EIN Totenhemd über dunkel falle zu die Gewässer
über Phobien Choel
Als ein Dunst Bezüge die Bundesland wer schläft.

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EIN anstecken unbesehen ist getäuscht
Glorie Regierungszeiten die Gemüter über Jüngling.

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Abgekämpft Hoffen verstreut gefällt regnen
Fallend hinein die Abgrund
Längsseits die dunkel.

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Wandeln zu die regnen
Und Leben über Heimgang werden anschließen.

- Wahrsagen VerdunkelnThe Prophesy Of Dark

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- Dying Embers -

- Chapter 001 -

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Men with dark robes marched silently within this realm, he realized suddenly without notice, as people were truly loyal towards the people and beliefs they cared for. He stood on the dead hilltop in the dark of night, watching the followers of the god Trauerfall as they summoned the four elements of the damned.

Light, the Element of the Gods. He had always found the element somewhat ironic, considering what god they praised, however some had managed to master Light under Trauerfall’s will. Light equaled Dark‘s power, strong against Fire‘s power, and weakened by Water‘s power; of course, there were exceptions to the rule, as Dark Lords like his own Lord Keir could overpower normal Light users.

Dark, the Element of the Dead. Lord Keir preferred this element over any element of the damned and disgraced, for it matched the Lord’s name and attitude fairly nicely, so the Lord himself claimed. Dark equaled Light’s power, strong against Water’s power, and weakened by Fire’s power. He suddenly thought that it was because of weakness that Lord Keir had taken him in, however the thought was soon shoved towards the back of his mind.

Fire, the Element of the Demons. He used this element for reasons beyond his own; the people around him proclaimed he had been born with such prowess, however Lord Keir had never confirmed it. Fire equaled Water’s power, strong against Dark’s power, and weakened by Light’s power. Far back in his mind, when the word and element of “Light’ was brought up, something begged to come out of him, as if to remember…

Water, the Element of the Angels. Lord Keir’s personal servants, other than he himself, used this element consistently; why he was the only exception no one knew. Water equaled Fire’s power, strong against Light’s power, and weakened by Dark’s power. Though, he actually found rivers and streams much more soothing in the darkness of night moreso then in the day’s light.

Absentmindedly, he took off his own dark robe and allowed it to fall to the ground, his lean chest seen to the world itself and his black silken long-panted bottom half fringing at the ends from travel and abuse. He sat himself onto the hill, wondering about the past he had forced his master to make him forget. Memory fragments still haunted him at times, especially those about his former home…

“Master Menadue,” spoke a man he couldn’t recognize within the dimmed light. He turned his auburn eyes to the cloaked man standing beside him, the man facing him with a face shadowed by the hood of his dark robes. “Why is it that you sit here unguarded? Lord Keir would be displeased.”

“Lord Keir is always displeased, save for when he raids a woman with her unwilling,” He told the cloaked man, who obviously scowled at the insult. “What is it that you are truly here for?” The cloaked man gazed towards the elemental adepts below, following his gaze absentmindedly.

“Lord Keir seems to be troubled through recent events, Master Menadue,” spoke the man, causing Menadue to simply bring his furthermost knee towards his chest and his left palm to support his body from falling backwards onto his back.

“Recent events… You mean the escape of Lord Ephraim,” Menadue spoke, as if knowing all of the answers. The cloaked man nodded with an approving sound, causing Menadue to shut his eyes from the world. “Plattarica is none of Weissagen’s business. Lord Keir needs to understand this much.”

“The escape and so-called murder of Lord Ephraim states otherwise, Master Menadue,” spoke the cloaked man. Menadue opened his auburn eyes, his midnight shade pupils glaring at the shadowed man. “The raid of the Plattarica Castle was done by none other then Weissegan’s Raven branch.”

“Raelin…” Menadue hissed absentmindedly. “Why doesn’t that wretch listen to her orders? I had said to stay within Iossn’s walls, by the will of Lord Keir himself…” The cloaked man seemed to ignore the young teenager’s musings, and the figure continued.

“You will need to bear punishment for the Weissegan’s actions. You will have to report to Lord Keir as soon as he comes to this development.” The cloaked figure told Menadue, who seemed to be oblivious as he ran his fingertips over the X-shaped scar that wrapped around his stomach and back. “Is this understood, Master Menadue?”

Menadue simply nodded, ignorant to the fact that the cloaked figure was already gone and reporting to the Dark Lord. The Fire adept’s eyes stared towards the lower-ranked adepts below, knowing very well of their fates as they would undergo this organization.

“Death, death, and death…” Menadue mumbled, his eyes darting towards random adepts below. “It is the fate of those who join under Lord Keir, as would be my own eventually… Except…” Menadue snapped his fingers, and soon after a small orange and red flame seemed to hover atop them. He played with the flame absentmindedly as he mused.

“I need to find the ancient structure that has haunted my mind for the longest of times… The castle of Phobien Choel…” Menadue noted, sighing gently as his eyes shut to absorb the faintly blowing wind. “Maybe then I can wonder why I left such a fond childhood. Maybe then…”

He picked himself off of the ground, the flame on his fingertips diminishing as he no longer focused upon it. Picking up the dark robe and throwing it onto his own shoulders to block out the cold gusts of wind that surrounded the area, he thought of nothing as he walked towards a seemingly-abandoned palace-like manor which Menadue was almost forced to call home.

Silence always tended to linger within the palace’s walls, as no one, save for himself, lived within the old manor. No servants, no butlers, no slaves, no attendants. Just he himself, for that was all the man ever needed. Out of every room the ancient palace had, Menadue’s personal favorite, he would admit, was not a room at all, but the balcony.

First, before ever stepping onto the balcony on the farthest floor up, he entered the study a few rooms before the entranceway to his favored spot in his personal home. He picked up a small book his Lord and Master Keir had once given him, entitled Wahrsagen Verdunkeln, which spoke of what exactly his lord strived for within the world.

Originally, Menadue mused once, the book must have been a journal. Some entries were musings such as what Menadue’s favored hobby was, some were poems written in a tongue he could never comprehend, others were written as prophesies. As a Light adept once told his higher-ranked, the title of the book of musings was translated literally to Prophesy Darken, which would mean the title the author would be aiming for was Prophesy Of The Dark.

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Aiming for a light, one shall be belittled by all surrounding her, overshadowed by those who love and are loved by all yet none.

A broken heart subsides, one shall accompany the girl, as his goal is the same as her own.

Upon the dark hill sits a barren man, summoning the fire of the dragons at his own will, knowing that death and destruction is certain to all those who obey even the tiniest of commands.

Now she seeks for he, the man who sits on the dark hill and the one who travels within her, for both are of the same spirit and mind.

Then the man who sits upon the dark hill shall never seek his own answers.

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Gleichmut werden sein ein Antwort
Doch richtig es darf wirken.

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Menadue leaned over the balcony’s outlining fence as he read from the thin-paged book, questioning every line of every other sentence. Lord Keir once told him that this page was Menadue’s responsibility, however the teenage man never understood how or why his lord had given him the only page he couldn’t decipher. Had it been because of this? Was the girl spoken here from the past he could no longer remember?

The poems, or phrases thereof, had also puzzled him greatly since the moment he had seen his first poetic-looking figure within Wahrsagen Verdunkeln, He hadn’t known the language it was written in, hadn’t known what it was written about, and hadn’t known why the stanzas were so pathetically small.

Everyone always said to him that nothing could catch Master Menadue’s interest , despite all attempts; not even Lord Keir could get Menadue interested in anything. However, none knew of this small book which haunted his thoughts and mind, alongside the forgotten memories he had once known of. If the commoners along the roadside knew f those, and knew what they were and what they said…

“I would go to them,” Menadue voiced, answering his callings in the mind. “I would leave Lord Keir for them… However, only Lord Keir seems to know of them, and so I shall stay by Lord Keir’s side, forevermore if need be…”

He then realized how awkward it would have been had someone walked onto this balcony alongside him and heard their Master’s words of self-enlightenment. He chuckled at the mere thought of it, knowing that said attendant would see two opposing sides of him all in a matter of minutes; the musing Menadue and the embarrassed Menadue.

Menadue, however, knew it would be somewhat impossible to surprise him as he reads. He knew how to estimate and foresee, according to many who he already had the notion of entering his ancient home. There was hardly any sort of ceiling, as this palace was already ages old and falling apart because of past wars, and most of the windows were made from cannon fire that had never been repaired. Ivy grew up its walls, inside and out, as did the moss that came alongside it.

Menadue absorbed the feel of his castle, his home, and realized the olden palace had also become his paradise as well. When this had occurred he bet no one would have known, save for Lord Keir, who seemingly knew all. “Even the grandest have there downfall, though, do they not?” Menadue murmured, laughing at his own whim.

A soft purr was heard, and the fire adept glanced at the ground and smiled slightly. He had lied before; he wasn’t the only one who lived within these walls, but other beings who were not human laid their eyes to rest here every night. The lean yet moderately large white-furred feline with piercing blue eyes claiming his leg was a prime example as the feline rubbed against him, white lines soon clinging onto the pant legs Menadue wore.

Sitting himself down onto the cobblestone at he leaned himself against the orient railing, he sighed in relief as the feline who had never had a name in its entire existence found a comforting place to lay in the usually-stoic Menadue, who in turn massaged the feline’s ears. Purring even louder and rubbing its long face against his stomach, Menadue forgot about the world as the crickets began to chirp loudly into the night and his eyes shut closed.

“Mm… Relaxing, isn’t it?” Menadue asked the cat, who gave no audible reply in return. The fire adept sighed, however secretly grateful, and continued to unravel the sounds the night held, and ignoring the adepts in training a few quick areas away.

As he listened to the sound of the wings of crickets brushing against one another, the chilling gusts of wind’s whistle, and the small hints of silence that found themselves in-between the smallest of noise, Menadue himself noted that possibilities would be eternal if not for such a thing. Sound could become demonic with a human’s tongue, cruel towards those the human bears hate amongst. Even then, soothing sounds from another could also cause such an emotion.

Emotion… was pure blasphemy towards the fire adept, and a true mystery. Even Menadue, who supossibly had all knowledge next to Lord Keir, could never understand why human emotion truly existed; it was a weakness in his eyes, yet a weakened sort of strength in other’s, yet whenever someone ever said that “Love is strength,” they ended up dead anyway. Why were humans so submissive?

Obviously, the small journal-like book he currently held and the past he had forced his lord and master to cause him to forget weren’t the only mysteries Menadue wanted solved.

Adepts are not to show emotion, Menadue constantly told himself, however consistant reminders still came when he would unconsciously insult his Lord Keir‘s personal habits. Adepts are mere weapons at the God’s disposal; they are mere items, and items hold nothing nor gain anything. So, why, why did some adepts actually show emotion and bondage with their lifestyles and habits? The mystery would never cease.

“It is said within legend…” Menadue told the white-furred cat, whose ears were still being massaged by the fire adept’s fingers, “… that Phobien Choel holds the keys for all of the mysteries within the art of the adepts. Does this count as personal mysteries towards said adept as well?”

Menadue glanced towards the skies above, as if waiting for an answer from the moon itself. “We grow stronger in the moonlight, so says this small novel in my palms. Though, I do wonder why… Is it connected to the Phobien Choel…?”

Menadue, intrigued by his own musing, ended up turned to the very last page of the small leather-bound novel, only to be met nine words which, stung together in the other they were in, hadn’t made any sense at all. The feline on his lap pounced off of him, sensing that the teenager had had enough of it and possibly needed a few lone moments.

“This… has no meaning. Not towards me, nor anyone… It’s… incomplete…” Menadue mumbled in disbelief, shuddering unconsciously from the quick burst of cold air gushing through the night. His auburn eyes narrowed as he murmured the words on the page, attempting to make sense of them, however failing. This small thin-paged novel was most definitely one of his few mysteries, and not even he knew the reasons why.

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To those who live to die, causing sanity within