A lone rider urged her steed into wrathful winds, her destination a horizon of element ravaged hills. A stronghold sky of purple storm clouds towered above as mount and rider struggled forth. There were paths that traversed this tangled land of grasses and brambles, but the rider was new to this realm and these ways were unknown to her.
She camped when The Sisters had both dipped below the horizon and a procession of suitor moons raced after them. The rider considered this eternal chase of love, a chase that only ended when two of the moons and the two suns met, and cast all of Ur into darkness. This meeting of heavenly bodies occurred once in centuries and lasted but moments, then the suns and moons parted, only to chase each other again, eager for their next meeting.
“You’ve traveled far sister.” Woja said emerging from the darkness. Soja screamed and scrambled to her feet, dagger in hand. “Theres nothing to fear out here, there is none to find you.” Woja said seating herself by a dying fire. Soja tucked the dagger back into her sash and squatted by the glowing coals and guttering flame, urging it back to life with twigs and grass.
“I stayed by the great tree for many days, hoping you would speak to me. As did your husband and son. They left long before I.” Soja said, prodding the growing flames.
“You're angry at me.”
“You died.”
“I did, and it can’t be undone.” Soja stood pointing the charred end of the stick at Woja, who’s form was beginning to drift.
“It was supposed to be me, I was deserving of it,” she cast the stick into the fire, “not you.”
“Things are written as they happen, not how they should be. I could never be what you must be now.”
“I'm not worthy to follow mother's path.”
“yet you carry her spears,” Woja was now nothing more than a mist hovering and drifting out of the circle of fire light. “Beware these lands, though there are many friends to you here, you will face powerful foes.”
“Where are you going?” The mist was gone “Sister?”
“Avoid the Thickets” Woja said, and then was gone.
She continued east, then north. The ever rushing winter winds cut like a blade. The grasses and brambles of the ceaseless steppe became increasingly frost burdened with the leagues. All the while she continued her mothers work, leading the lost and forgotten dead to places of rest. The spring was catching up with the winter when she came across an ancient marsh. Snow gave way to the call of renewal and everything melted, giving way to what had been hidden these long winter months: moss, root and thicket. Thickets, rising from the sponge of the bog land in their thousands.
She had sensed the presence of restless dead in this bog, the place of a terrible conflict. Should could see the mummified bodies of the fallen deep under the mud, could feel they’re trapped spirits, struggling in their desiccated husks. This ability slowly developed itself over the months since she had become Spear Keeper, Wanderess, Death Sheppard. She still found this new sensitivity disturbing, human beings were meant to be preoccupied with life not death. But she often reminded herself that she had once been Battle Master of the Hegemony. Her life had been given to the taking of it. The best she could do now was lead the fitful dead to a place of true rest, where they could continue their spiritual existence in peace.
She spent a day and night raising up these fallen warriors, and leading their stumbling, shuffling remains to a barrow some leagues away, deep in the thicket lands.
She had heard her mother's tales of the bodiless spirits that roamed these lands, of their terrible hunger. Something still resided among the twisted masses of thorns that spotted the plain or wove into labyrinthian forms. She lead her steed with care and watchfulness, staring about at any sound. By high suns they can come to a pool. Soja’s beast went to drink, but was suddenly spooked. The creature reared with a shriek and rushed away into the mist that had been slow to dissipate. Soja didn’t follow the creature. It would be foolish to loose herself in the maze of brambles and fog. She knelt down by the pool to drink. Its was mirror smooth and cast a perfect reflection. Yet as she looked, something strange was happening to the image in the pool. It was distorting as if by a great gust of wind and when the pool was smooth again, she recognized nothing in its reflection.
supported by 30 fans who also own “Crossing the Threshold of the Steppe I. The Great Thaw II. What None May See”
If nostalgia for an age where creatures of myth walked together with the children of men had a soundtrack, this album would be it. Also, a touching reminder that we can forego wealth and power for wilderness and freedom, if we so choose. emanuele127
supported by 30 fans who also own “Crossing the Threshold of the Steppe I. The Great Thaw II. What None May See”
I met Fogweaver through Vedurnan and, later, Magelight. This more energetic take on their music is wonderful and exciting, a compelling twist bearing their unique signature. emanuele127
