Embers in the Kiln

The city of Kyln lay bare underneath the clear night sky, caressed by the verdancy of the wilderness surrounding it. The Spires of Eight loomed over canals and cobbled streets, puncturing the constellations with beacons of light of every hue. Cool winds from the Cradle breathed into the cityscape, wrapping around the highest points, whirling and splitting, wandering through narrow alleys, here and there coalescing into recombinant swirling eddies. The clatter of chimes strung out over the doorways of every home crept out across the night as they played their part in the ambient nocturnal orchestra of the sleeping city, accompanied by the rustling of leaves and the soft whispers of waves washing against the shores of Cradle Lake. One man stood awake on a balcony, gazing out over the stillness of the night, pondering. He wore a green robe of silk adorned with dried leaves and flowers - the customary dress for a druid of the Earthmother. His mud-brown hair was uncut since his youth, and hung well below his shoulders, woven into intricate braids decorated with feathers and small bones. His skin was a light cocoa color and smooth in complexion, though his face showed the wrinkles of age, and under his eyes hung dark bags of unrest. Peaceful though it seemed under a veil of moonlight, Kyln was not without its troubles.   Invisible in the present darkness, a thick quilt of crimson fog covered the ground of the city, stagnant and slow-moving, growing every day, enveloping more and more. It had been ten days since the opening of the rift in Twin Temple, spilling forth the cloud of malevolence which withered and wilted everything it touched. Those who stepped into the fog became sickly, and those who lingered became lame, their limbs growing frail from exposure to the ominous extradimensional force. Priests and clerics had been summoned from afar to assess the portal and attempt to close it, but none so far had found success. With each passing day the city grew weaker, and the people of Kyln climbed higher to avoid The Mist (as they had come to call it), deserting the streets and the ground floors of their homes so that now the roof of every building was crowded, and planks of wood rested between rooftops to allow movement over the unnavigable walkways. A scattered group of ships sat at anchor just off the coast as their captains looked grimly upon the ongoing decay. Some of them were merchant galleys passing through with hopes of selling their wares in the city, their hopes quashed by the forcefield of devilish energy which stood between them and the city markets. Others were naval biremes and triremes meant for defending Kyln from invading forces, now helpless to the city being devoured from within. Others still were fathers and mothers returning home from long voyages, separated from their homes and from their children at the final stage of their journey, searching desperately for a way through the Mist.   The druid watched as masts rocked back and forth in the distance, felt the surging motion of the water as though he were caught in the waves himself - a pebble tossed in a vicious ocean until all his rough edges were made completely smooth, tamed by the immeasurable flowing tides of life. He had come to Kyln as a young man troubled by an array of worldly vices, sought inner peace through the pathways of religion, and found his place in the greater plans of divinity. Now his troubles blew towards him on omnidirectional winds he could scarcely withstand, pressed upon him by katabatic forces utterly beyond his control. As the Mist spread over the city of Kyln, he felt its strife and its sorrow as though it was his own, a piece of his soul that ached for the place he called his home. He was one branch of a great tree with a vast canopy which shot out in every direction, and when the roots withered and died he grew marcescent with them. To be connected to the earth in the way that druids are is just as often a curse as a blessing, for any deep bond inevitably results in a sharing of pain which aggrieves both parties, but to carry the burdens of the entire earth on one's shoulders is more than most can bear. Suni had carried those burdens for many years, but the path he walked now was more tangled and overgrown than ever, and he lived in fear that any moment he might snag his foot on a gnarled root and come crashing towards the earth, like a great lumbering sequoia bringing the world down with it at the end of all its centuries.