Her StarshineIndlovu stares lifelessly into the distance of her noisy throne room as men bicker and squabble from either side of the black stone aisle that runs its length. Human kings have taken to cowering behind her authority when negotiations fail to yield unearned victory. She begins to lose the last of her patience at hearing, for the seventh time this moon, “I would defer to our arbiter, The Silver Sovereign.”
Suddenly jolted to life, she entertains herself by casually asking, “You would dare command my tongue?”
The distance and envoy’s mouth hangs open is a good measure of despair. She mocks him with a reserved smirk, “...Like a beast made tame by metal and meat?”
“Y-Your Majesty... I sought only your wisdom”, he declares, his imagination locked behind stiff hairs and crawling skin.
Her interest slips away, "Pity, I roused at the notion of new. Still, hollow words would taint my mouth and turn my stomach from joy.”
Another brave human clears his throat and gains the courage to ask, “Then… Her Majesty has none?”
Her response is cryptic and foreboding, “Your kind are too young to know what floods have raged before-”, and, while lazily gesturing upward with open palms and leading eyes, “-what bones were made these halls.”
One by one, eyes grow wide at the realization: The elegant towering arches of her expansive throne room are a glimmering white stone that does not exist elsewhere.
She glazes over, quietly lamenting, “Such learnings are not meant for children..."
Another envoy, a fanatical scholar of unwritten tales, has heard many legends far older than official human record: musings of ancient elves, their battles with divine beasts, and the so-called 'white legions' they supposedly erased. He carefully prods in a shallow attempt to gain favor, “Your Grace?”
Indlovu abruptly returns to the present, venting, "I tire of these conflicts. We have drowned in dark and now seek the Light, but ashen skies keep Her away. I can barely taste our hard-won fruits for the stench of blood in the air; barely hear the singing winds over dissonant cries for mercy...”
An envoy, “What would please-“
“SILENCE-”, echoes to cause the same, despite her lack of volume, “-from children playing at strife.”
Much to the men's surprise, which will continue for some time, their mouths have been forced shut and will remain so until her influence wanes - beyond the horizon. They attempt to stifle their panic as the she scans across the disappointments that fill her view.
Her chin slightly lifts while giving the final words of her last arbitration on behalf of men, “Tell your kings we will endure their trifles no more. When they and theirs return to the dirt is of little consequence to us, and the wise should hope it remains so. Tell them… none exist where mine does not. All clouds shade my lands; ALL reigns feed my rivers. What has long settled is upwelling... They will make peace. Or I will make war."
2023-06-06 16:57:41 +0000