the ascension of the chosen (Cannon)
TheOmnimercurial
Dragon Bard
- Location
- UK
The Blood of Ages flows so sweet and strong.
I watch as the Chosen gather for the Rituals and Ceremonies.
'Devotion to the Old God's and gratitude for finding Sanctuary here in the North, are but a few of the reasons motivating the Chosen presently preparing themselves.'
Oracle and Warg both are joined in singing and chanting, synchronised and in harmony, the wind rushing around them, excited by the resonance and magic being utilised, as the first cleansing stage begins for the Chosen, annointed oils and sap from Weirwood being daubed in patterns and Old Tongue Runes across their partially clad bodies.
'The Faith of the Seven has long been a hostile thing to any hints of Magic, the actions of the Monsters that laid low our High Druids is something that cannot happen again!'
The Chosen here are slowly being shown the correct steps and rythmn to join the Ritual, their unsure movements smoothing out as they blend into the weaving and looping dancers patterns, the Largest of the Weirwood Trees central to the Ritual, the nearby Babbling Brook and Standing Stones all positioned according to the World's Geomagical Flows.... The Poles of Weirwood bonded with Bronze, the Runes upon them glowing as the Dancers loop and change their Dancing to a newer and faster paced beat.
'The Northerners called the Rods of Sky, Sod and Stone a strange term. That of "Maypole", said they did Dances for feasts, festivals and sometimes weddings.'
The Music matches tempo to the Ritual, the Drums, Pipes and Chimes all reverberating throughout the area, shaking the blood red Weirwood Leaves and stirring up our spirits.
'The Northerners have forgotten far too much of the Old Ways, but it calms me to see the Dances still able to be performed, despite a lack of true understanding needed to weave the Magics of Self and the World. The Chosen are Chosen most meaningfully,, for the Chosen are the Ones who Choose! Sacrifice gives Power, but Self Sacrifice is of a Value that is far too underestimated by those who seek to Sacrifice Others, thankfully to our benefit usually, lest we face far worse foes and far more often than we can bear.'
I watch for my required participation, the moment approaching swiftly as the chanting becomes eerie, making the hairs rise up on the Humans, the Leaves Glow upon my People, while the Giants gain a Spark and Glow to their Eyes.... Tension builds as the Wind becomes charged with Power, the scent of Ionisation clear to those taught as I was.
'The Weirwoods are to do more than Bless the Chosen, they are to be Changed Completely, the Flow of Ages for them will cease, then the Green Vitae and the Animal Vitae will be Channeled through the Chosen, we will gain Living Conduits to guard and walk among us.... Avatars of Sky, Stone, Flowering and Flowing!'
I whirl into motion! My voice joining the chorus of voices and song, the leaping amidst the dancing that then is met with the impact of returning to the soils embrace! Staves and Staffs are waved and twirled, the crack echoing out as dancers clash their implements of Weirwood upon Weirwood, static charges in hair and betwixt leaves flowing between dancers as they spin, loop and move on an almost instinctual impulse.
I spin my own Stave, the Orbs of Weirwood Amber that are shaped into my Instrument of Mana direction begin to glow, their shiny jewel like appearance gaining an ominous Bloody Radiance!
"Hanyo! Og Salai, mehtt ya noi uhsakk! Meheyya om vussi lekk ayna! Yol za xoch, prumm ra nel tai nu che sohum!"
The Chosen move inwards, spiralling in their movements, the cycle of the Ritual echoing in meaning as it symbolises Nature and All within it in motion.
Light trails now form behind other Wargs, Green Seers and the Chosen, even the Musicians can be seen to glow and leave ripples of luminescent colour with each movement and note played by them.
Each movement and twist of Colourful Magic leaves trails of Red and Green light in my own wake. I conduct an Orchestra of Passion, Heart and Power, carefully forming a tapestry of Magic between Trees, Stones, the Musicians and Dancers.
The Ribbons linked between the "Maypoles" of Wood and Bronze, are shining brightly to the point the Runes can no longer be made out as legible. The Ribbons held by the Dancers are now full of Magic, the Dancing binding them into a Weft of many coloured Mana, ready to be brought inwards as the Dance continues on towards the Heart Tree.
"Kono Ya ontol! Hupp Hupp sealum middu! Yussek laep fuaa vipma assittomun! Tuskati ulshak illa dusky paputu molo! Vishal mirak ussa liapi!"
The weaving of Magic is in Plaits and Patterned Glyphs made up of Mana saturated Wood, Bronze, Fabric and Crystallised Sap.
It is both Real and Unreal, manifested between Dream and Reality both as the Weirwood Network guides me in using Lore and Magic that I was not yet Old enough, to have even had a chance to learn of yet.
'My Elders and Tutors may have been treacherously slain by the Sevenites, but their knowledge lives on!'
"Zalla! Untuim mala secoc na ta udulla!
Eight Colours outshine the Sun as they merge and stabilise into a Colour that is All and None.
The Dancers and Musicians all close their eyes as the Radiance is impossible to bear, yet their movements do not slow even for a moment.
Blindly moving between each other, the Trees and Standing Stones, faster and faster as only I take in the United and Pure vision made up of the true Colour of Magic.
Heart Beating in time with the frantically pounding drums, my arms guide my Stave as I dash amidst the Ritual participants, as the Chosen get closer and closer to the Heart Tree.
"Allarocca! Milishunva! Yarral! Lullella!"
The Chosen all move as one, leaping up and into the Heart Tree, through the Heart Tree.... In a Moment, that lasts an Eternity as Magic Implodes into and through the Chosen while in the Weirwood Realm itself.... Before being disgorged out, changed completely yet still themselves.
I watch as the Chosen gather for the Rituals and Ceremonies.
'Devotion to the Old God's and gratitude for finding Sanctuary here in the North, are but a few of the reasons motivating the Chosen presently preparing themselves.'
Oracle and Warg both are joined in singing and chanting, synchronised and in harmony, the wind rushing around them, excited by the resonance and magic being utilised, as the first cleansing stage begins for the Chosen, annointed oils and sap from Weirwood being daubed in patterns and Old Tongue Runes across their partially clad bodies.
'The Faith of the Seven has long been a hostile thing to any hints of Magic, the actions of the Monsters that laid low our High Druids is something that cannot happen again!'
The Chosen here are slowly being shown the correct steps and rythmn to join the Ritual, their unsure movements smoothing out as they blend into the weaving and looping dancers patterns, the Largest of the Weirwood Trees central to the Ritual, the nearby Babbling Brook and Standing Stones all positioned according to the World's Geomagical Flows.... The Poles of Weirwood bonded with Bronze, the Runes upon them glowing as the Dancers loop and change their Dancing to a newer and faster paced beat.
'The Northerners called the Rods of Sky, Sod and Stone a strange term. That of "Maypole", said they did Dances for feasts, festivals and sometimes weddings.'
The Music matches tempo to the Ritual, the Drums, Pipes and Chimes all reverberating throughout the area, shaking the blood red Weirwood Leaves and stirring up our spirits.
'The Northerners have forgotten far too much of the Old Ways, but it calms me to see the Dances still able to be performed, despite a lack of true understanding needed to weave the Magics of Self and the World. The Chosen are Chosen most meaningfully,, for the Chosen are the Ones who Choose! Sacrifice gives Power, but Self Sacrifice is of a Value that is far too underestimated by those who seek to Sacrifice Others, thankfully to our benefit usually, lest we face far worse foes and far more often than we can bear.'
I watch for my required participation, the moment approaching swiftly as the chanting becomes eerie, making the hairs rise up on the Humans, the Leaves Glow upon my People, while the Giants gain a Spark and Glow to their Eyes.... Tension builds as the Wind becomes charged with Power, the scent of Ionisation clear to those taught as I was.
'The Weirwoods are to do more than Bless the Chosen, they are to be Changed Completely, the Flow of Ages for them will cease, then the Green Vitae and the Animal Vitae will be Channeled through the Chosen, we will gain Living Conduits to guard and walk among us.... Avatars of Sky, Stone, Flowering and Flowing!'
I whirl into motion! My voice joining the chorus of voices and song, the leaping amidst the dancing that then is met with the impact of returning to the soils embrace! Staves and Staffs are waved and twirled, the crack echoing out as dancers clash their implements of Weirwood upon Weirwood, static charges in hair and betwixt leaves flowing between dancers as they spin, loop and move on an almost instinctual impulse.
I spin my own Stave, the Orbs of Weirwood Amber that are shaped into my Instrument of Mana direction begin to glow, their shiny jewel like appearance gaining an ominous Bloody Radiance!
"Hanyo! Og Salai, mehtt ya noi uhsakk! Meheyya om vussi lekk ayna! Yol za xoch, prumm ra nel tai nu che sohum!"
The Chosen move inwards, spiralling in their movements, the cycle of the Ritual echoing in meaning as it symbolises Nature and All within it in motion.
Light trails now form behind other Wargs, Green Seers and the Chosen, even the Musicians can be seen to glow and leave ripples of luminescent colour with each movement and note played by them.
Each movement and twist of Colourful Magic leaves trails of Red and Green light in my own wake. I conduct an Orchestra of Passion, Heart and Power, carefully forming a tapestry of Magic between Trees, Stones, the Musicians and Dancers.
The Ribbons linked between the "Maypoles" of Wood and Bronze, are shining brightly to the point the Runes can no longer be made out as legible. The Ribbons held by the Dancers are now full of Magic, the Dancing binding them into a Weft of many coloured Mana, ready to be brought inwards as the Dance continues on towards the Heart Tree.
"Kono Ya ontol! Hupp Hupp sealum middu! Yussek laep fuaa vipma assittomun! Tuskati ulshak illa dusky paputu molo! Vishal mirak ussa liapi!"
The weaving of Magic is in Plaits and Patterned Glyphs made up of Mana saturated Wood, Bronze, Fabric and Crystallised Sap.
It is both Real and Unreal, manifested between Dream and Reality both as the Weirwood Network guides me in using Lore and Magic that I was not yet Old enough, to have even had a chance to learn of yet.
'My Elders and Tutors may have been treacherously slain by the Sevenites, but their knowledge lives on!'
"Zalla! Untuim mala secoc na ta udulla!
Eight Colours outshine the Sun as they merge and stabilise into a Colour that is All and None.
The Dancers and Musicians all close their eyes as the Radiance is impossible to bear, yet their movements do not slow even for a moment.
Blindly moving between each other, the Trees and Standing Stones, faster and faster as only I take in the United and Pure vision made up of the true Colour of Magic.
Heart Beating in time with the frantically pounding drums, my arms guide my Stave as I dash amidst the Ritual participants, as the Chosen get closer and closer to the Heart Tree.
"Allarocca! Milishunva! Yarral! Lullella!"
The Chosen all move as one, leaping up and into the Heart Tree, through the Heart Tree.... In a Moment, that lasts an Eternity as Magic Implodes into and through the Chosen while in the Weirwood Realm itself.... Before being disgorged out, changed completely yet still themselves.
