|| The Knight's Ephemeris / Scribe's Pretext ||

|| The Knight's Ephemeris / Scribe's Pretext ||

|| The Scribe’s Pretext // Epochs and beginnings. . . ||


Time rots history in these dark ages.

I write this, as a mortal whose frames are bursting at the seams. . . Burdened with the knowledge I was gifted with. Note the word gift. But I am also in turn, burdened with the weight of discretion. For to expose these things I know out into the world – they would end up birthing raving wretches of such caliber that they would be stoned for heresy. The world has turned drastically in Their absence. Corrosion reeks as delicate guidelines become forgotten. . .

Then why this manuscript, knowing I am hastening my doom?

The present is no longer my concern. I must immerse myself back into the past; I must find some medium to exhale my encumbrance. I must satisfy this need to not sit helpless ‘til the Stairs take me. Its jaws have long been aching for my entry, but yet I must refuse it some more. If by some granted luck a reader finds this, and divines understanding from it, then. . . Whatever he decides to do is his own fate. Bury it or publish it to all the world! The truth, I believe, painstakingly surrendered into these pages, will always surface above the lies. Gradually.

Now. I suppose that in some manner, I would have to explain the beginning. To simplify things, I will only focus on the more relevant, more immediate; as to delve beyond that is to write incoherency and bereft even myself of interest.

The diverse gallery of memories ravishes me as if happened only moments before. . . The curse of old age and sound mind. Or rather, not so sound mind. However, finding the will to press on, I must refocus the setting and establish of how I have to come to parody a scribe in the first place. Our world, I ruminate; then my fingers rivet into explanation. . .

Humans, as we are known, and many other races besides, are primarily situated on the sphere of Ejihla’tis. It may carry many different variations, but to us, it is in the main a derivation of Eijhlatiae Hylori – perhaps too fanciful to call it a derivation, as even now we do not know the meaning of those words. Our enemies find laughter in that we christen our world with a name we do not understand. They were found scorched onto the Carta Ilias, on the very first page, and that speaks enough reason for our kind. Yet, that is another story; one to be later revealed, hopefully. And I cannot resist adding that I in fact do know the meaning of those words, yet cannot blunder them into open air, for they have. . . Implications. But, it will be all explained when due.

Ejihla’tis consists of four main continents but only one is given my attention here: Asphzein. Known as the eastern wonder, a vast landmass mixed of forest, mountain range, plain and desert. Before curiosity finds the reader – if there is to be any, Divinals forbid(though I secretly hope it) - of why Asphzein is emphasized as such, I must elaborate on a brief common knowledge: the once upheld system of Onus Gerendi.

Even the children recite this piece of common lore as song. As for who taught them, the underpaid troubadours sing, incited on by drink and spite:

“Sahlien fiskie Latas Aykielaor,
Zaein zedeas Sokahsdiun Ejihla’tis
Teins orhinsei, veikhaei, erliensa sekhrest
Saun io’ kahsiet, vaikie, Xyeizaliae,
Korhas uil kyraen, laisen neol

Hyel, sapis sauiet telikahs,
Uonic heli jeian
Hyel, gein saun resiehs,
Uonic zephis solan
Hyel, tyan yulaheis,
Uonic, ophein.”

Yet when Seihtal does not reach stir the audience - as only drunks forget that Seihtal is the nobles’ language - they sober just for that single moment to repeat in Eist:

“Laid down by our forefathers, warring Seigniors of the East,
Ornery having plagued corners and plain hurried,
Hands clasped circle, children of the Raised,
Drew artifice, the end of scattered ashes.

Thus, thrice fingers clenched,
We have come to our own.
Thus, twice hands shaken,
We have found peace.
Thus, once embraced,
We have grown.”

It is but an old story to those well beyond the years of chanting nursery songs. Though a grind to every ear, one fact remains above the grumbles and rile: Onus Gerendi was the first universal accession, and thus, the most significant event in all of remembered history of Ejihla’tis. That is to say, remembered among humans. The others say otherwise.

As suggested by the lyrics of the Song – for the name has been lost over the ages – war preceded Onus Gerendi, three centuries of vehement devastation: nations, continents against each other, seas rife with wood and steel, stampedes of corpses. . .

Then the isolationist edict forced war to lose all meaning. Continental confinement – “no nation should seek to, with or without intent, expand, invade or colonize any overseas land in aim of bolstering political, economical or military wealth.” For to do so, was to “invoke the wrath of the victimized nation and/or inhabitants and no equity, political reimbursement or religious covenant may prevent any action actuated by the defenders on incursion.”

It was needless to say that the decree applied mutually, so even those slighted could not pursue their vengeance to the seas.

Yet it had proved effective. Ushering in a mournful peace, returning soldiers were met with the wrenching reality of their homeland laid to waste.

Yet, the next day came, then the following, and so on. Gradually populations began to swell, economy toddle onwards, finding its feet; the ashes of the fallen scattered about the five winds, and only then, did grim smiles incline a little higher curl. Clothes whitened and the roads bore worn tracks once more.

The remembrance of the din of clashing metal had become an indicator of one’s age. For years continued to pass, news of other continents slowly died, and the warring periods of the Eight Epoch became vague mistakes of the past.

Onus Gerendi was faithfully practiced for seventeen centuries.

The story which I inscribe now and onwards is set after deviation from the sacred law.