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Post by Spitz on Aug 11, 2009 16:40:31 GMT -5
Here, under this altar of stone,
the five were foaled in the silent night.
Born here to recover the throne,
and to bring the herds back into light.
So reads the inscription upon the stone altar in the holy lands. It was here that Remna, the goddess of magic, gave birth to the five magic horses, sent to save the herds from their wars and to bring harmony to the Earth. First came Kinely, the horse of fire and of power. His ambitions and lust for power would lead him to rule the Earth, and, eventually, to aid in it's destruction. The next to come was Gemerry, of the Earth. Where she walked, forest sprang up lush and green. She worked to fix all that her brother destroyed. The next was Marilun, of the sea. She endeavored to bring peace, as well. The fourth was Aralline, the impusive son of the air, who died young and reckless without a care for any but himself. And the fifth was Feramalla, of lightning, the feared, who none would approach. They were the kin of Universe and Magic, the powerful and revered horses of the old days.
But their journeys were only in strife,
for the wars of the herds did not end,
one by one the five gave their life,
for the herds whose ways never would mend.
The arrival of the five, however, did not bring with it peace, no matter how much they tried. In the end, the five magic horses died, although they left behind the legacy of their offspring and also of their gifts. Since then, the six herds have been in turmoil, and never do tensions cease. Horses believe in seperate gods and seperate ways, and they do not agree upon anything. To intermingle with other herds is forbidden. War is kind. Peace is but an ideal for the few horses who still believe in it. With each day that passes the great god and goddess weep from on high, pitying the children who they sent down for nothing and the state that their great kingdom has fallen to. And above all, they leave a promise...
But, if the herds never find peace,
and if the wars never do leaven,
then, in the end, all will decease,
upon the year of eighty seven.
And so the herds continue, oblivious to the fate that is closing upon them. Will they survive? Or will they be swallowed up by the turmoil that they have brought upon themselves? Here, every hoofprint could change the very fate of a world in peril, dangling from the thin thread of chance and an almost invisible ray of hope...
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