson. Clawing and shoving their way through the masses of confusion, people packed the streets and alleyways, trampling over all in their frenzied path as they frantically searched for escape.
The smoke, oh gods, the smoke burned at the throat and eyes, thick and choking. That acrid stench, permeating to the very core of sinuses and lungs, suffocated even as you respired. The buildings were on fire, columns of flame rising to meet the sanguine clouds, their smoky plumes blotting out what little was left of Axann's luminescence.
Masses of citizens, Huumunn and Syrynykk alike, huddled within the sheltering confines of the temple, its underground caverns offering small relief as the bodies pressed together into the tiny chambers. The heat expended by so many filled the rooms, and the smell of sweat, blood, fear and death made the atmosphere nearly unbearable.
They gathered in groups, some large, some small, even the most solitary of individuals finding some comfort with others. Some linked hands and sang prayers to whatever deity would her them. So many faces, each with their own tortured tale glanced upward, silently asking for help, asking why this was happening, and when it would end. The priests and priestesses scurried about, doing what they could to help, joining in prayers of protection, and offering blessings.
A bright flash of light rippled through the inner-sanctum of the temple, and the surrounding walls trembled and shook, sending sheets of rock and plaster tumbling over the crowds below. A sound, unlike anything heard before slashed at unprotected ears, the cries and shrieks of terror accompanying it like a haunted chorus. Clouds of dust and debris rose from the ground. The candles sputtered and went out.
Darkness.
As throbbing eyes fluttered open, they strained against the blackness of her surroundings. Shifting slightly, her slender form attempted to rise, only to have the length of her back scrape against the harsh and jagged remains of some unknown slab of stone. Her head hurt. Dust-caked fingers lifted to touch the afflicted area finding it moist with a thick sticky substance, and sent her into a fit of dizziness. Her eyes failing in the darkness, her ears fought against the silence, hoping for some sign of movement on the other side of wherever she was, but only the muffled cries of the few trapped survivors answered her efforts.
A voice called, a sound so sweet to trapped ears, and soon the scraping of moving chunks of stone and plaster accompanied it. "Lady? Lady?"
=="Lady?" The face of the instructor slowly focused before her, the teacher's brows knit in a gesture of concern. Gentle fingers rested lightly upon the shoulder of the priestess giving a slight squeeze. "Lady, are you well? You are pale of a sudden."
The woman that stood before Sabryenna was in her early fifties, her dark hair mingling with ever-growing amounts gray. Mariss, yes, Mariss was her name, she thought as she collected her thoughts, slowly remembering her surroundings. She was one of the few that had survived that dreadful day so long ago, one of the founding children of this very FoM sponsored orphanage. The teacher invited her to speak to the children here, to show them why it was so important that they study their lessons, to gain the knowledge that might one day restore Sabatt to what it once was, and reestablish its link to the Nexus. She had been lecturing, she knew, when her mind drifted back to that chilling moment in time.
An uncertain nod offered to the teacher, Sabryenna turned her gaze to the rest of her surroundings. A sea of faces swam before her, the students she came to lecture on the war, each glancing her way with those cold dark eyes, the result of growing up in a hellish world with no time for what should have been their childhood. Within each face was a story told, with every expression, every nuance of behavior, the story of life on Sabatt. These children would be the future...and magic's hope.
Expressive eyes of deepest mahogany gazed steadily back towards the woman behind the podium, her figure at once so strong, and yet, so frail. The young student had so looked forward to this day, to finally meet the woman who had become nearly a legend, a living part of history, and one of the few links left to the past. Outwardly, Sabryenna seemed only a few years her senior, perhaps about twenty to her own sixteen, yet all knew she had lived during the time of the War itself, fifty years ago, and had been directly involved in one of its biggest turning points.
The priestess was speaking, her voice a lilting combination of muted consonants and lightly trilled R's, an accent not often heard within the borders of Sabattann. According to her history book, Sabryenna was originally from Klavaxann, in the former United Provinces of Demm, and had fled her homeland after the assassination of the Senate. To Luranna, the priestess was someone she looked up to, and found the story of her life fascinating. She savored every drop of information and history she could get her fingers on, and sat with rapt attention as the woman lectured.
She was speaking so eloquently, the gestures of her hands flowing in some artful ballet, adding to her hypnotic presence without being overbearing. An easy smile played upon the priestess' lips even as she spoke of matters quite serious. She was indeed something that Luranna aspired to be.
As Sabryenna's gaze lowered to her notes, a delicate hand lifted to turn the page and suddenly, her demeanor changed. That voice that had caressed the ears of her listeners just moments before was at once silent, her breath shallow and quite rapid. The woman's eyes, Luranna could see, were fixed upon the podium shelf, her face slowly turning an overwhelming shade of white.
A movement off to the side caught the student's attention as Mariss, her teacher, stepped towards the woman with concern in her eyes. The middle-aged instructor was speaking in whispered tones to the revered lady, and it seemed for a moment to the student, that the priestess was both here, and somewhere else. Sabryenna offered a nod to Mariss as the color slowly seeped back into her facial features, a hand noticeably holding onto the podium
for support.
The woman's eyes slowly drifted across those faces present in the room, landing upon each for a matter of seconds before moving to the next. Within the priestess' eyes, Luranna could see her desperate search for hope. Hope for the future. Many nights, that was all there seemed to be, hope, and even that was fleeting. There were few these days, with both the talent and dedication needed to become great at the arcane arts, to bend the very fabric of reality to their will, and with the Nexus far from reach, even the talented few had a difficult trial ahead.
Those faces in the classroom, adult faces on children's bodies, had struck the very core of her soul. What hope had she to offer them? What reward would they claim for their service to the Fellowship? The answer to those questions was far from encouraging.
A soft sigh permitted to escape the priestess' lips, she allowed her thoughts to turn to other matters, the curve of her back sinking into the embrace of a chair within the sitting room. A cup of chiliadd tea sat upon the table beside her, its rim chipped from much use, its porcelain stained with age, yet still, it retained its simple beauty.
Her hand reached to lift the cup, holding it before her for closer inspection. As she turned it slowly, Sabryenna found she saw herself in this very piece of porcelain. Her thoughts were stained with a thousand nightmarish memories, and even though she retained her youthful beauty, within, real or imagined, she could feel her bones creak.