Hroknar's Tale: Dreams and Omens

As of 5/24/99

By Mike Smith and Donald Stotts

Hroknar commanded his face to remain somber, as was befitting the honor accorded him by this meeting. The dervatear squinted as he walked, flanked on either side by the two Axemasters who escorted him into the Great Hall. Earthen eyes rose, in refusal of his entreaty that they remain cast downward; he could not help himself. One-two-three-four-five. Five, not six? His head rose more fully.

'There are only five dervatear, besides the honor guard, present for the initiation ceremony?' Hroknar studied those about him quietly, feelings of grief and panic surging within his body, his mind. 'There are only council members here. There is no WarPriest to aid me. There is always a WarPriest, always, except�' The realization hit the young dervatear warrior as if it were the sharpest crossbow bolt. 'I am not going to be allowed to take The Test.'

He forced his stature as tall as he could carry himself, ignoring the sudden ache in his heart. Silently, Hroknar prayed to Celestial Tseld, promising both himself and the Great Forger that he would abide by the council's judgment, as was right and true and expected by the dictates of duty and decorum.

Hroknar came to a halt five feet before the raised dais atop which sat the council members. He kneeled down, giving honor to those who had passed The Test, presenting himself in supplication before those who were far more worthy than he, and in whose shadows he was apparently unfit to step since he would not undergo The Test. His mind drifted to all the legendary exploits of heroes he had heard about since his youth.

For a few moments Hroknar remained in this position - patient, waiting, taking what succor he could from what he had already learned during his apprenticeship period. His fervent wish had been to become an Axemaster one day himself. Now that dream was lost.

The continual silence seemed to press in on him. His head rose; curiosity had always been a particular weakness of his. Each of the five Axemasters sat immobile, stern faces etched as if in stone. The lips of the Axemaster seated in the center of the gathered assemblage seemed to curl upward slightly; the ancient dervatear nodded, the slightest of movements. "No, we are not the Celestial Host come to the Stonelands, though some initiates believe otherwise upon the initial meeting."

One hand rose, indicating that the ancient one wished Hroknar to stand. The dervatear warrior scrambled to his feet. The Axemaster's smile returned. "Forgive us our silence. Strange omens and dreams have plagued us these past few months, growing in intensity. They are the clarion call of the Celestial Host, and we can ignore them not, especially when we at last come face to face with the subject of those disturbing visions." He pointed to the far wall. "That stool, please avail yourself of it; bring it here, before us."

Hroknar commanded his body to walk slowly, deliberately, with great reverence for those in whose presence he had been allowed. He grasped the stool, then moved back to his previous position, sitting the stool down before he himself eased his body onto it.

"Sometimes, even a dervatear must separate himself from the stone," the ancient one said matter-of-factly. The old warrior sighed heavily, pausing a moment as if searching for the correct combination of words to impart whatever he felt was necessary. "You are doubtless wondering about the course of events this day. In a way, we are as well."

The statement confused Hroknar. How could the council members not know their own mind, their own purpose in summoning him here?

"Something has happened, something that has never occurred before," the ancient one explained, his voice soft yet steady, though his face seemed a mask of bewilderment. "We, the council, have decided the best course is to make this largely an informal gathering, stripping away pageantry and words steeped in ancient lore and mystery."

One of the Axemasters cleared his throat softly, obviously uncomfortable with the change in well-ordered organization that had remained inviolate for generations.

"I am Minister Notur," the centermost dervatear remarked, pausing only a brief moment to glance at his compatriot. "The others will identify themselves when and if they speak. Know this, Hroknar, apprentice of the discipline of the most Holy Order of Celestial Tseld. For a period of not less than two weeks have omens and visions come to us, each time more strongly than the last. We have known for sometime that you would appear before us this day, at this very hour. It is the way when one becomes a Chosen. Celestial Tseld provides His guidance; we follow, as is our pledge, our desire, our very reason for being."

The ancient one sighed again, apparently using the action to gather his thoughts. Hroknar wondered what could be so disturbing to this steadfast and vigilant group.

"There is a strangeness in the visions," Notur said finally. "Each of us reported the same thing. Each vision was incomplete, incomplete in the sense that the information the omens usually impart was not provided in whole; yet each vision had about it a feeling of finality. We, needless to say, were confused and troubled by this worrisome series of events."

Hroknar's heart picked up its pace as a glimmer of hope raced through his mind. 'They did have a vision. I am going to be Tested.'

Minister Notur spread his arms, palms pointed upward in a gesture of supplication to the Almighty Powers. "None of us, in any vision, was able to determine the identity of your WarPriest. Such a thing is unheard of; in centuries beyond even the point of all recollection, never has such a condition existed." The ancient one leaned forward. "Nor were we able to determine the object of your Holy quest."

Silence reigned as Notur's words hung in the air. It was as the minister had declared, stories told to all the apprentices were clear and concise - Tseld provided these bits of information; visions and omens were manifestations of his Celestial purpose.

A grizzled figure seated to the left of Minister Notur shifted his weight. "I am Minister Bomelt, senior member of this honored council. Nothing like this has ever happened. Only once in the past ten generations has a difficulty even approaching this matter occurred: the earthquake that destroyed the Chang-Hrua sector. Our visions were interrupted when the tunnels caved in. But they returned again the next night, the order of life progressing as before."

"A memorable moment in the warren's history," Hroknar remarked, his voice soft, his attention drawn inward. "My father died in the calamity."

Notur leaned forward. "Indeed," the ancient one said, "an intriguing declaration, Hroknar of the Second Warren. I wonder, could the Great Forger have been a guiding hand in your life even then?"

Hroknar looked up, his eyes meeting those of the minister, studying the old dervatear with such intensity that it seemed he might reach down into the ancient one's very soul.

"Do you have questions, apprentice of the discipline?" Bemolt interjected. Hroknar merely shook his head, remaining mute. The senior council member shrugged his shoulders. "It is not a requirement," he said, apparently unconcerned with Hroknar's silence.

Minister Notur pointed at the apprentice. "You will be given another opportunity to ask questions, after the ceremony of ascension."

"I-I am to be initiated wholly into the Holy Order?" The words escaped Hroknar before he could stop them.

The ancient one smiled then. He rose, as did all the council members. Hroknar quickly knelt before the stool, his long training in the traditions of the Order taking root and forcing him to the ground, to the stone.

"Hroknar of the Second Warren. You have been deemed worthy of The Testing by Trona-h'rar, this council, and Celestial Tseld, the Great Forger himself. You have shown yourself to be true to His grace, your king, your people, and especially yourself. As a warrior, you have shown yourself to be brave and fearless. For these reasons, Celestial Tseld has given us a vision, which we now share with you. Know that you are not required to undertake the quest presented to you, but I have learned that once one such as yourself starts down the path you are now on, rarely does one leave it."

Notur stepped forward, off of the dais, and stood before the kneeling dervatear. The ancient one gently placed both hands on Hroknar's head, thumbs touching each other across the younger warrior's forehead. A vision took form in Hroknar's mind, etching itself fully into his mind, his very soul, never to be forgotten.

Hroknar saw himself leaving the warrens alone, that very day. He was traveling in the clothes he wore, bearing the backpack he had left with the guard in the receiving area. He saw himself traveling eastward, toward the very edge of Western Glashia. Words formed in his mind: "Alone, I am alone, perhaps never to return to my home, my people. But if I am successful, the great oppression will be overcome. That alone is worth any price. I must find it, I must�"

The vision faded, leaving Hroknar shaken and more than a little bewildered. 'Find what? The council was right, the vision is incomplete. Why? What great mystery have you set before me, Celestial Tseld?'

"Yes, Hroknar of the Second Warren," Notur said, "the vision is most disturbing; its very incompleteness seems to beckon for pleas of greater insight. We, as you, know not if the object of your quest is people sympathetic to our plight, some powerful artifact that may end the hellish reign of Tearsac, or something else entirely."

Bomelt sighed once again. The senior council member looked down at the younger warrior. "Trust in Tseld to guide you. You will know the object of your quest when you find it. This is all that we can offer you, Axemaster Initiate."

Hroknar stood, his back straight, his shoulder pulled back. "Why me? I am not special in any way I know. I come from modest beginnings, having once been a miner. Why not a true champion, such as any Axemaster who already has been Tested and proven his worth? This vision seems to indicate that the fate of our people may rest on me. I-I don't understand why."

Bemolt grew solemn. "That is a question that none here can answer."

Notur nodded his agreement. "Truly spoken. Yet know this, Hroknar of the Second Warren, member of the Holy Order, The Test not only measures the skill of a warrior, but also his inner resolve, his character. You will discover things about yourself that you never realized."

The ancient one grew silent, looking to each of his fellow council members in turn before casting his eyes once again on Hroknar. "The day grows short. You are to leave here and travel to the surface, now. We know that you wish to say your farewells to loved ones and friends. That is not the way. The council will tell them of your leave-taking, and proclaim the honor accorded you as the newest initiate of our discipline. Go now, warrior, and may fortune favor you."

Minster Notur and the other Axemasters seemed to turn as one. They moved silently, exiting one by one through a door immediately behind the dais, followed by the two guards who had entered the chamber with Hroknar.

One moment passed, then another. Hroknar stared at the vacant seats. "Eastward," he said aloud, mainly to himself since nobody remained in the Great Hall to hear. "Eastward, to the very edge of Western Glashia."

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