:: Late Zoeday Night, the 93rd of Jhyel's Slumber ::
"...yi...” flew from Theo's mouth, nearly jumping from his own skin as he jumped to his feet.
"You need not fear me, I mean you no harm.” came the fathom-less voice again.
"Wh-who... are you, and how is that you come to share this wonderful grovel shelter with
” said Theo, his voice shaking at first, but then filling with Theo bravado as he continued. me.
"That truly is a long story friend, long and sad” sighed the deep voice.
"It doesn't seem that we're going anywhere.” said Theo, throwing his arms wide to remind the voice of their confines of soil, root and rock.
"Very well, friend, I shall start -- in the time of the Adjani. In my youth, there was great darkness, for though the Adjani were still bright and beautiful to see, they were jealous and spiteful in their thoughts.” started the ponderous voice.
Theo raised a skeptical eyebrow at the time frame, but chose not to interrupt
"He may be insane, after all, wouldn't that just be wonderful.” thought Theo ruefully, not treasuring the idea of being stuck in a cell with a delusional maniac.
"It came up often at the general meetings...” he continued, and Theo, feeling awe as he began to suspect the honesty of the story, could hear that the voice was thick with memories.
"The Gods are complacent and weak, they have no right to govern the Adjani as they do. The Adjani are the true inheritors of Zéaon, what right do these infantile gods have to impose their rule upon us!!” said Ghûle Thaugrim, a leader among the instigators.
Theo glimpsed a dull grey glint, a reflection of starlight, cast out of the shadows. A trick of the light?
"Murmurs of agreement spread like a wave throughout the crowd, while the utterances of dissent were ineffectual and diluted.” the voice proceeded.
"The conflict began, when Ghûle Thaugrim, in his hunger for power, cleaved a branch of the World Tree from its trunk. A deep rumble, a mingling of sorrow and pain, rippled throughout all of Zéaon."
At that instant, leaden clouds galloped across the sky and lighting flared in the heavens: Jyhel stood before the Adjani that was Ghûle Thaugrim.
"I claim this world for my race!” he cried as he struck Jyhel with a staff forged of the World Tree's flesh.
"She barely raised her hand in defense—she was so stunned that he might even consider striking a god."
"Though it felt like a thousand ages, the battle lasted but an eigh and every moment of it is burned into my mind as if seared there with a fiery brand."
"The Twelve rose up in defense of the World Tree and Jhyel and there was war upon Zéaon. During those days, the very fabric of Zéaon was torn asunder and unspeakable things tread across the world. But in the end, the Adjani were cast down. The seas swallowed their cities. Their bodies were recast in the light of their souls, which were stunted and hateful. Great intellects which had previously scraped the very vaults of the heavens were shackled within the petty confines of a simpleton's thoughts. And their souls, what could be done to those, that had already become as pitch. And as the Adjani writhed upon the ground, undergoing these excruciating transformations, orchids began to gracefully rain down upon the city, beautiful and tranquil.” the voice trailed off into silence, a silence heavy with sorrow.
As a calm descended in the small chamber, a man of leather and steel flowed into the murky starlight with the grace and fluidity of a swift-moving stream.
"My name is Tinker
and I will leave this place of haunted memories and living ghosts forever. You have reminded me that there is a world outside this earthen hole. Will you help or hinder, friend scurry?” Moab