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    Wars of the Aoten

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    Song of Geoffrey

      A composition of Mienrade of the Melics

      as told to Sylva, the vizier’s daughter

      Drueed took his own counsel, meditating in the shadows of

      The rock, heights of Medialia known only to the few

      Who would make of themselves men of valor and honor,

      Those few who longed for the greatness of a past day

      To return again to the present. And so did Drueed

      Make a decision to himself in that day that such a one

      Would arise from a strange people, a man not of the Melics,

      And of this tree would he produce branches, two strong limbs.

      And upon these branches would balance the fates of peoples

      Scattered about the land, for upon strong arms and hearts,

      Branches and roots, does the future place its hope.

      And this one did Drueed raise, and he did fulfill

      His due charge, to make his home with the Rufoux,

      But befriend too all men of Medialia. And greatly prospered

      The strength of his loins, and mightily the courage

      That found seat in his heart, until the day of his passing.

      But you, men of Medialia, will you not reserve the rest

      Of your lives to mourn the doom of Geoffrey? Will you

      Not proclaim your dirge for generations? Yet not today,

      No not today, for even the mightiest trees are doomed to die,

      But the lifeless standancrag stands tall and erect forever.

      Indeed, the land cries out no, and the waters sing in response,

      That on this one day you will celebrate the life of Geoffrey!

      Hear! Oh men of leather and red, of bronze and fire.

      Give ear, you clansmen of the trees and those who populate

      The streams and rivulets! For a man lived before you!

      Listen, O Bedoua, for the sands will not ring

      With the echo of this song, nor will the stone walls

      Deflect its tempest, oh you Raspar archers. For a man

      Has walked the roads of Medialia, and traversed its waters

      Like the greatest of his forefathers, and ours indeed. On this

      One day, we will celebrate the life of Geoffrey!

      “See what the future holds for you, oh Melics, what

      The shadows will show you when the appointed day

      Has come to pass upon Medialia,” said Drueed, the great

      Mystery of the ages. “See what man walks into the forests

      To challenge your choosing to dwell apart, above the heights

      Of all those who surround you. For he will impart to you

      An idea foreign to you, and a hope for your future.

      Open your reasoning to a new thought, that with men

      Should men settle. Take hold with the hand the invitation

      To see beyond what the shadows foretold, beyond what

      Your ancestors have seen; take hold of the reality that reason

      Must concede does exist beyond the form of mere shadows.

      Oh, Melics, you have done well, for you are Melics,

      But now I send you another who will strengthen you

      And help you see that a reality exists beyond reasoning.

      That one will bring hope for the Melics, hope for Rufoux.

      And one shall meet him, and one will make him welcome,

      For what is old is passed, what is new has begun.”

      Through the branches, though familiar to her feet, Hilde made

      Her trek, against the setting sun, with the destination

      Of land, of earth, and deserting the place of her upbringing.

      “Why do you leave me alone, Drueed, oh you benefactor

      Of the Melics? Do you find it difficult to speak,

      Most high of the forests of Medialia? Or do you

      Simply fear a woman? Do you find your tongue tied?

      Why do you not defend yourself before me? Do you

      Find me too difficult an adversary in my weakness?

      For I am destitute in my home, alone within

      The multitude of my clan, and there is none

      To comfort me. Why then do you withdraw from me,

      Oh Drueed? Why do you separate from me, just as

      Surely as death itself does separate one from another?”

      Yet did Drueed remain still, unwilling to reveal

      The depths of wisdom, only the breadth of mystery,

      Leaving Hilde to seek in her own mind the realm

      Her contentment would at last discover.

      “For what reason have you led me to the edge

      Of my forest home, Oh Drueed? For what cause have

      I been driven to the outskirts of my people?

      What wisdom is this, Oh Philosopher, that you

      Impute your contempt upon a destitute matron

      Such as I? For there is no comfort within my

      Family, nor succor either in the bitter arrows

      Of my clansmen. Every word finds its mark,

      Every glance stabs with its own blade, in this forlorn

      Heart.” Yet still did Drueed hide within the shadows,

      Still did he withhold his secret counsels from

      The Melic woman as she trod upon her solitary way.

      And her hard feet felt the cool softness of the soil,

      And the trees stood behind, her past, and the leaves

      Nodded a gentle farewell to their prodigal daughter.

      “Oh, Drueed, you have surely abandoned those

      Who need you most, those who call upon your name most

      Desperately, those who have lost all hope except in you!

      For my womb is empty, and my bed desolate, and still

      You hide your countenance from me! Show yourself,

      Drueed, or else show me the face of my salvation,

      The one who would give me release from the drudging

      Toil of my days!” Hilde screamed toward the treetops

      Vanishing into the distance. “Who makes this noise?” said

      The gruff voice, “That imposes upon Rufoux lands?”

      Hilde did jump at the sound, for the voice was surely

      Grand and daunting, and she believed for a moment

      Drueed truly heard and answered; yet no terror quaked

      Behind the voice, no threat that is the spawn of weakness,

      For strength itself brought forth the words, courage

      Breathing justice and honor into its spirit, for thus spoke

      Geoffrey of the Rufoux, the grand patriarch of his clan.

      “I am Hilde, a Melic, and I abandon the trees

      Of my homeland to tread upon your hallowed ground,”

      Replied the woman. “I wander alone upon your lands

      Even as I am alone in the branches. So do me no

      Injury, Rufoux man, for surely I mean no harm to you

      Nor to the ground of your feet and fathers’ feet.

      For a butterfly can land anywhere, but only

      The most tender petal would feel its weight.”

      “Woman, I know not of what you speak,” replied

      Geoffrey. “Only do I know that you tread upon Rufoux

      Lands, and in all my life the Melics have forever

      Remained in the trees. Often have I heard their songs

      In the dusk, but never have I seen the singer, neither in

      The leaves nor standing upon the dust of Medialia.

      What brings you here, woman, before I call the warriors

      To wreak their vengeance upon you and your clan?”

      “Have mercy, my lord, for my people know not that

      I enter among you. The Melics grow tired of my ways,

      And there remains none to console me. Therefore I leave my

      Homeland to seek another, one who might bring fruit

      Again to my womb and comfort my arms in the night.

      So, my lord, have mercy upon me and upon my people,

      For they have
    none of me, nor will have any part

      Of me, and are innocent. As for me, as I linger

      In my suffering, it matters not, for your mercy

      Might extend my years or cut them short today,

      It matters not. But within your own borders,

      I have surely put my fate within your hands.” And

      So did sorrowful Hilde beseech him, hands enjoined.

      “Well you speak,” said honorable Geoffrey, “For the ages

      Have passed without new war between Rufoux and Melic,

      And I seek none now. Nor would I do harm to a lone

      Woman, if indeed you do not scheme to deceive me,

      And do not produce clansmen from the trees like droppings

      Of the kinderfalcon. What your complaint is, and what

      Remedy you desire, yet escapes me and any power

      I have to drive you from this land in contentment.”

      Gently did he rest his eyes upon her, not wishing

      Any evil upon her, seeming so deprived of hope.

      “Sir, listen then to my lament, that your understanding

      Might open upon my desire.” And Hilde did lean

      Her breast upon his shoulder, and look into his clear

      Eyes, searching for weak flesh in the strength of his

      Gracious spirit. Thus did Geoffrey fall into the wiles

      Of her graces, the muse of her tenderness, and did

      Bequeath upon her the Rufoux bloodline. But yet

      Not to his shame! For still is Picta among us, a

      Shadow for a future generation, the

      Fruit of a merciful man, born from the honor of

      This father of many, never speaking, never lamenting,

      But only casting his memory upon her and the matron

      Forced into the mountains in her guilt — for truly

      A Rufoux man showed grace more than the trees — yet still

      Offering hope to the Melics, the dying people, hope

      That the sins of the past would not be visited upon

      Generations to come, but instead life would call their spirits.

      For what is old is passed, what is new has begun.

      Again did Drueed sit among the shadows and meditate

      Within his own counsel. Again did crisis arise among

      The Melics, and Drueed called upon a man of separate

      Nation, but not cause. For across the land of Medialia

      Did a strange race invade, roaming the land in rage

      And destruction. Towering high above the heads of men,

      Mighty Aoten ranged the fields, with grievous footsteps

      Claiming rights to Medialia. And the Melics did protest,

      To see the hideous giants below, but their efforts fell

      Weakly to the ground, for they boast not a warrior race,

      But a people of thought and reason, for so continues

      Drueed’s gift to them from of old. And so did

      Drueed again consider them and the words of their

      Prayers lifted toward him, and did sit in the shadows

      And meditate within his own counsel. “These Melics

      Recall their need again, and all of Medialia, trees and

      Lands, and they call upon me for wisdom and

      Deliverance. But they yet fall upon wisdom, already having

      Been defeated by the encroaching Aoten, and knowing

      To seek out aid. But who shall I send to rescue them

      From their distress, and to make a war against these giants?

      For there dwells none within Medialia strong enough to survive

      The slaughter of the Aoten, the might of their blows,

      Except the Rufoux, and Geoffrey of the Rufoux.”

      And so did Drueed again call upon bold Geoffrey,

      Endowed with the courage of age, the audacity of the

      Passage of years, for so little did he care about

      His own life that he would gladly give it for that

      Of another. And Geoffrey heeded the call of

      The Melics, and did bring his clan into league

      With the tree-dwellers. And so he did at last lay

      His eyes upon Picta, and his hand upon her shoulders,

      And so he did make pact between the Rufoux

      And Melics. “But we cannot win alone!” he declared

      To the gathered warriors, “For our strength still falls

      Short to defeat the hulking Aoten, who hunger

      After our grain and the taste of our flesh. There remains

      A secret matter for us to uncover — we must

      Bring into the battle all the clans of Medialia,

      All the peoples who belong to this most grand land

      Upon all the Earth, or neither will the Rufoux,

      Nor Melics, nor any clan live to tell the tale

      To children dandled before the ceremonial fires.”

      Did Geoffrey cease? No indeed, for the ancient Rufoux

      Saw truly that still weakness vexed his forces, not enough to

      Overtake the raiders of the land, those who would rape

      The forests and meadows. Even as the desperate cry

      Lifted from the land, even as its people fell destitute,

      Ships of the Koinoni brought their own terror,

      And the Rufoux saw anew the despised vagabonds

      Of the Earth. What new trouble would arise – just as

      The eyes of the clan had diverted to saving

      Their village – from the desires of the traders, vessels

      Weighted down with ill-gotten wares and fiendish reputation?

      What indeed? For it mattered not to Geoffrey, who saw anew

      Upon the ships only strong arms to bear weapons,

      And mighty robes of mail to deflect darts and arrows,

      And ingenious devices from foreign lands that would

      Serve him well to flummox the thick-headed Aoten and

      Add strength to the swords of the Rufoux, the axes

      Of the Melics, and the imaginations of all others

      Who would partake in the great adventure he led

      For all of Medialia. “So join with us!” he proclaimed.

      “Take up your arms with us, in the glorious battle for

      The life of Medialia’s clans, and be one of us again,

      A lost nation found once more in Medialia;

      Be among the race of humans again, and no longer the hated

      Wanderers of the waterways that flow you know not where.”

      But yet still the army stood weak, and its number too few.

      And so yet again did Geoffrey of the Rufoux, the man

      Who makes Mog himself jealous for the power

      Of his bravery, the impudence that prepares for battle

      By putting aside armor, jealous for the courage that

      Lays siege against giants and dead elders alike, unafraid to

      Challenge the weapons of a gigantic enemy or the mindset

      Of entrenched culture, so did Geoffrey set out upon his

      Desperate journey into the blowing desert sands of

      The Bedoua, the strange people who had so long hated

      The Rufoux. But Geoffrey, without fear in his heart,

      Without doubt of mind, sought them out, to make his

      Peace with the legends of warfare, to show his people’s

      Desire now for treaty, and desire now to right former

      Wrongs, so that even the great lancers of the Bedoua

      Might join in the battle to save Medialia. And in his

      Wisdom he did bring the mighty desert nomads into alliance

      To defeat the Aoten, even down the River Alluvia did he

      Bring them, making peace between the Bedoua and Rufoux,

      Between the Bedoua and the waters, to be cursed no more.

      For what is old is passed, what is new has begun.

      Nor even yet did Geoffrey rest satisfied, this man of godlike

      Stature, the thumbless one of g
    rand reputation, for still

      The defenses of the clans against the giants could not

      Withstand their assault. So even still he coveted the aid

      Of the hidden clan, the hermit dwellers of the stone city,

      The Raspars, who alone know the secrets of the high

      Walls, the stronghold of warfare, the polished death

      Of the fine stone arrowhead. Never had they been seen,

      Never had they deserted their fortress of cut boulders,

      But Geoffrey would not be restrained, nor would he

      Be discouraged from his mission, and he gallantly marched

      Across the expanse of Medialia, navigating the rivers

      That hold the land in their tender embrace, and approached

      The foot of the walls surrounding the great city,

      The towers of stone, glistening in the sun, crowned with

      Gargoyles, witness to the greatness of mankind, the glory

      Of man’s mind and muscle, the genius of his creation.

      What foolishness, they claimed! But do not the shadows

      Cast by the moon seem less dense in the darkness?

      Did not Geoffrey’s tree lift great missiles through the air,

      Driving the giants into the river and across the land?

      Was it not Geoffrey who returned? Did not Geoffrey

      Advance across the fields, back to the awaiting Rufoux?

      Was it not Geoffrey leading a great battalion of Melics,

      Of Bedoua, of Koinoni, and thousands upon thousands

      Of Raspar archers, bristling with tools, weighted down

      With weaponry, desiring to spill the blood of the Aoten?

      Was it not Geoffrey, or do I think of another?

      Will my song end with this salutation? Or will I sing

      More of Geoffrey? How could there be more still to tell of this

      Man of Medialia? I must confess, still more I must tell,

      For he has brought hope unto the Melics, the people

      Of the trees, but as well all the clans of Medialia,

      But more so he has brought hope to the Rufoux.

      For in the days of his travels, he came to see

      The sore melancholy of Artur, and the bruising of his heart,

      And the prison of custom did hold his son in cruel grip,

      And Geoffrey vowed this calamity would not fall

      Upon this, his youngest son, nor fall upon his clan. In

      That day he spoke his word to overrule the tradition

      And end the solitude of Artur, and the shame of Andreia —

      Just as his mercy touched the heartache of Hilde —

      To ensure the line of Artur, the line of Geoffrey,

      The chieftains of the Rufoux, that their leaders might

      Grow in prosperity and fatness in all the years ahead

      After driving the Aoten from the land, and all

      The clans may live and work and play and marry,

      Even as Artur and Andreia marry against expectation

      Of the gods, and peace will reign upon the Earth.

      For what is old is passed, what is new has begun.

      Let us celebrate this hero, even as his funeral flames

      Reach into the skies, his own fiery countenance taking

      Him into the heavens without flint and kindling.

      Surely the magic of Drueed shows us a great thing,

      Taking Geoffrey into his reward at his own calling.

      Let us celebrate the hero! For he has shown us

      The way of the new world, the new Medialia,

      A time when all clans will join together for

      The better good of all! Let us celebrate the hero!

      For he has battled the tyranny of traditions that

      Held all men prisoner, and has led us into a better

      Way, even as we do battle against looming rivals of

      Simple flesh and blood, but no less fearsome!

      Let us celebrate the hero! For Geoffrey lives on

      Among us, always in the heart, always in the memory,

      His spirit anointed to lead the new future of Medialia!

      For what is old is passed, what is new has begun!

     
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