Weights & Scales: The Retelling of a Tale Told in Dice
CHAPTER 1~ Shadows and Sacrifice
The fear of shadows resides in the unknown. What lies just beyond the prying fingers of candlelight could be anything. Our mind begins to fill in the dark possibilities of what could be, and our anxiety does the rest. My newly conscious mind began to take in my surroundings. I found myself in a circular pool of light. Fed from the flickering wicks of candles splashed around the room. The features of the room were held beyond the borders defined by the candles. From my back I felt a cold unforgiving surface pressed against the scaled flesh of my bare shoulders. I flexed my fingers and felt the gritty sensation of claws against stone. My clothing had been stripped away. My arms flexed to aid me in rising from my prone position and no movement came. Just the fibrous pull of restraints upon reptilian flesh. I came to the realization that the bound position I was in was all too familiar. This altar I knew. This position I found myself in time and time again.
I began framing my predicament based on memories of times before. Before I could grasp the complexity of my predicament, the question of what lies beyond the shadows was answered. A tall hulking frame stepped out from the depths of possibility. Its broad shoulders draped in a hooded robe. Pulled forward to obscure all aspects of my host’s face. I tried to gaze into the swirling, black nothing under the hood. As I strained to find form in the black, my eyes met theirs. A pair of reptilian eyes burned from the recesses of his head covering. Fiery eyes. My eyes. They seemed to burn through all my defenses into the core of my being. Unraveling all my closely guarded secrets and fears. He knew me. All of me.
Suddenly, the flash of candlelight across metal interrupted the trance his eyes cast upon me. I broke from his gaze to see a long, sinister dagger that appeared from the folds of his robe. The candles reflection interrupted by the granular residuals of the blood of past sacrifices. In between the droplets on the flat of the blade, I caught an image of fear. I looked closer and realized the look of fear held upon the reflected face was mine, reflected back to me from what remained of the polished finish on the knife. He took a step towards me. I could hear the faint scrape of claws upon rock as his feet lurched forward across the cobblestones. My obscured oppressor’s footfalls seemed to awaken others and from the shadows stepped a circle of followers who fell in step with their apparent leader. Similarly hidden beneath the recesses of their robes, the ranks closing slowly, keeping pace with the approach of my soon to be assailant. He meant me harm, and the ropes confining me to the cold stone held fast. There was nothing I could do but witness his intent.
As he reached the side of the altar, a chanting began to rise from beneath the hoods of our audience. An undefinable hiss that whispered eerily through the chamber. It’s volume slowly began to rise. As if fueled by the ever-increasing volume of the rhythmic hiss of the chorus, my attacker’s arm began to rise, dagger clutched in hand. I felt a burning sensation rise in the pit of my stomach. As if the fiery wrath in my attacker’s eyes passed through his targeted gaze. I strained against my bonds in hopes of escape. I pulled and wrenched upon the rope. It’s coiled lengths cutting into my wrists and ankles. No relief came. As the chanting reached its apex, so did the blade. There was a moment of silence as the knife paused. Halting its ascension for the briefest or moments before plunging down into my abdomen. The sharp entrance pushing the wind from my lungs. I gasped in shock as all elements of my environment traveled the path of the knife. Following it down. Down. Into a spiraling darkness the seemed impossible to fathom. Then in the exact moment where I felt the final scraps of my sanity follow the newly created void through the core of myself, I shot bold upright. Gasping for breath in yet another dark and familiar space. This place held no malice toward me. These were the quarters I maintained in the Temple of the Light. This was home.
Almost as quickly as my moment of clarity came, it was immediately taken from me as a bright light filled my chambers.
“Good Morning, Laz!”
In a simultaneous act, the audible greeting that I unwelcomely received was joined with a bright, searing pain in my retinas.
“Ah! For the love of the light!” I uttered, groaning towards my ocular assailant. As lights danced across my field of vision I turned towards the entryway of my chambers. Silhouetted by a doorway radiating divine light, I saw a hulking, dragonborn body filling the frame. Even if I could see clearly, I wouldn’t need it to identify my attacker. “Zen, what is wrong with you?”
“Nothing, just thought you could use a little morning motivation.”
As the tracers and pops of light in my vision began to fade. I could start to see the details of my surroundings. It began with taking in the simple décor of my chambers. Stone floors polished by centuries of boots treading across them. A modest, wooden desk piled high with spell books scrolls and pens. An unlit lamp handing above. Against the far wall, a rudimentary wardrobe stood stoically against the carved stone wall. It was old, but well maintained and it served the purpose of holding what few possessions I retained. At last my eyes cleared to the point of seeing the blue scaled frame of the spellcaster who felt the need to alert me to the coming day. Heavily muscled and draped in the robes of a would be initiate, a Kinmen who apparently found rising in the pre-dawn hours as easy as he did the rest of his life. Zendalyn Kinmen. I’d hate him if he wasn’t my brother. Although irritation cannot be swayed by even brotherly love.
“Every morning,” I groaned flopping onto my back and pulling a pillow over my face.
“I wouldn’t have to if you would just listen to Forsith.” Zendalyn responded smugly.
I lifted the pillow from my face and listened. I heard the voluminous tones of a singing bowl vibrating through the stone walls of the dormitory. Forsith Zahn, the personal attendant to the High Protector was sure to be at the end of the hall awakening all the Kinmen to their morning duties. Forsith. The only person who rose earlier than my brother. In fact, they rose earlier than all of us. Ensuring all was in order before the other Zahn took to their morning meditations.
“Let’s go little brother,” Zendalyn urged.
He had taken a nonchalant stance. Leaning against the still glowing door frame flicking his tail impatiently across the floor. Our chambers were humble, but what that did mean is that anyone who entered was always within reach. As his serpentine tail drew near the bed I reached to grab it while simultaneously speaking an incantation under my breath. “Tcilfni Sdnuow!” the words were spoken in Magi, the language of magics. They sparked within me the power bestowed upon me by The Divine Light Aoalani surged from my core. Travelling down my arm and into the complacent tail of my dear brother. A guttural “Awww” erupted from that toothy grin. Bringing a smile to mine.
Before he could respond in kind, we heard the permanently piqued tones of Forsith echo down the hall.
“Are you two ready yet?” they exclaimed in the measured voice they always seemed to generate, no matter how intense the current annoyance may be.
In that moment, Jakken, one of the other Kinmen bounded around the corner.
“You know they aren’t.” He chuckled as the patter of his halfling feet followed him to the exit.
“Lazlor, Zendalyn. If the two of you are ready.” It always amazed me how Forsith could patiently sound impatient. A skill that seemed to come naturally to them.
“Right behind you,” Zendalyn called down the hall. Apparently satiating Forsith’s annoyance enough to allow them to proceed on with their morning routine. “Get your gloomy self out of bed, Laz. Today’s the day!” With that he trod down the hall. His excitement adding an extra jaunt to his scaled feet.
I let out a heavy exhale. The day of days. Our initiation day. The day that we are tested and measured to find if we are worthy of taking our vows and joining the ranks of The Order of The Divine Light as a full-fledged Zahn. A day that every Kinmen looks upon with great excitement and anticipation. At least we are supposed to, right?
I slowly rose to my feet, trying to shake the last remnants of that damned recurring dream from my consciousness. A feat that was proving rather difficult. All I could think of was that knife plunging into me. It seemed to hold vigilance in my mind and fuel a feeling of unknown foreboding that resided deep within my gut. The dream I have had before. As far back as I could remember, it would pop up every now and again. But lately, it had become a fixture of my nights. Returning each evening to hold sway over my subconscious. What did it mean, and why has it been back so often?
The tones of the singing bowl had drifted from the halls. Meaning if I was going to get on with the day, now was the time. I rose from my bed to don my robes. I had chores to do.
As I exited my room a proceeded down the long hall of our dorm corridor. Door after door lined the walls. Each representing a Kinmen or a Zahn in The Order. Their occupants either slowly stirring, or already enroute to prep The Cliffs of The Dawn for morning meditations. Some rooms stood empty. Their Zahn’s out somewhere in the world spreading the works of Aoalani amongst the people. The idea of the outside world struck me as an ambiguous concept.
When Zendalyn and I came to the temple we couldn’t have been more than 5. We didn’t remember much of what came before. Bits and pieces. Wood beneath our feet. The spray of water across our faces. Red hair and the scent of roses and sea salt. The perfume of our mother. Zen says he doesn’t remember her. I do. If only in fragments. If I pray to The Divine Light for anything, its that I never forget that fragrance.
As I reached the western door of the dormitory, I grabbed my lantern and broom. No light was needed to navigate the cliffs, followers of the light never feel from their edges. No matter the ability of their eyes. The High Protector tells us, Within the embrace of The Light, we walk by faith, not by sight.” Which is good, seeing as how most of the elders lost their sight long ago. After spending decades staring into the dawn for enlightenment, to no longer need the sense of sight to see the blessings of the divine is a great honor.
As I stepped across the threshold of western door, I was struck by a wall of cold sea air. Although the water was far below the cliffs, the sounds of their waves crashing into the base of the cliffs was a constant reminder of how close these steps were from the edge of the world.
The Elders say that the first of us built the temple here because these rocks are the first bit of earth touched by the dawn. Bringing with it divine inspiration. Each morning, the Zahns awaken before daybreak and navigate these steps to individual meditation berths carved into the rockface. As blind as most are, they are never surer footed then they are upon these steps. They then take their places and await first light. The first rays of the sun cast upon their faces. The warmth bringing with it visions from The Divine Light themselves. Or so we are told. As Kinmen, the only time we are allowed on the cliffs is when we clean them….each and every morning. Before most of The Elders are even awake.
I set to work quickly. Going berth by berth. Sweeping sand and sea gulls over the edge and into the sea. If a ship were travelling around the Western Horn of the continent, they would see an array of a dozen or so lights moving in a rhythmic sway back and forth from the edge of each Kinmen’s Lantern. A dance of light from the cliffs before the birth of light from the horizon.
This morning there were 8 of us. All of various ages and stages of our training. My brother and I were the oldest. Unless you count Jakken, which most didn’t. Being a halfling, his age has never been a sign of maturity. Halflings seemed to reach their adulthood at a much less harried pace then most others. Enjoying the spring of their youth far longer than those around them. The elders have passed over his initiation year after year. Saying he wasn’t ready. It didn’t seem to phase him though. He much preferred spending his time in the stables caring for the horses or pestering Henifah Zahn, the blacksmith. This morning he was in rare form. Giggling profusely as he snuck up on sleeping birds and then rousting them from their roosts with his broom. Normally Jakken’s childish antics would make me smile, but as my broom scaped upon the stone, all that was ringing through my head was the unforgettable scrape of scaled claws approaching the altar in my dreams.
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I will never understand why Lazlor is always so grouchy. Our time at the temple has been great. Most of the time I’d try and sort out what was bugging him, but not today. Today we take our trials. Today we become Zahns. I took a deep breath and exhaled Laz’s emotional baggage and took in the cool air that emanated around the dark caverns of the dormitory.
Sparks of flint on stone sputtered rhythmically as Daecon and Tommin worked to light the braziers and chandeliers in the Central Library. Tommin’s taper ignited first, casting its flickering light along the rows and rows of books. Just looking at them brings the taste of dust into my mouth. If I ever read another of those moldy tomes it will be too soon. Maybe after today I won’t have to.
The two, torch bearing Kinmen slowly worked their way around the room weaving between the tables to ignite the chandeliers hung above each of the round tables scattered around the room, slowly revealing the rest of the room. Just in time for me to see Forsith ducking back into the chambers of The High Protector. I’m sure in the history of The Order, no one has been more devoted to a High Protector than Forsith. I guarantee you no one ever worked harder for one.
Forsith was always the first to rise and the last to rest. Always at the High Protector’s side when they were needed and at the same time, keeping a sharp eye on all the Kinmen. They seemed to be everywhere at once. Those who had been in the order longest say Forsith was the youngest personal attendant ever to serve under a High Protector. Most Zahn’s work their whole lives to gain the honor of attending an Elder, much less a High Protector. Forsith appeared to have achieved it by about 30. It’s hard to say though. Forsith was a half-elf. Their age had always been a bit difficult to discern, and the shaved head and brow of a Zahn didn’t help much either. Needless to say, regarding age, we had never asked and they had never offered.
As I approached the western door, I was joined by a few of the other Kinmen, preparing to go about cleaning the great cliffs. As I reached for my lantern and broom, Jakken caught sight of me in the fresh firelight.
“What happened to your tail, Zen?” Jakken asked quizzically.
I looked down and, sure enough, there was a large black scorch mark where Laz had grabbed me. “Nothing.” I quipped, swishing the tale back under my robes. An attempt to dismiss the conversation before any others noticed as well.
“Laz got you good this morning, huh?” Jakken chided, laughing as he ducked under my swinging broom, and headed out the western door.
I called down the stairs at the escaping Jakken. “I missed on purpose!” My obvious lie was interrupted suddenly by a perturbed voice emanating from behind me.
“If you wouldn’t mind focusing on your duties. I believe you have disturbed the peace of these halls enough for one morning.”
Forsith appeared, suddenly behind me. Startling me and making my scales quiver in the process. How the hell does she do that?
“Sorry, Forsith.” I bowed slightly as a sign of respect. As I raised my eyeline, I stole a glance down the hall. Just in time to catch the brassy scales of Lazlor finally exiting his room. Scarf pulled high to cover his face. “About time.” I said to myself as I headed off down the cliff steps to my chores.
Cleaning the steps has always been an oddly soothing act for me. The chore itself was never all that exciting, but the sound of the waves along the cliff base always brought me back to the first solid memory I had.
Laz and I were just kids, maybe 5 years old, sitting alone on a beach near Torjibad. We’ve always assumed we washed ashore, but I wouldn’t be able to say that with confidence. Cold, wet and hungry. We could have been there for days. If it wasn’t for a merchant caravan making its way into town, we may not have made it. That’s when we first met Hoffa. The dwarf and I stood eye to eye then. Now he would need a ladder to accomplish that feat. Those wagons held mysteries from all over the world. Yet I had never seen him as wide eyed as when he came upon two Dragonborn kids, alone in the sand. It was Hoffa who brought us to The Order. “Here there are some of the wisest men in all of Kul De’Has,” He told us, “Listen to them and if they can’t solve your past, they can certainly give you a future.”
“They can give you a future.” Why was that ringing in my head?
“I think that one’s clean, Zen.” I looked up and saw Lazlor staring down at me from the meditation berth above me. I looked down and realized I had been sweeping the same spot for awhile now.
“You alright?” He asked, pulling his scarf under his chin.
“Of course. Today we become Zahn.” Lazlor grinned his sideways smile. Showing the row of sharp teeth he tries to hide from the world and stepped away. Continuing his cleaning path. It was true though. Today we face our trials and join the ranks of the most prestigious religious order in the history of the world. Why wouldn’t we be excited?
No one would tell you this, but if you spend enough time at the edge of night, you can smell the dawn approaching. As we finished our tasks, a familiar scent began to build. Slowly warming, salt air made its way into my lungs. The first light of the day must be close at hand. The other Kinmen had begun collecting their brooms and lanterns and making their way back to the western door. It would be a good idea for me to do the same. I gave one last look off into the darkness, breathed in the coming dawn and headed back up the stairs.
As we approached the door, the Zahns began exiting the dorms themselves. Heading to the cliffs for their morning meditations. The Kinmen paused and stepped aside to allow them to pass. Bowing briefly to show their respects. As they passed, I stole a glance after them. Tomorrow I will be walking down among them. Meditating on The Cliffs of Dawn for the first time.
Once they passed, the Kinmen and I continued up the steps to the main level of The Cathedral of the Aurora. Kinmen were not permitted to take their morning rituals on the cliffs. These berths were strictly reserved to full-fledged members of the order. As Kinmen we were expected to meditate among the townsfolk and pilgrims. Joining them on the temple grounds in The Bathing Gallery.
As we exited The Cathedral and turned towards The Gallery, I came upon a familiar sight. Another Kinmen, working to complete her tasks before the sun joined us in the waking world. She was currently gathering brooms and lanterns from her younger wards. As she bent to retrieve a lantern from one of the children, the waves of her hair broke loose from the strip of leather that tried in vain to hold it back. The black locks blended with the night as they fell across her face. The flames of the wicks danced playfully in their metallic cages, mimicked by the curves and coils of her spirited main. A truer visual for the fiery Kinmen did not exist. The candles cast just enough light to bring out the green in her eyes. Framed in those black curls, Lisbeth looked up and caught my eyeline. The faintest beginnings of a smile touched her lips as she saw me approach, but it was her eyes that that I saw.
Lisbeth came to the order as a runaway. Her father was a docksmen at Hopper’s Ferry. Spending his days tending to the barges and his nights in the taverns of Tucker’s Bend. He came home on occasion. Flopping into their flat in a stupor to berate and deliver a physical reminder of his disdain before passing out somewhere unconventional. The neglect would have been enough for anyone to want to leave, but it was the abuse that sealed her exit. She hitched various rides in caravans making their way west through the Grimmwood and Pilgrim’s Pass. Some by invitation, some as a stowaway. When found, she would simply wait for the next to come by and try her luck again. I asked her why she came to the temple. “Simple,” she explained, “it was as far away as I could get.”
As our eyes met it brought all of this to mind. Even the times we spent studying in the library. She studied books, I studied the details of her face. When it was announced that I would face my trials, she found me in the stables after one of my training sessions.
“What happens after you become a Zahn?” she asked meekly.
“What do you mean?” The question came honestly. “Zahns, bring light into the world. They travel. Perform great deeds in the name of The Divine Light. Who knows, maybe I would even make High Protector someday.”
“That’s not what I meant, Zen.”
I simply stared, confused. She looked me in the eye for the first time. Realizing that I had no idea what she was referring to. The concern in her face turned to pain. I had wounded her without even knowing I held a blade. She turned to make her way out of the stalls. Before crossing the threshold, she paused. Without turning around she simply stated, “Zahns can’t marry, Zendalyn.” With that she exited the stables.
Here we were in the darkness, minutes before the dawn. The first time I had seen her since that day is the stables. Lisbeth rose from her crouched position, tucking her hair behind her ear as she did so. As I approached her at the entrance to The Bathing Gallery, she maintained her sparse eye contact. We were held there, both wrapped in silence, for what seemed like an eternity. It was clear that we both wished to speak, but could not come up with the words. Lisbeth broke eye contact first. Turning away slightly, she whispered simply, “good morning,” and went to her station at the entrance of the gallery. Welcoming pilgrims and townsfolk to their morning rituals.
I passed the entrance and took a bench next to my brother who, mercifully, had not witnessed any of what had just transpired. Folding himself into a meditative position, he closed his eyes and began to prepare himself. I tried to do the same. I couldn’t shake the image of Lisbeth’s eyes. Full of wants and searching for…. Something, but what? It lingered, preoccupying my thoughts. It appeared that no matter how hard I tried, Lazlor’s mood was contagious and the sour start to an important day seemed to prove unshakeable.