For a god, cause need not precede effect. Daruma knew, upon sending Ranma onwards, that he would need to prepare for Ranma's arrival. It was but an exercise of his will that preparations decided upon after he removed Ranma from Genma's clutches would manifest before Ranma set foot upon his new domain. A whisper in Snagglebeard's ear while he feasted planted a seed of a suggestion within the dwarven god of gold's mind. A comet, a meteorite, and the convergence of the three moons of Mystayrra was all that was needed to foretell Ranma's coming to the elven priestesses of Loilailae. Noble dragons, hidden away in the crags and crevices of Orymheim, heard a new melody upon the winds, among the songs that only they can hear. Shamens and Rabbis among the human slaves dreamed strange visions, causing them to meet in secret to interpret its meanings. Prophets spread the word among their fellow slaves; Freedom would come, prepare for it. And the goblin overlord executed the royal witch for suggesting that the time of the goblin reign would one day end.
Just as the goddess of the sun, from whom the imperial family sprang forth as ripe fruits of her womb, is the most important deity to those who consider themselves the Land of the Rising Sun, so too is the god of gold, whose fruits of his loins became the High Sindarian, the most revered deity among those of the Lands below the Noon Sun. For dwarves, no mineral wealth nor god is more important than gold. It is with great respect and attention that the dwarves listen to his words and honor what he has to say. And for a century, the dwarves have been whispering among themselves, trying to solve a riddle he once posed.
"Shorter than a dwarf at dawn; as tall as an elf at dusk. A new king to replace the old, a missing son in place of a missing prince. Rider of the winds. Son of the sun, raised by daughters of the moon, taught by the wise of the fire and air, served by stone and wood, champion of light, and vanquisher of the darkness. To find him is to regain the surface and master the deep."
The elf maidens of Loilailae are hand picked among the most beautiful adolescents of the noble families. They then spend the next fifty years eschewing all worldly and material concerns, remaining pure and innocent virgins, and being oracles for their goddess. When they are not mouthpieces for the divine, they record history, tend the sacred grove, stargaze, and foretell the future in the smoke of the temple fire. Greed does not touch their hearts, yet neither does concern for the rise and fall of their fellow man. For fifty years each, they are not to be part of society but an objective outsider. They take no sides in wars nor politics. In their neutrality, they have earned respect. Many heed what the oracles have to say, for the wages of war turn on the whim of the gods. It is with trepidation and excitement that many in backrooms and bars mutter about one such pronouncement the maidens have made decades hence. Five maidens, now known simply as The Five, collecting water from a temple pool, saw the reflection of the night sky on the starry surface of the still water. Each gave a single pronouncement, and have never repeated it since. Overheard by revelers, returning from a nighttime service, and temple lads, rumors and gossip had first spread the word among their fellow elves. Now, adventurers carry the words far and wide.
"A child comes. Yet, no woman of this world shall bear him."
"A child comes. Without a birthright of his own, he will be given all of the lands."
"A child grows. Fighting for freedom, he shall learn peace. Growing in peace, he shall bring unity."
"A child grows. Pure and innocent, all hopes and dreams are one in him. All people and kingdoms are one under him."
"A man leaves. Child no more, his way home will open when he’s no longer needed here and needed more there."
Dragons live long and have old memories. Escaping the world of man, finding the violence and barbarity distasteful, the dragons had retreated from the land. However, even then, they knew they would return some day, when man was ready for peace and an end to wars. For a millennium, the winds that blow among the rocky crags and precipices of their home sang of the one to call them forth. The one that would bring the coming of the dragons. The one that would be a child of the winds themselves. A wild horse to run amok in the manor of the oppressed; a warhorse that will end the wars; a bronco to buck the yoke of slavery. The dragons listen to the song and waited. And in the very marrow of their bones, they could feel another song grow, promising that soon the wild horse shall arrive.
The dragons had retreated far from the reach of man, be they humans, elves, goblins, ogres, or dwarves. So too did the dwarves escape. The dwarves had dug deep into the ground, deep into the bosom of Mystayrra, and out of the clutches of the goblins. The occasional party braved the surface to do business with those they trusted, or to wage guerrilla warfare against the treacherous goblins. The goblins, using a false treaty, had abducted and killed their king and his family. Now, generations after, the dwarves were still leaderless. When they could, the dwarves would harry the goblin war machine, but they only amounted to being nuisances.
The drow all laid dead, the first casualty of an amazingly well planned and well laid goblin uprising. The only surviving drow were followers of Eilistraee, as outcasts they were not present to fall with their sisters and brothers. Now, only a small pocket of them exist in one solitary temple, unknown to the goblin hoards. The dwarves often visit, for trade and to bring them needed supplies and news. The dwarves are the only ones who are aware of the last remaining drow. Should the goblins learn of their existence, their deaths would surely be swift and brutal.
The elves are routed, mostly, from their homes and lands. The sacred temple of Loilailae being the only one to still stand upon its original lands as chaos swirled and eddied around them like a stone in a stream. All of the other elven temples have become vagrant and nomadic. The elves have lost their capital city, but not their ruling class. Landless and homeless, they range through the forests and plains of Mystayrra. Constantly moving, to stay a step ahead of the goblins, they wander. Their philosophy is to travel lightly and to only claim ownership of what they carry on their person. They do not lay claim to any land or to any object they may lose. When not running, their warriors and adventurers suffer constant skirmishes with goblins and their slaves. Captured elves and humans are forced to battle reluctantly with the free elves. Free elves are constantly invading camps, attempting to free as many slaves as they can. The elves try not to lose heart, but times are desperate.
There are only a handful of free humans, all the rest were enslaved by the goblins, who rule over the lands with an iron fist. Slaves are often sacrificed to dark gods or eaten at goblin feasts. Without land or leader, the humans suffer the yoke of oppression. Goblins ruthlessly put down even the smallest attempt at insurrection. Goblins do not brook any sense of hope. The father of the king, himself, had personally executed a loyal, goblin witch. Her crime was to read the bones and foretell bad news. Prophets among the humans arise and are killed before long. Yet more replace those that pass on. Religious leaders, meeting in secret, discuss matters of hope. The human religions being an underground movement, practiced where ever three or more may happen to meet. But there are those who are respected as shepherds, though they be slaves too like their sheep. Whispered silently where the keen ears of goblins can not hear them, the humans ponder a message of hope. There is no such warning among the goblins, as the only one who dared to warn of a goblin downfall was killed. However, the king continues a tradition his father started, unknowing of its significance. Once a month. the goblin king feasts upon young, dark haired humans born among the slaves.
And it is into this world that Ranma steps forth. As he passes through the curtain in an old Japanese temple, he steps out into another temple. This one devoted to the moons above, to music and song, and to peace in a world ruled by the darkest of hearts. Ranma steps into the main, and only, temple on Mystayrra dedicated to Eilistraee. He steps into the common room of the temple, from a wall where no door exists, while the drow priestesses dance in the moonbeams that descend from the skylight overhead. The drow, naked and gleaming in sweat, stop their dancing at his appearance. A few dwarven males, dressed all in white and playing instruments, stop their music. All of them stare at a child that just appeared out of the air like he had stepped through the wall behind him.
Ranma noticed the silent stares and sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "I'm Ranma, pleased to meet'cha." Ranma's smile faltered when he got no response.
The head priestess regarded the boy in wonder. He spoke in a language she did not understand. She spoke softly to her sisters, "The young one must be a gift from the goddess herself, but what does she mean for us to do with him?" Confused stares answered her.
Looking to the boy again, she could see him begin to fidget and get nervous. Doing the only thing she could think of, to set the young child at ease, she carefully approached Ranma. Smiling and holding her hands up, she tried to show him she meant no harm. Once she was close enough, she pulled Ranma into a hug, embracing him as Ranma melt into her arms.
"My, you're smaller than even a dwarf. I forget how humans are born so small and frail. Are you hungry, child?"
Ranma looked at her in confusion, he did not understand a word she said. "What?"
The drow priestess smiled gently, realizing that communication would be difficult for a time. But she was a follower of Eilistraee, and body language would come easy for her. Deciding the best thing to do would be to put food in front of Ranma and see if he ate any, she signaled to the other priestesses to continue as she led Ranma towards the kitchens.
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(Posted Thu, 29 Aug 2013 04:19)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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