Part II
Gathled was hunched over the table in the main hall of the Tindle Commune of "Arcania Majestus" . The hall had been sacked , litter strewn about, Gathleds old papers and knick knacks broken and thrown about. It had not been a long time since he last sat within these walls , but it seemed ages.
Gathled was searching and studying a map rolled out across the table and weighted with candles on its corners, the map had lines scratched into it and notes, kingdom names obliterated by red ink and land once ruled by men now liberated by the Daimon hordes... There in the middle of his map sat Vlaandaran, the kingdom of Arcane...
Gathled traced his finger along the lines of borders and he wondered how so many kingdoms could be so foolish and sacrifice so many of their peoples , when it was obvious, for even though Vlaandaran itself had problems , it was still flourishing , expanding and growing in power... Its people free and their lord benevolent.
Gathled wondered to himself , he lit his pipe and sat back in his wooden chair , where was this all going? How long would this continue? How long would the loose and weakened kingdoms beyond Vlaandaran hold out , how long would they delude themselves into believing they could stop , Arcane...
The rain of Tindle poured down and battered the roof of the hall, it hadnt stopped raining here... Or maybe it only rained here when Gathled was in Tindle? He knew not the answer. He collected the map together and bound it, blew out the candles and walked to the hall doors, of all the places in this glorious empire , he felt that his land was the farthest from the center, surrounded on all sides by hostile forces... So much work to be done, for a bunch of farmers and peasants this land of Tindle had been quite a problem. The people were uneducated, for them empire and cities meant nothing , for them the endless fields of the grass and soil, the endless toil in this miserable backwater, was enough for them. Gathled yearned to be in Reeds, anywhere but here... He hoped that soon, the land would be tamed and that he would once again be able to venture out into the world beyond Tindle.
His eyes gazed upwards into the pouring rain and before him stretched gargantuan and strange , the vast statue of Arcane , the peasantry had made several days before, the ramshackle tin and wood , metal scraps and stone of the statue , idol like, a reminder now to the peasants that Arcane would not leave them, that no matter what they thought, now and forever the great Arcane would look over them...
Gathled watched the statue , and for a brief moment the statue seemed to even watch him...
A great line of chain , rope and a long line of mud covered and wet peasants pulled stone across the fields of Tindle in a light rain. Gathled stood in the grass , his sword drawn , the blade resting in the damp soil, his hand on the pommel. Around him stood various ranked members of the work crews , men in grass weaved tunics , conical hats to keep off the constant downpour.
"its a wonder anything grows here" Gathled thought to himself . What did grow there was a hardy strain of wild grass. Almost like a rice. It required constant toil and was probably the main reason why Tindle was the way it was. Backwards and forgotten, a highway of the nations . Armies didn't usually stop long in Tindle. They passed through took what they could and then off again. Gathled followed the long line of heaving peasants. Pathetic lot , now gathered into communes, the people here were finally starting to produce. Many had died in the forced migration... It could not be helped... Progress always came at a price.
And now even Arcane himself was here. And it was thought by Gathled that maybe Arcane could see more of this place than he or anyone. The Daimons , now were in the main commune of " Majestus Arcanus " . Resting... No, Gathled retracted the thought, they didn't rest... They didn't even sleep. They looked as though they were men, Gathled was sure that it wasn't really what they looked like... Men , humans... peasants had said that they looked however you wanted them to look... Some people saw Demons, gnarled grotesque creations of hell, others saw light and flowing angel type things... Gathled saw armored men, they looked no more or less than anyone else, their skin was different , lighter, pale? Maybe one saw what was really a reflection of their own hearts? Gathled had wondered... He had not seen any evil, nothing harsh... The Daimons never even touched another person as far as he had seen. The only evil he had seen in his short time on this earth, in this life... Was the ever present battles and slaughters of mortal man , against man...against nature... The Daimons possibly had come to remind mankind that there were larger worlds out there... There are places like hell and then there is Tindle , I am sure that even the Daimons find this place to be intolerable...
The stone was set in the center of the town once it arrived. Gathled ordered the peasants to stop working. He told them to gather around. Taking a piece of charcoal from a dead and smoking pit fire, he drew a symbol on the rock... After he took the charcoal and drew the same symbol on his own face. The peasants were murmuring to themselves . What was this man doing? Inorder to maintain order, inorder to create a feeling of unity, Gathled would have to create myths , to create ritual for these people, these godless , superstitious wretches... His actions meant no meaning to himself, but for the peasants, once they took the piece of charcoal from Gathleds hand and drew the symbol on their own faces, they understood ... That now they were not forgotten by time and eternity, that now they were not alone in the vast plains of Tindle . Now they were tied to a grand empire and a new age.
Daimons stood in the village center, Gathled had not seen them arrive, but they were there now and then as everyone looked they vanished , instantly ... A groan of fear went through the crowd and they fell to their knees , they fell and stuck their faces in the earth. Everyone had a feeling as if they had done something that cannot ever be reversed , tattooed, marked... Branded...Scarred .
The peasants began to wail... They threw their hands up and called out "Why have they left us?" "What have we done to offend?"
The rain stopped... It was like a fire being blown out, one swift wind and the rain could be seen racing away from the town center, a wall of water... and then the clouds rolled out just as quickly, there was a flash across the sky, a blinding white or yellow light , everyone shielded their faces, but even with eyes closed the light went right through... It was the sun...
Gathled stood by the stone, it was a miracle...For the first time in ages the rains in Tindle had vanished.
