The Revelation of Findelfin

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Hir-Menegillion I


In the Name of Aurient Star-Mother, Whose Name
Calls forth the Final Prime
to the Final Prime, blessings on the
City that is Coming!

In the name of Selana, whose
memory stirs the rain,
whose light graces the Desert,
whose flowers grow in the mountains, blessings on the
City that is Coming!

By Earlon's Name, whose
betrayal forms the center,
whose history is logic ashamed,
whose hope is to be remembered, blessings on the
City that is Coming!

Remember Megillion, whose
wheels of metal,
whose blasting rocks,
whose fiery strokes consume him, blessings on the
City that is Coming!

Oh blessed Arddunwë, whose
boundless might overpowers,
whose power stretches forever,
whose domain is every soul, blessings on the
City that is Coming!

Cuaryë, raise your voice, you whose
hands are wooded,
you whose face is guarded,
you whose strength is peace, give blessings on the
City that is Coming!

In the name of Galatirion, whose
vengeance stretches long,
whose might is in lament,
whose hands work slow reconciliation, blessings on the
City that is Coming!


This is the testament of Cildorian of Coiameth, laid down in the First Year after the Fall of Eluriand, laid down in praise of Tel Ainelenari, Tel Aina Otso. This is the tale of the ascent to the heavens of Hir-Menegil, also called Findelfin of the House Fingolfin, of his journey through to the seventh sphere, how he talked with Tel Aina Otso and passed their tests, how the light of the stars became his blood, how the illumination of divine wisdom was upon him.

Blessings to you, O reader of this testament! If ears you have, may you hear the words that speak from the heavens! May your eyes be suffused by the enlightenment of the Spheres, the seven tones that emanate therein, and unlock the glistening secrets of cycle and countercycle, of cosmogony. Heed these words and meditate on them, grace and peace be to those who listen.

These are the words of Hir-Menegil that were told to Cildorian:

I dreamed that on that night appointed by Tel Ainelenari there came to my bedside seven figures sent from the sky. They appeared to me in the forms of those I had known, and they spoke in voices whose very sounds shone with light, as with one voice.

Behold, said they, We stand before you as you, the parts of you, that you may know the divisions of your soul and its compositions. How, said I, do you seem as those I have known, for I am I and you are they? They did not respond directly, but seemed to smile without any motion to their face. See, they said, this is a mystery, may you unlock it in time. I confess that the riddle of this appearance dwells now with my enlightenment, but say to you, See, this is a mystery, may you unlock it in time.

But, said they, we will tell you our names, that you may know the enumeration of our parts, and perhaps discover the truth of our seeming.

Then stepped forward the first figure, and I saw it as one I dreaded. My heart quailed at its coming, I was afraid to speak lest it notice me. Know, said Mulciber, that I who was your foe was raised by hands long forgotten but part of you. I chose the full part of cruelty and paid for it, and I dwell as certainly in the heart of all as I do within my own heart. Yet you dueled with me, and though wounded to your soul your star shines now bright, and it has yet to overflow.

Then stepped forward the second figure, and I saw him as a figure I had long missed. My heart leapt with love and devotion, and I cried out to him. Yes, said Devon, I am here, the Starslayer, but I confess that I slay stars no more, and Mistress Aurient has granted that in time I may come to dwell fully among them. For despite my fell aspect, I chose that which is the better part, and have been accorded honor for my deeds.

Then stepped forward the third figure, and I thrilled for my murdered life had been returned. I was about to my feet, to rush for the pure embrace that I had long desired. No, said Natamrael, my once-love, our time is past. You must see that, and care for what is real, for that is the pathway to the stars where my hair now falls in luminescence, and the paths of memory are all that is open to you now.

Then stepped forward the fourth figure, and I saw him as the first two intermingled. I wanted to speak to him in anger and thanks for I hated him and loved him for saving my life and murdering it. What, said Mazrith, does work within you at my glance? For what am I but part of you, only more so, for I know where my heart lies.

Then stepped forward the fifth figure, and she was as a goad to action, I wanted to leap up, to serve, to coax, to cajole earnest elves into action for her sake. Rest, said Linwë, for you are weary, calm yourself, quiet yourself. You have served long for my sake, now let me raise you to that occultation where you will know the beautiful form of the Final Prime.

Then stepped forward the sixth figure, and I saw in him a rest, a refuge. I wanted to lay back and rest, to let him speak to me, and relax in the companionship of long familiarity. Arise, said Legeliwyn, your light has come! You hide it in the mountains to let it gather, but you shall burst forth with the hope of the ages and usher the City that is Coming into the world! Let what I will show you goad you to action and hope in the cosmic vision.

Then stepped forward the seventh figure, and I marveled in surprise. For she made me want to laugh again, to ride with the winds, to see the faraway once more. And what is more, she seemed to have grown in stature and wisdom and strength. Come, looked Pelektar, come astride me, and we shall go together to the appointed place.

And so did I climb onto the back of Pelektar, whose had grown so that I rode as upon a ship, with my feet folded beneath me, and upon her back did my companions join me. And we went up, and saw many wondrous things.

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Astride the back of the great horse did I ride, until I saw spread below me the full flow of the Escaldor and all its tributaries, and all the secret shaded glens of Lindequalmë revealed themselves to me as dark stains amidst the mottled foliage, and I knew that forest as a mortal beholds a ladybug crawl across a fingertip. Long we traveled through dark spaces that seemed charged by some sacred wind of fire, some crackling invisible lightning that thrilled through my flesh as the bluefin through the sea.

Then I heard from far off the sound of a music unfamiliar, though it contained within it some similar strain to those melodies that I have known well. It raised within me great fear, yet my heart yearned to find its source. Then spoke I, saying, What is this music, for it sounds within it some pure tone of great Galatirion reminiscing on the memory of his youth, but yet anger and cruelty it contains also, and if this truly be a tour of the Stars then know I not why we proceed from the earthly plane direct unto the Sixth Sphere of Galatirion without passing through those Spheres that intervene.

Then Mulciber stirred its fell form, saying, You know much and guess more, Thee Who Was My Foe, but still greater in all worlds is the store of your ignorance. For this is the music of Earlon, not Galatirion, though once they loved each other deeply and consorted amongst the heavens as friends. Do you not know what Sphere we enter that you may learn its aspect?

Though I quivered deep at the voice of Mulciber, I was compelled by his words to respond, saying, Surely this must be the first Sphere, which is Earlon, but I do not know what you mean by aspect. And why, tormentor, must you return to me, you who was slain by my blade. Now when it seems my lot to tour the cosmological wonder, why are you among my guides hither?

Its fell voice answered, saying, Those who guide you are your own soul in all its disparate parts, its male and female, and I who am neither. My blade pierced your arm and so I am part of you, and just as you may never travel the heavens as a self divided, so then must I go with you, for I am bound to you as part of your logical extension.

Ah, said I, for you tell me a mystery, yet I perceive its ordering as one sees a syllogism and observes its parts, for as I am composed through relationships, and as I once related to you as your enemy, so then you travel with me as part of my composition. If in this tunic there is only divinity, and you wear my clothes as surely as I, then you are part of divinity.

You are wise, said Mulciber, to grasp this truth. Perhaps you shall pass the test of Earlon that the Ainelenar sets to those who would gain past the Watery Gate and obtain the Soul of Enarlin.

And then I knew with fear and trembling at those words where I was bound and what Mulciber meant by aspect, and my heart knew dread. All this time, the music had grown, and I being absorbed in conversation had not noticed that we approached through the darkness a vast ocean as though all the seas of the earth and more combined into one. I slid from the back of Pelektar and Mulciber fell with me into that great deep. I thought to flounder as I had so many ages ago when my ship broke and I was close to drowning, yet Mulciber's body surrounded me and from it I seemed to draw breath.

The Music was about me now, and I perceived danger in it, capriciousness, a cruelty that comes from Fortune turning and turning over. Yet in it was life, a deep diversity all those things that dwell in the deep waters of the earth. I knew the true logic that these things, cruelty and life, were connected in the water, the waves and tremors that define tumult, rain, and all the tides.

And then we together approached what seemed to be a palace that moved of itself through its watery realm, and it shone with a light as that which gleams deep in the luster of the living coral. And then I looked upon the palace and knew that within it must dwell Earlon of the First Sphere.

I rushed forward to beat upon its gates and demand entrance, to learn with haste all the diverse wisdom of Earlon, and how it might be that the First Sphere was that Music which had been driven from Raiaera as an aspect of fallen hope by the great Atanamir-of-Galatirion's-Grace. But Mulciber restrained me, saying, Look, before the gate stand seven flasks, one of wine, one of hemlock, another of water, a fourth of milk, fifth mead, a sixth tea, a seventh air. Choose wisely that which must be of the utmost nourishment.

And I drew before me a thought, and considered greatly that there was a test in this, that some were meant to be absurd choices, such as hemlock, yet even that absurdity may have been made under despair or to hasten the end, and so might depending on the mood of the observer seem fair while being foul. Wine and mead made little sense, as they give nourishment but cloud the wits, while water keeps one living but provides nothing of nutrition save itself. Air was a temptation save that it is not of the nourishing factor, but is instead of a different mode of sustenance; in a similar way tea, though refreshing, contains not that nourishment which builds the body from nothing. So I took the flask of milk and drank, and the gate opened, for I had chosen wisely.

Then entered I into the splendor of Earlon, and I fell prostrate before the feet of the great Ainelenar, whose throne was wrought in pearl and the patterns of proposition and argument. How, said he whose voice bore the deepening tones of Behemoth, bring you hence this mortal, Mulciber?

Then Mulciber answered Earlon the Rain-Star, saying, Know, great one, that this mortal comes before you because my blade touched his arm and gifted him with something that he cannot understand, yet it grants him understanding, and that I who know you vouch for him and brought him safe to you, that he may learn all Logic. For he is the one who shall renew the City of the Seven Walls, the City that is Coming, and he shall by the understanding that shall be in him by your grace reunite Ere'erarimmo out of the Two and Five.

Earlon spoke then again in the voice from Leviathan, and said, Then you must know, Hir-Menegil, that Enarlin was exiled, Enarlin which was my fiefdom, and Galatirion and I cannot speak for it was Atanamir-of-Galatirion's-Grace who so banished me. I acknowledge my error, and Galatirion-in-the-Sixth-Aspect is gracious to forgive me should ever there be mended on earth the rift between his people and mine. Once we were united, he and I, Religion and Logic, and in you I see the hope of renewing that love which even Aurient cannot sway, though she be its mediator.

And then Earlon expounded to me the fullness of Enarlin and the Logic that is its charge, and of that exposition it must be written elsewhere, for I shall not share it at this time, only to say that it is the Water of the First Sphere the shelters the world, and through it we must see all the truth of the stars, and through it we are protected from the Great Rift that is the Sun, through which pour the fire and the blasphemy.

And then I slipped from the water at Earlon's command, and fell wet as a new soul onto the back of Pelektar who waited for me. And Mulciber slipped into my mind, with all his craft and his cunning, and so did my heavenly journey continue.

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As I slumped onto the back of that beast which I loved, I sensed about me a great violence, as though the air burned with the desire to consume and devour my flesh. Yet about me there still remained the lingering grace of Earlon's sphere, which cushioned my body from the ravages of that strange assault. I looked to my right, and there I beheld a crackling vision of flame, and I trembled, for I perceived in that gaping maw the end of the world, a final darkness when all that could be consumed would be consumed.

Turning in horror from that fearful sight, I beheld a terror less forceful, yet wrought with subtlety: in reflecting the greater horror it was rendered more frightening, like unto how one feels pain not only in feeling a wound, but in viewing a wound through a mirror becomes nauseous at the sight of blood and pus running freely. For this great body seemed not a hole, an awful bore through the heart of time and space, but rather as a sponge absorbs some foul liquid over time until it at last appears that the poison has vanished, then suddenly when compressed releases the odious vapors and foul miasma to flow forth once more.

I was about to hide my eyes from these two great horrors when Devon spoke, saying, Yes, Findelfin, you view now the Great Rift, whereby was formed in the world the brutal heat of the sun and by extension the ravenous glow of the moon which reflects the greater evil and yet is in its own way far more terrible. Remember, Findelfin, who I-who-is-in-you was, for my great curse was that I slew souls, and by so doing their star which reigns as their guardian would shoot across the sky, destroying itself to feed my own voracious aspect. Had I honed that skill with time, I might have been able to destroy the Great Rift, tearing it from the sky so that all the world would have eternal night under the soft and gentle glow of the Ainelenar. Yet the moon I might never touch, that which reflects, that which merely shines back the pattern of what is placed upon it, and that is the greater part of mortal life.

Then spoke I in wonder, saying, Why then, great Devon, did you not destroy this apparition of destruction, if you knew the secrets of its existence? And Devon responded, saying, Indeed I guessed, though I did not know. But look, Findelfin, at the world below!

And I turned, and viewed through the veil of Earlon's waters a shimmering isle far below, and it was veiled through the blue, yet thought I that still I might with great striving discern clouds, or even faint spots that might mark the forests of that sphere long since abandoned. Yes, said Devon, see that down below grow living things, and flow waters, and together strive all the star-children both man and woman, elf, drow, all the Thayne, drawing strength and succour from the Great Rift. For they perceive it high above them during the day, drowning out the stars, and they draw strength from it despite its horror, for in it they perceive a goad to suffer and a fuel for growth, that hopefully through their proliferation unending the Ainelenari may one day swell with their host innumerable, and all that is written in Tel Aina Parma shall come to pass. And so does not the Great Rift provide that same strength which causes mortal hearts to grow, that they may one day exceed it in brilliance and mend it if they can, or subdue it to their will if they cannot? If you know your own scriptures, recite for me the Prayer of the Promise.

And I knew, for I had rehearsed the promise in my heart, and I spoke it aloud as though driven by a tongue from beyond myself:

When the Living Prime achieves its purpose, then shall the souls whose number shall be equal to the Final Prime to the Final Prime be gathered up, and set as rulers of the ascended sky, and so shall their light be that the moon shall seem an eclipse and the sun will shine as a piece of silver in a sea of gold. And the stars shall be a furnace to that silver and shall melt the sun, and the moon will retire its glory as the brilliance of the Final Prime to the Final Prime exhausts all sight.

So shall the fury of the Final Prime to the Final Prime be, and all that has ensoulment shall rejoice in their new raiment, and Tel Aina Otso shall reign as rulers of the ascended sky, and though they may shine with maximal radiance, they shall be but seven great lights amongst many, and altogether shall Tel Aina Otso become with the Final Prime to the Final Prime one being, one light to shine high and holy and alone amidst all worlds.

But come, said Devon, Look ahead! For the rift that is the Sun shall soon fade, and before us comes the Second Sphere. Rest in that solace, and be glad, for Earlon's watery sphere still stands in protection of the Earth, that it may not pass away in the fury of the Great Tear that constantly aims its ravages upon the gathered children of the stars. Look!

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And I looked, and there before me lay a clouded sphere, but before I could ponder the thickness of its veil we entered through it, and I saw before me green swards, and far to the south there were deserts and far to the north great icecaps. This sphere filled my vision and I saw at once moors and lakes, rivers, great oceans and raging wildfires, places where the land grew thin and rocky and places where grain grew untended. What I beheld was the cradle of earth, and an attunement to all things that are part of the geographical sciences. We approached nearby and Pelektar alit herself on a outcropping of grass against a rocky abutment.

As I slipped off her back with Devon beside me, I suddenly could feel, as though thrumming through my feet, a vibration that spoke of a great music within the earth. It was slow, ponderous, yet it changed in subtle ways, in the sense that elvish years have shown that the continents move in subtle fashion, seas change, and winds alter their patterns with the melodious shaping of the motile arts of the earth. Surely, said I, surely this must be the music of Ostlin, for I hear it purely sounded, and remember my days in the halls of that school, learning the craft that is in earth. But I expected rock and stone, not grass, not that vast southern desert. And the lakes and oceans, was not Enarlin and Earlon's star the master of tides and the giver of rain?

Yes, said Devon, all this is true, and you grasp much. Yet you must know that the cradle of protection is not merely stone, but all that grows and forms the shape that makes the malleable materials of the earth. For rain and ocean are merely aspects of Earlon's gifts, which abundantly color the melodies of Ostlin, and you must know that this is Cuaryë's star, that which is of living wood, and Cuaryë is not Megillion, to be wrought in metal and the unlivingness of the stone.

But come, continued Devon, see I grant you three gifts. And he held aloft a dove, which flew to my shoulder and cooed as if calming my spirit. Then he handed me a clod of earth, large and heavy, and I slung it into my hand with great weariness, for it was a burden to bear. Then did he impart unto me a single piece of bread, and as he gave this last gift, he spoke, saying, Now shall I nestle into your soul, Findelfin ap Fingolfin, for I who had no soul in life wish to at last rest in yours, and see through your eyes the City that is Coming.

And Devon stepped into me, vanishing, but I knew he was with me as surely as Mulciber had promised it was with me as well, just as I now knew that somehow all parts of myself were a spiral of being that converged into my body either seen or unseen, and I reflected them as surely as the moon reflected the Great Rift that is the Sun.

And knowing not where to go, I struck north, for it was warm in these climes, and I desired to see with my own eyes and feel on my skin the cold chill of the ice floes I saw as we approached the sward.

I traveled for what felt like three days, though with the Great Rift behind me I had no way to mark the passing of time, and the passing of the stars was hidden to me through some craft, the clouds above obscuring their light. Yet know thee who read this mystery that still was I upon a star, and surely there was light here, for this was Cuaryë's domain, who was himself an Ainelenar.

At the end of three days, I came upon a knight clad in finest raiment of mythril-and-gold, and he bared his sword to me, denying me passage. I wished to pass but he rebuffed me with a brandishment of his mighty weapon, and I would have been unable to pass save for the dove which flew from me at the knight, who then put aside his sword and unspeakingly let me pass.

Pondering what this might portend, I traveled for three more days before coming upon another knight, clad in a scale of dehlar-and-silver, and before I might make an offering of passage he rushed at me with a mighty shout. I hurled all I had at him, the rock given me by Devon, and his battleaxe struck the clod of earth and shattered, and he sat down defeated and let me pass.

My mind now filled with the mysteries I had seen, I traveled for one more day and came upon a peasant, clad in the leather raiment of begging-folk, only one copper to his name. He held out his hands to me, and I, moved to pity, gave him what remained to me, that small silver coin. And suddenly he was changed and towered above me, and his eyes were mountains, his hair the frost on the rock, his nose a cavern and his mouth a river, his beard like the waterfalls of the world. And then spoke Cuaryë the Star of Ostlin, and when he opened his mouth a light that had been hidden poured forth in abundance, and I am sure its sudden gleam gave succour to the dispirited who remained rooted on the Earth.

You, said Cuaryë, are bold to have come this far, yet your boldness shows in it the wisdom that is mercy and the grace that is charity. For your act of kindness to a poor beggar, for your discernment in offering a defense to the attacker, and for your willingness to offer peace instead of war, you have shown yourself worthy of Ostlin and its song.

Then Cuaryë took me up with a hand from which flowed the vapors of a thousand marshes, and with his other hand which was the woodlands he draped me in the clothing of leaves, and placed me upon his belly that was the fields of the earth, and I drew near to him, and I learned that great art of Politics that is to see peace and know when to defend and learn how to move one's heart at the misfortune of another.

And then Cuaryë smote the ground with a foot that wailed with the winds of a thousand typhoons, and before my eyes did a hole open in his sphere, and he spoke to me, saying, Go now with my blessing, and take the arrow of Cuaryë, which though I gift but once, will never fail to cleave its target to the bone, for true art of politics and defense is to see the other and strip them of pretense.

And Cuaryë turned over his wooded hand and I fell through the hole he created for seven days until at last I fell onto Pelektar's waiting back. She neighed with a voice that I understood despite a rift in our speaking, and set off again as we ascended past the second Sphere.

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At this point did Hir-Menegil pause in his recital, and say unto me in words I scarcely dare commit to this rude scroll.

"Do not record as part of my journey what I am to tell you now truly, Cildorian: that the endeavor we undertake here is conversation, which you scribe now for posterity and the recordings of the years. Yet imagine those conversations that you have had over many years that have not been scribed; what power they hold! What sway over your mind have argumentation with friends and discussion over supper and the lively interplay between an engaged mind and a work of art obtained? Yet you cannot go back and study these things, for you have not recorded them anywhere save your memory. So I say to you that the great lesson learned in the Third Sphere that I will relate to you: interrogate yourself! For this recital is both devoid of error and riddled with the faults of time. Now may your pen resume the tale of the miraculous journey I relate."

I tremble as I set these words to language, for in doing so I violate the commandments of Hir-Menegil, so may this interlude be between us as a rendition of falsity and may it be struck from the mind even as it becomes the heart of the discourse it serves.

Again, these are the words of Hir-Menegil that were told to Cildorian:

As my feet again rested on the back of Pelektar, then came before me again my murdered life, and again did I rush to greet her warmly. Then she spoke, saying, No, Findelfin, this is something that cannot yet be, for to touch me now would do you great harm.

And I was frustrated, for I greatly desired to take Natamrael Nito to my chest, to feel again her skin on mine. For as I beheld her I remembered words and deeds, I remembered holding her in the Dome as she wept bitterly; I could feel Devon that was now within me stirring at the sight, and suddenly Devon's form felt within me to be akin to Mulciber the Foe, for I remembered the bitterness of Natamrael's tears, and the memory of a dance in the darkness, and suddenly all the memories I had of her stirred within me at once and I knelt, my weight suddenly great from the accumulated detritus of the years, and the back of the great beast was wet with the water of my lament.

Then I cried aloud, saying, Dearest, I remember so much, but why can we not make memory reality, and hold again and love again, and in so doing recapitulate that which was all reality, save that it is past now as subject?

And Natamrael laughed, a sound that jarred amidst the whirling patterns of the stars and the silky darkness that surrounded this journey, and she spoke through that veil of merriment, saying, Oh, Findelfin, would that you were wise! But of wisdom your knowledge knows nothing. Memory is not vapor, it is not an ephemeral fog that floats on the surface of the woodland at the morning, dissolving into nothing at the dawn of the Great Rift's assault. No, Findelfin, memory is the woodland, memory is the grass and the air, memory is flesh that touches flesh and the tang of metal cutting bone and the smell of my hair and the sound of my voice. Do you not perceive it, the music that you hear?

And I listened and heard nothing, and saying so I cried again, No, I hear nothing but the bitterness of my tears that strike audible against the back of this beast and the lyricism of your voice, that woos me even as it wounds.

And again she laughed, and suddenly in her joy I heard the musicality of it, and from my eyes there fell two planks of bark that had been placed there by Cuaryë as I fled from his sphere, waterlogged as they were from the lingering protection of Earlon's liquid sphere. And I beheld Natamrael in the fullness of her glory, and saw that she was Selana, and from that form which memory had graced I saw in her all I had known and ever had known. The glory of that moment wounded my flesh deeply, and I realized that the music of memory comes in the sound of laughter as it mingles with the tears that fall from the eyes of the broken.

And Natamrael-who-was-Selana came to me and touched me, and I realized then that had I not seen who she was prior to that touch it would have burned me away. I would have been like the ships that kindle to flame with each new cycle of the elves, those ships that burn and hearken to mind the memory of the landing of the elves in Raiaera, those ships that tell us that memory burns and sears, that our minds are real because we remember. And from that vantage point may one see the spread of the world that is below us, and yet see none of it, for it spirals ever outward in unending chains of inscrutable metaphysics, that physic which lies beyond observation, that discipline which exists only in dwelling within the sequestered chambers of the heart and in truths stripped of poetic varnish.

And so we traversed the Third Sphere together, and I saw none of it, for Selana entered into me through the form of my beloved, and came at last to occupy that hiddenness within me, wherein there lies primal eloquence, wherein lips are muted by wonder.

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And so did I crest beyond the third sphere, and realized that surrounding me there was nothing, for somewhere in that imperceptible motion through a world of memory and experience did Natamrael fade into my being, and where she came to rest within me is the mystery of memory. Save for the back of that mystical horse and my remaining mute companions, the world was black; the stars seemed lost, and I wondered aloud, saying, Look, for the world is darkened, where are we along the spheres of cosmic truths?

And Mazrith came forward and there rose in me such mingling of hatred and fear. For here was the man whose blade-staff had pierced the flesh of Natamrael, yet whose same exotic weapon had once saved my own flesh from the sting of death. Here was a once-great foe, yet mingled in him by the light that still graced my eyes from the sphere of Selana I saw that Devon and Natamrael existed in him too. I saw reflected in his eyes Devon Starslayer whom he knew, Legeliwyn Aiel whom he had fought against, Natamrael who he had slain, and the lives of a hundred others whose names I did not know and would never know. I saw him suddenly as a man, and it moved me near to weeping.

What, said Mazrith, is the light and the stars you see but physical matter, interstitched in the delicate pattern that arises as light explodes upon your eyes, electricity thrills through your chiasm, and that mind which is in your head speaks that this you see is what we call light? What is illumination but the perception of physics writ across the sky? Look up, Findelfin, and you shall see that sight which teaches the mind humility.

And I followed the instructions of my intermingled guide, and beheld a sight that blended the aspects of horror and wonder, and in it I saw Mazrith, that being of blended natures whose actions were both the essence of the good and the heart of all wickedness. For there were above me rocks that moved with some immaculate trajectory, swirling and colliding, coalescing. It seemed as though they struggled mightily against each other, desiring nothing more than to condense into one being of attraction as their elemental natures sought to avoid the loneliness of the dark. And yet they could not; their collisions drove them apart again, and so their unity was foiled by the sheer physicality of their existence. I saw in this dance of discordance an indescribable complexity, a harmony wrought in what must be and what is most wounding.

I did not understand and confessed my ignorance, saying, Oh, Mazrith, why do you show me this sight, for it seems but the futile smashing of rock onto rock, and the smallest are pulverized by the largest, which only degrade their fundamental strength over time by such a vainglorious endeavor. For do not the greatest rocks, through the eons of their warfare, wear themselves down to a nub and become the smallest rocks, while newly formed powers grind the old veterans into the dust of ethereal nothingness?

Mazrith sneered, and spoke unto me, saying in a voice of condescension, What you speak, Findelfin ap Fingolfin, is truth, and yet you are so dim as to speak the truth in words without understanding the deep significance of all that is spoken. Remember you not the scriptures, the proverbs written by your own proud and arrogant people?[/i] May the blessings of truth be on your lips, and speak only in words as you have deep understanding. Now, Findelfin, look through these battling rocks, and perceive afar off the face which presides over the spectacle.

And then I realized that the cloud of darkness surrounding me and blotting out the stars was the dust of the rocks that had smashed to bits in eons past, but we were nearing the end of that road and I perceived, far off and distant, the quick and serendipitous sounds of battle, those strains of Dagorlin's music that still flowed with all the quick of war. And from far-off I saw a great light, the greatest I had ever seen, and it grew quickly, and in seven minutes' time did I approach a great contraption, a clinking of metal and whirring of wheels, and its size filled the field of my vision, and I perceived in that motley assortment of liquid metal and churning apparati, metal spheres tossed from one side to the other, there was a face. The entirety of this sphere was the face of Megillion, the Silver-Star, in our idiom, Tel Celebainelenar. I was shocked in part by this, for in Megillion's sphere I beheld that he seemed to inhabit his space. Cuaryë had dwelt as a mighty force amidst an immaculate world; Earlon had resided in a palace. Selana spoke to me amidst her sphere, but she was not her sphere.

Then did Mazrith lean in close, saying, I know what you wonder, Findelfin. But is it not the way of war to swallow up all else?

And I observed Megillion, and as I watched Mazrith brought out his blade-staff and pierced my back, entering into my spine, and the pain of the wound was great. I knelt on the back of Pelektar as we kept circling this mighty star, and I observed how its parts interacted, and learned the futility of war, and became attuned to Megillion's great grief. His moving pieces spoke to me in some strange way, and though we exchanged no words save for the interlocking harmonies and graceful precisions of the Dagorlin song, still I came to know much of war. And it was no new illlumination that came to me, but rather I revisited the words that had been exchanged with Mazrith, and the words of Tel Aina Parma became true to me: [i]And you shall enter the room and find it dark, and in stumbling you shall locate its pieces, and when the light finally arises you will have been ready for it, and shall see things aright.

And so did I leave Megillion's sphere, but it was seven days from when I first beheld it when Pelektar's form was finally able to circumnavigate that mighty orb, whose power is the greatest of all Tel Ainelenari, and yet whose wisdom has been consumed by the perilous trajectories of fear.

[Sighter Tnailog]

And then did the fifth guide turn to me as a new music rose in my ears, strong and brassy, with glorious swells and crescendos that even at great distance stirred my heart. And I recalled in the light of Selana within me that this was Linwë Seregon, and suddenly I paused, for certain had I been that she would arise when the sounds I heard were the slow, mournful, forgiving tones of Turlin.

What, I exclaimed, what mystery makes your form appear here, Headmistress, to conduct me through the fifth sphere, which I knew to be the abode of Arddunwë and all sweetness, yet assumed must be the abode of the songs of Turlin! For were you not on the earth below us a Headmistress, the child of Turlin, the mightiest of that song of wondrous power and subtle art? How then do you appear to me as the interlocutor and teacher of this, the Aglarlin music that swells spirits to work and strive for success and greater glory?

Rest, said Linwë, for you speak quickly and are fast falling under the willful enchantments of the great Arddunwë, who even now senses you entering her domain of regiment and perfection and seeks to prove the maxim that she articulated: For none of imperfect merit shall hear the fullness of my glory and survive, for the mind of finitude is not equipped to ponder such infinite spaces as those I prepare in the sweetness of time.

I knew the recitation, the Fifth Axiom, and I quailed, for indeed I was to observe the fullness of the glory of Arddunwë and surely I was to perish! But Linwë sensed my fear and reached to me, saying, Findelfin, you will survive this vision, but you must rest, for the glories that are to be revealed to you may only be heard as one inured from the soul-swelling of Aglarlin, for if you are to dwell again in the spheres of finitude you must be prepared to accept what mysteries you see here without excitement at their import, for the excitement would awaken in you the desire towards infinity, which is not for you to grasp. So rest, and know that I am your guide here, that you are safe, that the fullness of Raiaera and the culmination of its buds blossom in the sweet sanctuary of Arddunwë.

And so did I recline, and I came to realize that there was still a great blessing from Megillion's sphere upon me, for it was not the distance of Arddunwë's star that made the music of Aglarlin seem small to me. No, for now I could see the encircled beauty of that celestial palace spreading before my eyes, ringed by the most meticulously designed bands of perfect hue, dripping as if all the glory of heaven had alighted on this star, and in comparison all other stars had faded.

No, the music was not distant, it was surrounding me, but Megillion's grace was in the ringing of the metallic clamor and the furious assaults on me, for my ears were wasted by that cacophonous battle-sound, and so perhaps I was saved from the death at the fullness of Arddunwë's glory because my ears could not perceive its maximal effect, which would have stripped my soul to infinity.

And as I watched the surface of that great star, I saw it seem to unfold before my eyes as one might unfold an infinite book, and in its center I saw Arddunwë beckon, but Linwë held me and cried, No, Sweet-star, let him pass, only grant him the benefit you once gave to me, the truth that all have forgotten save those who remember Selana. Speak the truth to him!

And Arddunwë spoke, and her voice was like the glories of the lillies arrayed against heraldic green, and I saw seven figures before my eyes, and I knew that this was the Living Prime, Ere'erarimmo, the number of which the mystics in their ecstasy spoke most fervently. For it was a number that was only divisible by itself and the singular, and it was the ruler of those earlier primes, two, three, and five, which could be expressed with a single number, as it was the greatest of those four. And so it was alive, the Living Prime, the only prime which Rules Itself Completely.

And I saw a vision of the completed heaven then, for before my eyes did seven multiply itself by seven seven times, and I thought to be marveled at the sight as the seven figures became a multitude of glowing rays, and suddenly before me did the fullness of that number which arose before my sight multiply itself again by seven multiplied by seven seven times. And the lights before me glowed with the fullness of time, and I quailed in my heart, for even then I felt that Arddunwë would perform this operation again, and the light of it would press on me with a radiative force that would rend my flesh from bone.

But Linwë interfered, and said, No, Sweet-star! For is it not written that the number for mortal hearts to endure must be Mande ere’erarimmo lo ere'erarimmo lo mande ere'erarimmo lo ere'erarimmo?

And at her words I knew of which she spoke, for the scriptures speak in a riddle that until now I did not comprehend:

It is the most beautiful of all the songs we sing: ‘We build the vision of completed heaven, when the final end of the living prime comes, and when the company of martyrs and persecuted rises in numbers equaling our hope: the final end of the living prime to the living prime to the final end of the living prime to the living prime.

And Arddunwë faded before me as I realized that the vision I had obtained was the reality of the Final Prime, that number which is the number of souls that shall fill the Great Rift, as Devon had promised. And as the reality of that number sunk into me, Linwë seemed to melt into my eyes and form a glassy sheen over them, that she was to become me and melt into me, and through the lens of the her protection and the knowledge of the souls that were to be redeemed I would see others as they are seen by the gods who seek to reconcile all the world in numbers greater than those imaginable by human hearts.

And I kept Linwë's final protection in my heart as Pelektar guided us on from the domain of the Mathematical God, Arddunwë, whose sweetness is the gift of redemption. For she had prevented Arddunwë from wreaking before my eyes a phenomenal mystery that I could not have comprehended; for if seven is raised to the seventh power twice, why not raise it seven times more, and then take that number and raise it to that number seven more times? And so the infinitude of the star-gods became mine to grasp by mind, yet I knew that were I to behold it as flesh, I would be as dust.

[Sighter Tnailog]

As my eyes were turned from the immaculate infinitudes of Arddunwë's sphere, I traveled long in silence, the dark closing around me. Far behind me I could faintly make out the demonic ravening of the Great Rift, though the mirror that reflected its consumption was not to be seen. As we rode, silent, there was suddenly a presence sitting on Pelektar behind me, and it whispered, saying, Arise, Findelfin ap Fingolfin, and be named Hir-Menegil which means, Lord of a Thousand Stars.

The voice was warmth to my heart, the sound a thrill as the notes of it fell upon me, and I turned on the back of the great beast and saw him sitting there astride the mount. Then I exulted with joy and leapt to my feet, saying, Legeliwyn, it is you who are to guide me through the path to Galatirion? But is not Galatirion's domain that of Religion, his austere presence speaking to nothing save the purity? For is it not written that they who bear not the blood of the Hin Giliath shall not bear the visage of the Sky Father?

Legeliwyn nodded, his face taking on a dark aspect, and he frowned, saying, Indeed, Findelfin, you know the scriptures of Tel Aina Parna, and I do not deny that I fear the role appointed to me. For I am human, and not of the race of elders, nor do I carry within me the pure essence of the lights of heaven that shine on humanity. Indeed, my eyes cannot behold Galatirion; when gazing upon the night sky, the eyes of humanity can see Selana, and Earlon; we behold Cuaryë and Megillion and Arddunwë, but we are blind to these higher mysteries; we trust that the elves' reports of the faint light of Galatirion piercing their keener eyes are not false, though it is rumored even elves do not behold the light of She who is Star Mother. But hark! what is this music that now gathers? For we have traveled long, the spaces between the great Ainelenar become more distant at these outer reaches, but do you not hear the strain that falls upon the ear as though heavy and through banks of thick fog?

Indeed I could hear, and the song was intensely sad. I knew it was Turlin; it was the music I was most steeped in, and it stirred within me Selana's sphere, for my memory returned to Tul Siukan and the haven of the Shadow, to a sword that twisted in my hands and sought to bite my arm with its blade of living steel, to the hordes that stalked Eluriand and to the visage of a necromancer writ large across the plains of battle. The song stirred these memories and lamented them, and yet...and yet there was within it a hope.

The music grew with time, as I meditated alone with Legeliwyn, who had fallen silent as we approached. There seemed in him a fear, for he was indeed mortal in a way even those of the elves are not, and though he was a guide in spirit, perhaps he worried as I did that he would have no protection when the full light of Galatirion spread across the sky.

And suddenly, as though we passed through a veil of darkest night, white light burst about us, and Legeliwyn cried aloud, leaping to his feet and lamenting, saying, Ay ay ay and woe, for the light pierces me and I am but a mortal! And I, similarly distraught, did perceive far off the light of a form emanating forth, a figure that was both impossibly large and improbably small, approaching us with fearsome rapidity, and from him the light both seemed to emanate and be drawn, a light fiercely at war with itself, a paradox, a purity so intense it threatened to overpower itself.

I stood in front of the figure in its unrelenting approach, and for a moment it seemed as though my shadow covered Legeliwyn, and his cries of pain and terror relented for a moment. Standing athwart the figure's path, I fell to my knees, crying, Relent, dreadful Hir-Galadhelenrim, which means, Lord of the Light of the Star-Host. Bear not down upon us, and give us leave to pass through unscathed!

Then the figure aroused itself to speak, though its approach did not slow, and it spoke with a voice that rent worlds, a fury that seemed to write itself in the very light, which shifted from white into blue and then again to green, a panoply of the colors which merge into the fullest spectrum, saying, Findelfin ap Fingolfin! You have dared to name yourself Hir-Menegil, and that title is not yours to grant, but rather falls to the lips of those who would give it! Yet I must bear your presence, for within you lies some protective grace I cannot fathom.


At these words, Hir-Menegil stopped, and looked at me and spoke. "Cildorian, you will remember that Linwë Seregon entered me with her protective grace at the precise moment when I passed Arddunwë's sphere. I cannot know for certain, but I would guess that she, whose life was wrapped in the song of Turlin, bestowed on me her last grace, that Hir-Galadhelenrim, Galatirion, would be unable to drive me fully forth from his sphere." Then he resumed his account.

Then the awesome majesty stooped, as if to strike me, and spoke again, saying, But bestir yourself from your place, for you bear with you one who bears not the light of the stars, and whose presence befouls my sphere! For purity exists in this sphere, not to be touched by the likes of those who were not born from Manwelindomë, which means Sky Tree, and your shadow of grace prevents me from eradicating this imposter to my name.

I was greatly afraid, and might have done the bidding of the great Lord and let Legeliwyn perish, but at that moment the power of Selana stirred within me, and I remembered the Legeliwyn who fought with me against the winds of Hell, who rescued me from the Haidian Labyrinth, whose hand was strong with mine in battle against many foes, who traversed underneath the earth, and also there stirred within me Mazrith and Mulciber, foes who had both fought against Legeliwyn and whose respect for his opposition stirred a desire in them to see him stand to fight again, and also there came Devon, who too had seen the Shadow of Siukan's Haven beside us and would not see him perish from all time. And so with the forces of all these united within me, I stood from my groveling and cried out, O great Galatirion, Sky Father, I will not stand aside, for it is a friend I bear with me, yes, a mortal, but a friend nonetheless. Suffer him to pass for my sake, for it is not I who named myself Hir-Menegil, but him, and it is not for me to decide who conducts me through these spheres. Suffer him pass! I will not stand aside, and you would have to shatter my soul and my body to take this friend from me!

Then the light seemed to change, and suddenly I heard within it again the hope; it was a hope not that the evil would be vanquished, but that the evil would cease to be evil; it was a hope that despite all the pain, it might be redeemed, and redeemed when former foes sat together in common purpose, redeemed should estranged brothers reunite, redeemed when memory remembers itself, and when the summation of lives lived boldly unite in defense of themselves and those who are not themselves.

Then Galatirion spoke as the light faded around us even as it gathered into something more, and the figure both shrank before me and grew in stature; and as a child it spoke to me, saying, Go, Findelfin, for in ages past I failed this test; Earlon now stands removed to me by four spheres I cannot traverse, and yet I wonder now at seeing such a frail being pass through mine if maybe I should not traverse them once more...but no, that time is not yet come, though seeing you defend one you call friend makes me wonder if even now that time is sooner than I expect. Go, Findelfin ap Fingolfin, and be named no more ap Fingolfin, but Findelfin Hir-Menegil, Lord of a Thousand Stars.

And then we pierced through a veil again, for it was all dark, and as the sixth sphere faded behind us Legeliwyn came to me, and touched my arm, and there he entered imperceptibly, to stand at my side in spirit and truth for the remainder of my days. And we were alone again, Pelektar and I, though within my body I now carried the souls of six who had borne me and made me and shaped me through the slow leaven of years.

[Sighter Tnailog]

Then at last I was alone with myself, for the figures that had approached at the start of my journey had all come, one by one. We had conversed, Mulciber and Devon, one who had fought me on the plains of Raiaera even as the other mounted the dread stair to put a stop to the wiles of Xem'Zûnd for a time. I had held Natamrael and been pierced by he that murdered her, Mazrith; I had obtained the protection of the sage Linwë and the noble Legeliwyn, in whose love I had found a love surpassing that of women. And they had all entered me, Mulciber to my mind, Devon to my soul, Natamrael hidden by memory, Mazrith to my spine, Linwë to my eyes, and Legeliwyn to my arm. I knew their stories as mine.

My sole companion remaining was Pelektar, the great mute beast, whose only voice was in the snorts of battle and the braying of the ass, whose speaking was in muffled flows of breath through horse lips. She was a comforting companion, her great back having borne me through the cloud of stars through the six spheres of reality, but within me there was a worry, for in the arms of the seventh sphere I was soon to traverse. Star Mother, Aurient, the Queen of Heaven she was, and her sphere was to be the most beautiful and most treacherous.

As we rode in silence, I could suddenly hear a voice, though it was not heard as the word falls on the ear, but it was heard as though a glance cast across a room, a brushing hand touching the arm, a murmured sigh cast against the cheekbone in the deepest dark. I knew the language inside of me was welling up, and the voice spoke, looking, feeling, breathing, Come, Hir-Menegil, come astride me, for even as you enter my sphere, know that you have been in my sphere forever, for all the skies and all the mansions of heaven are within my domain.

And I knew within me as we approached the glittering star in the distance, an island of calm in the dark sea surrounding, that the voice which now resonated within me emanated from Pelektar, the great horse who had borne me so far, and looking down and grasping her mane I perceived that the beast on which I rode was Aurient, Star-Mother, that she had been with me since the beginning, guiding me into the depths of Earlon's watery temples, guiding my footsteps across the weathered surface of Cuaryë's den, leading me safe into Natamrael's hands, past the fearsome Megillion and the infinitesimally immense Arddunwë and through the wrath and regret of Galatirion. And around me I heard the sweet and lilting melodies of Lissilin, and the wound of Mazrith that still festered in my back soothed, and my heart was gladdened, and my whole body felt within it a deep touch. For it was as though the very act of connection, of knowing in truth the words of another without needing the barrier of language between us had worked its own magic in me, the magic of healing and wholeness.

Then I wanted to weep, overwhelmed that our Lady the Star Mother had been with me, but Pelektar set me down gently against the sward of green grass that formed the enclave of Aurient amidst the vast emptiness of her sphere, and looked at me, her eyes saying, Do not weep, child, for at last you find my domain, this garden of delight. Look about you, and speak not of what you see or hear to another, but set it down in secret for the glory of Aurient.

And I looked, and shall keep with Aurient's words, and speak nothing of the delight of those gardens to you. But know, Cildorian who writes these words and know also ye who read them in ages to come, that these words are recorded elsewhere, in secret, that you might find them and set them as a light to your path, in knowledge of the things of Aurient's sphere that are themselves surpassing beautiful to behold.

After wandering in the garden for six lifetimes of mortal spirit, Aurient came to me again in the guise of Pelektar, and she looked at me and I knew, Child, the time appointed for your return has come. Shall you join with me, and come back from these delightful times?

Then, leaping from a bed of garlands on which I reclined, I rushed forward to throw myself around Pelektar's neck, crying, Oh no, Star Mother, give me but one more lifetime among these delights, this language which speaks to me in all my senses, this holy island of which one would need ten thousand tongues to sing?

Then Pelektar shook her head, and I knew her to be saying, No, child, for Hir-Menegil returns to his people; Hir-Menegil is the Lord of a Thousand Stars, the Lord who will lead his people, the one who will guide them to justice. You shall spend many thousands of lifetimes here, it is written, when the seventh of your lifetimes is reached its end; and that life is to be held on Althanas, the Primordial Sphere, the Sphere of Existence. Come, mount my back, and I shall take you there in the twinkling of an eye.

Then did I weep bitterly, for I knew the Star Mother to be speaking the truth. And I mounted Pelektar-who-was-Aurient and said, Come, Star Mother, you have spoken to me gently, if I am to return, what might you give that I might speak, what might I say that they might hear? What sign shall I give them that I have seen You, most High, Star Mother to the Universe?

Then Aurient said, It has been written, Findelfin, by a hand not mine, Comfort ye, comfort ye my people. Though these words have echoed in a country not mine, a country you have seen, a country you know, I order you: speak tenderly to Eluriand. Tell her that her warfare is accomplished, and I have paid her back double for all her sins. Make these things true, Findelfin, and you will need no glowing sign from heaven as your sigil, for all will see you and cry Hir-Menegil, all shall worship again the Star Mother and see through you an emissary of her might on the surface of the Primordial Sphere. Come, Findelfin, come!

Then did the great beast spur forward, and my mind was torn and dashed by the speed with which that horse mounted against the heavens, passing with the speed of a thousand radiant bolts against the clouds through Galatirion and Arddunwë, Megillion and Selana and Cuaryë and Earlon but memories, the Great Rift appearing for a moment before it was a memory, and as we flew past all these, Tel Ainelenari and the pains of the crying cosmos, I found my mind reknit to the tunes of the stars, all their faded and gathering glories constellating into me, and as I fell from Pelektar's back into the bed on which I had once reclined, she whinnied in a tongue beyond all mortal language and leaped towards my head, striking my tongue with her hooves and settling into my mouth, that I might speak the truth of Aurient Star-Mother to the ends of the earth.


Thus was the journey of Hir-Menegil, laid down in the hands of Cildorian of Coiameth, Blessings be to Aurient, Star-Mother, and Blessings on the City that is Coming! I scribe these signs as a testament to the ages, to the memory of the wise and the meditations of the mystics, may all the blood of the martyrs of glory sanctify this script, and may all the mystic purity of the virgins cascade into its sigils that the glory of their study might enlighten the hearts of those who would study the star-songs!

To Hin Giliath in the name of Aurient and Galatirion and Earlon his friend, Cuaryë the wood-walker and Arddunwë the Sweet-Star of Infinite rest, by the hands of Megillion the Consumed by Self and in the repose of Selana the Gifter of Songs and Memory, Blessings on the City that is Coming!

((Spoils Requested: The Arrow of Cuaryë, gifted in Post #4 above. This arrow carries the power to defend what one holds most dear, and it never misses its target -- which does not mean that it has to kill, or even wound, the target. It hits with the power needed to defend what one holds most dear. It can be used only once; it can only be used against a PC if the PC gives OOC permission. However, I do not intend it to be used against a PC, so I guess the question is moot.))

[Breaker]

Music: Tongue Tied by Charlie Winston
Mood: Content

Congratulations... without a doubt the most enjoyable read I've judged since rejoining the staff. For further detail/elaboration feel free to contact me on AIM. Meanwhile I'll try to keep this brief...

Story ~ 7/10
The poem did a nice job of setting up the story, however I think it could have been more informative. When I went back and re-read it after finishing the quest I understood most of the references, but it would have been for the opening post to situate the reader a little better. That said, your second post is the best intro I've read in awhile insofar as I don't think anyone on this forum could read it and not want to find out what happened next.

Continuity ~ 8/10
It was very cool to get some insight into Findelfin and Raiaera. This is quite frankly, the kind of story that very few writers on here could pull off, whereas you did it not only with style but also drawing on many different facets of Althanas. Your consistency could do with improvement though, and I'll elaborate on that in clarity.

Setting ~ 8/10
The setting worked beautifully when it was present but at times I lost the visual completely.

Creativity ~ 8.5/10
I would have felt justified giving you full marks here, owing to the incredibly creative nature of this thread. The stylized voice and dream-journal style meshed wonderfully with your literary devices - the one where you compared the feeling on his skin to a sharkfin cutting the ocean stands out in my mind. There were however missed opportunities, and I feel that in order to really nail this narrative voice down you'll need to get even more creative with it.

Character ~ 9/10
Findelfin's introspection was great for the most part, and all of the characters you brought back in the dream really spiced things up. With a little bit of cleaning I would recommend this thread to anyone who wanted to gain a working knowledge of the heroes of the Althanas of old.

Interaction ~ 8/10
When Findelfin interacted with the other characters/his surroundings, I gave me a beautiful image almost every time, and you handled the chosen dialogue style admirably. However there were long gaps in the interaction where I felt you got too caught up in telling rather than showing, and then I'd lose the image and have to wait to pick it up again the next time he did something. This can be solved by keeping Fin's physical actions more constant and interspersed throughout the introspection. Also remember that internal conflicts always come of stronger when we can observe a physical manifestation of it in the character.

Strategy ~ 7/10
Some more focus on the marking events of this thread could have helped. I felt you spent a great deal of time on Findelfin's personal introspection, but skated past things like the riddle and the action sequence with the bird, the rock... the action came off as one of the least special parts of this story, which was disappointing.

Clarity ~ 6/10
This is the one part of the quest that didn't greatly exceed the norm, and unfortunately it is an incredibly important part. I found it easy to get distracted or lose my spot while reading this, which was odd considering I found the content quite interesting. The reason is that while your narrative voice was very strong, your technical writing took a hit. The presence of passive voice and thickeners and other unnecessary words contributed to this, as did my comments about interaction.

Mechanics ~ 9/10
While I only caught two or three actual mechanical errors, one of the things I think you should re-examine is your use of commas. Although at times those long flowing sentences are just what the doctor ordered, a lot of them could have been cleaned up just by removing a comma, or breaking them into smaller sentences. The difficult part, I imagine, will be incorporating my suggestions into your style, but then again no one ever said great prose was easy.

Wildcard ~ 7.5/10
If you're interested, I'd love to do a thread sometime where you teach me how to write in this kind of voice, and I'd help you clean it up a bit.

Total ~ 78/100

Sighter Tnailog receives 1700 EXP and...

The Arrow of Cuaryë, gifted in Post #4 above. This arrow carries the power to defend what one holds most dear, and it never misses its target -- which does not mean that it has to kill, or even wound, the target. It hits with the power needed to defend what one holds most dear. It can be used only once; it can only be used against a PC if the PC gives OOC permission. However, I do not intend it to be used against a PC, so I guess the question is moot.

Spoils approved.

[Silence Sei]

Exp added.