Where there had been twisted baala trees, there were now the walls of a room, in great number and of a construction she had never seen. They intersected each other, passing through, creating a bizarre and alien domain of impossible architecture. Amid this domain were two men, in strange dress and seemingly unaware of each other. They each stood before an apparatus of nobs, flashing lights and white keys. She recognized the keys as belonging to an instrument, perhaps a variety of taraskilt, like she used to play growing up in the Hegemony capital of Nolybab. But these strange devices sounded nothing like the famed instrument of her homeland. It was capable of a seemingly endless array of noises that changed as these two men turned the knobs on the machines and worked the keys.
The songs they played were rousing and strange, utilizing chords and scales new to her ears. She had so many questions: who were these men? Why did they stand in this strange realm of intersection rooms with their odd instruments? What did their song mean? None of her questions were answered and the strange room and its occupants suddenly swirled into oblivion as new images formed. It was a parade of sights and sound. She saw past things: the history of her people and its glorious and tragic history; she saw the war of refusal, and the great parting of the curtain, where all saw the hell that was the afterlife. She saw the woman who came before her, leading the dead to peaceful places. She saw her mother in her finest moment, destroying the Khan of the dead and her lowest, allowing the barrows to be looted of their treasure. Then she saw herself, a pure and simple reflection in the mirror pool.
That moment of calm was soon swallowed up in sound and light and Soja saw the endless stream of the future, she sobbed as she watched her own death, which was not far hence, and the glorious and terrible things that would follow. Then from blackened water formed structures of stone, taller than any she had ever seen, they were ablaze with fire and smoke poured from the wreckage. Across a broken sky screamed great hawks of metal that poured gouts of lightning from their wings. The bodies of strangely armored men and women were thrown asunder by flowers of flame. Amidst all of this, a woman stared back at her. Her skin was the color of snow, the hair that spilled from under her helmet was the white of a crone. Soja knew then that she was looking at a distant descendant, in a battle that would take place here, unknown centuries into the future. The woman in the vision was suddenly startled by something. She stood and stared into the sky where the clouds were giving way to something massive that was descending, something alive and most surely evil. She desperately wanted the vision to fade, or for the clouds to continue to clothe this writhing form in the sky. But she had no hold over this vision and the clouds parted. Her descendant screamed in horror and madness, the thing in the sky bellowed a sound like the death screams of all humanity in unison. Soja screamed and didn’t stop until a hand clamped down upon her shoulder.
“There is a price for those who look into this pool,” said a wizened voice, “the price is death.”
supported by 30 fans who also own “The Scrying Pool”
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 “The Scrying Pool”
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
