[Morsoram Island] Pride and Prosperity.
[Morsoram Island] Pride and Prosperity
Teki Bonebard The rain of hellfire ceased upon the accepting of the gift of sacrifice to Amojana. To soothe the Fiend of Morsoram and bring peace to the isle, that had long suffered from neglect and wars long forgotten. Teki Bonebard, the new High Priestess, as so appointed by Adrin Eitan; the Son, the Chosen, had risen from the inner sanctum of Amojana, holding in her grip, the staff. Bestowed upon her by Amojana; it bore the ruby stone at the tip, which glowed fiercely with the Flame of Morsoram itself. The long staff created from a metal that resembled atlanteaum and niranium. The wielder of this ancient weapon could access the secured quintessent nodes that were found all around the island, and utilize this in weaving no matter where they were, no matter how far. A gift of the ancients; given only to the one that served Eitan faithfully, flawlessly.
Silent steps crept up upon Teki as she stood before the newly restored fiend, draped in a grey robe Adrin stood but a pace from her back.
“We have plenty to accomplish, Morsoram is to be raised from its ashes…the first outpost of our conquest.” Adrin said with unwavering resolve, he raised his head slightly with his crystalline apatures beholding the magnificent form of Amojana. A smile raised the corner of his lips upwards. “Let us begin…” he whispered.
Amojana was appeased, the will of Adrin would be done, and she showed respect gesturing to the island that was now at their feet. Wordlessly, the Fiend of Morsoram turned and descended back into the volcano temple, her sanctuary. Amojana was one with the island, content through the ritual of the splitting of stone, and fire, that the island and its people would now arise as never before. So long as its guardians lived by the code of law, and toiled to rebuild from the rubble Amojana’s blessings were eternal.
From here, the trio parted ways, for Adrin’s calling was now to attend to the mainland, and that of Yorkshire. Leading off in his grey cloak, his path chosen for him, the Son left Teki behind upon the hill that overlooked the town of Grimoire. Already you could see the fluttering of newly raised banners heralding the return of the Eitan to Morsoram. The people rejoiced and their prayers that had long gone unanswered were fulfilled. Their spirits once harnessed and shackled were as free as the seagulls that glided across the pristine sparkling blue waters of Ardgour Habour. Clean white sails of the fishing boats dotted the harbour, returning from its night fishing to a town bristling with life on the foreshore. The days that followed would be heady, for expectation was bound to be high; that pride and prosperity would again be the hallmarks of the Morsoram island natives.
Ardgour Habour
The orange flecks breached the horizon upon the third day, and already the sound of hammering and sawing rose above the cries of the traders in the Chamasan square. More than a meeting place, it was a market and where many traders came to do business in the cafes and hotels that had sprung up to welcome in the incoming tide of people, returning from across the island to be a part of the rebuilding. To stand in the centre of Chamasan square, from your left you could see the harbour; its ships and trawlers tied at their moorings, with fishermen and merchants unloading ships with cargo, with everything from their day’s catch, to the finest of silks and wines from far off ports. Smaller fishing vessels, lined up on the sandy beaches, their flags of colour fluttering in the warm morning breeze. On large rocks, many a sailor would be weaving new nets or repairing old ones, as the traders haggled for the best price with the ships Captains. The scent high of fish and crayfish permeated the air; and was inhaled deeply by Teki, who trekked along the sand barefoot, in her traditional silks and cockle shell jewellery. Sun kissed skin adorned with her tribal markings, clearly displayed so all who saw her approach knew she was the child of the sea. One such sailor, an old salt of note, who was sewing up a fishing net using a whale bone needle, looked up on hearing the tell tale clink of the shell jewellery. A dark wood pipe clenched firmly between his teeth, he puffed twice and then set it down upon the rock beside him, as the Priestess got closer. The Priestess carried in her right hand, the staff of Morsoram which still glowed bright with fire; her face turned out to sea, a wistful smile upon her lips. Dark locks woven with fine shells, danced about her shoulders, and down her back. A vision that naturally captured the spirit of Morsoram in humaniod form. One with nature; one with the sea. The cry of the gull alerting her that the fishing stocks had returned and this would bring fortune to the sailors and their families of Morsoram.
“Been many a year since I have seen the fishing this good. Tell me, Priestess, what caused such good tidings?” The old sailor gestured with a withered hand to the blue sky above, and uttered; “ The sky filled with fire but two nights ago, and now the fish have returned, and we have a plentiful bounty. Look at the ships…the men, with faces bright, expectant. Is this a freak phenomenon, Priestess?”
The old salt had a right to question the series of events that led to good tidings and fish in abundance, and the Priestess dug the end of the staff within the sand, as she sat beside him on the large granite rock, weathered by sun, sand and salt air. Drawing up her bare feet, her knees bent, the Priestess placed her elbows on her knees, and propped her fists just under her chin. Smiling she spoke with her unique accent, her eyes reflecting the green blue hue of the harbour’s waters. The shine of the sun’s rays bouncing off the water and dazzling as she turned her head towards the fisherman.
“You are most observant, my friend, not just accepting the filling of your nets as a good catch. There is a very good reason for the change in fortunes of the people. We owe it all to one. The star that fell the other night was the return of the Son, and with his return we have been shown the way to prosperity under his care. Amojana herself rose from the volcano, and showed her fury, her rage that she was awoken by his return. That is what you what you witnessed. Her wrath appeased, and now…now it is up to us all to raise Morsoram to its former glory. I am sure you would remember the golden age, my friend.”
Awe struck by her words, the old fisherman’s own breath became laboured, as a single tear fell from his left eye. Long had he dreamed of a world as it was before the wars that decimated the island, and reduced the town to rubble. He never dreamed that he would be alive to witness its rebirth, and here was the Priestess confirming that his prayers and tributes had been answered.
“I was but a boy.” The old fisherman whispered, as though scared to admit it had been so many years. Memories fond that were kept close to his heart, of his family in good times. Long days, and peaceful nights. Songs sung around blazing fires, voices united in song. Songs passed down from generation to generation. Words he thought would never be heard again, till now. “I must let my family know…my kin. Morsoram rises once more.” Teki slid off the rock, and took up the Staff in her hand once more, leaving the fisherman to spread the word of faith and the return of fortune. The Priestess knew that the harbour soon would raise its voices in a chorus united, on the news that would travel faster than the sea breeze.
Climbing the white stone steps towards Chamasan square, already you could see the bright flags flying across the square, as a town had come out to celebrate and rejoice. The Stone fortress rose high in the background, with the army now lending a hand in the town’s construction, offering security and order, as builders and workers toiled. On the right of the steps, a new hotel had been built, with its verandas overlooking the blue of the harbour. White stone with timber framed windows, all opened out to bring the breeze within. A rotund hotel owner emerged, wearing a crisp white shirt and black pants, black boots, handing a young lad flyers to spread out around the markets that the new establishment was open for business. Old world hospitality in a modern era. A strange mix, but so fitting in this small island nation. He spotted the barefooted Priestess, and brought his hands together, before approaching her, bowing as he got close.
“Priestess…this is a grand day, is it not? I wish to ask, would you come to give a blessing to my fine hotel? See for yourself the wonder of Morsoram craftsmanship, and the finest cuisine on the island. I am preparing a feast for the festival tonight, in honour of Amajana. There are many arriving from across the island to celebrate in the good fortune. “You could see the delight in his face as he showed off his pride; the Jarracade Inn. His hands outstretched, hopeful she would accept. Teki did not disappoint.
“I would be delighted. I feel that we are in for a magical eve. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
