Chapter 2A: Returning Themes
Meri could not find the others, they must have left the hall already. The portal was flaring brightly in pink and purple, the light streaming equally from it and The Ball as it bounced around close by.
The Shadow was sitting cross legged on the dais, looking towards the portal, but turned at the movement.
"Oh, you haven't left yet? I thought you had," he said surprised, gesturing up to the roof as if the group had floated up and away. "I'm glad you didn't. I almost did not get the chance to tell you about something funny."
The Shadow gestured towards the two alcoves, where the Meri-like stick figure still held the blue cup inits hands, and the airy skeletal hand still held the golden chalice of blood. "Do you know where the tradition of the toast came from? I mean really came from?"
The Shadow looked back to Meri. He may have been raising an eyebrow, thus possessing an eyebrow. It was hard to tell, and yet always seemed obvious.
He turned back and gestured left and right. "It came from the battlefield. Well, from sieges originally. A well stocked castle would see the commander standing on the battlements, raising a morsel of food or cup of finest wine to the besiegers. A gesture saying they held the power, they could outlast the siege. Or there were the occasional ghastly occupiers holding a castle, who really would hold up a cup of the blood of the defenders to the force come to free the castle. We have you kin and countrymen. Or sometimes the besiegers got to be the ones to make the gesture, if their supply lines were good and the besiged caught unprepared."
The Shadow turned back to Meri. "You see, it has had the edges ground off of it over the millenia. It did not used to be so friendly. No, you raise a toast, you are arrogantly showing your mastery."
The Shadow getured to the wall on fire, the dragons writhing. "The dragons were gifted The Light, when man was deemed unworthy. The god's blessing. And yet they scorched the earth and turned on each other. Only one of those tow parts were of issue to the gods themselves. And so the light starts in destruction. And yet though this continent burned, there was another. The waters stopped the dragons from carrying onwards, too wide. Too wet. And so the dragons turned on each other. And so your ancestors, those beyond this shore, came across and destroyed the dragons. The water was life. Both in the way it allowed your ancestors to defend themselves, and as the catalyst when your ancestors restored this land once the dragons were gone. Stealing the lands and works of the dead and taking them as their own. And so the arrogance of the Eladrin, thinking they had taken what they had earned."
The Shadow then pointed to the dwarven alcove. "Meanwhile, the dwarves were given the task of locking the Underdark. It is said that they then delved too deeply, betraying that trust. And that is where the Dwelgar come from. Of course, it is nonsense. It was humans and eladrin themselves, and the elves, that looked with lust to the deepest gems and treasures. Lolth is an elvish diety, after all, a fallen queen reborn, looking after the Drow she champions."
The Shadow then carried on. "Of course, no matter who you blame, The avatars of The Dark were awoken. And so the warning in this original art of this room. The spirit of man becoming the hand of the dark, and the blood of man being held in the chalice by its own greed. And yet, of course, the ritual is actually showing that the spirit of the eladrin is holding the life of in its hand, raising a toast to The Dark."
"You see the arrogance? Left and right. The waters of life, and the 'water' of life. Both held in arrogance, claimed despite the gods, held against the dark. Only the creators of this place would look to the first alcove, with the fires of The Light being destruction, and think themselves above that. Would look to the right hand side, leading onwards to the air of nothingness, of ultimate negation, and think themselves immune. Such linear thought, left and right leading to the portal. They created the ritual in this place feeling the edges of the story, and yet did not understand it.
The Shadow span his hand in a clockwise direction, around and around and around in an endless circle. "The people pray to The Light, to the gods. They take what they are given, the small measure, and life is allowed to bloom. Yet when they take too much, The Light becomes bright indeed, scorching. And so the people go in to the deep, sheltering but guarding against The Dark. They find what they can earn, the prosper. Yet eventually The Dark will come to claim its price, always ready to take advantage of a failure. And so...destruction of it all. And so the people go back to the surface. And pray to The Light..."
The Shadow looked directly to Meri. "Time and existence are not linear. It is a pattern, a repeating pattern. Do you see?"
Some of this may be familair because The Shadow said it before, some not. A lot of this is not D&D canon and in fact is very setting specific. And this history is supposed to be ancient, ancient history. Like the sort of timescale of history we speak about when speaking about Neanderthals and Homo Sapiens :)
Also, this might be a dream. But whose, of course... and why...?
