A tall, thin and elderly man sits at the solid oak desk with trays of
manuscripts, open scolls and stacked tomes before him.  In the quiet
annex of the massive Academy libraries which houses the archives,
the Chief Archivist Mirvon, a sharpened stylo in one hand
and a sheaf of his own notes in the other, bends his head
to the texts before him.

This day finds Mirvon studying the ancient Prophecies...

Mirvon paused and passed his stylo a hairsbreadth above two of the lines, reading
and re-reading.  "Too soon to say..." he finally murmured and moved on, pulling
down a slim volume of which only three pages held markers.  The text was faded
with the years and he compared this with another document several times, passing
his stylo over one word and rechecking it on the second document. Why had the
Commander asked him to make certain of his facts on this tiny scrap of verse?
All told, it told little indeed.  He read it one more time and his frown stayed with him.

He turned the pages of the slim volume to the second page marker.  This time he chewed
the inside of his cheek.  Perhaps Elder Criana had a point, perhaps not...

Finally, he laid aside the unsatisfactory slim volume and turned again to another, beautiful text.  Written by a bard of ancient times and illustrated by the artist who was reputed to
have been her devoted companion.  A companion that she needed beyond doubt as the
years brought her increasing visions that sometimes burst through her performances and
left her audience dazzled by the sudden manifestations of blatant magic and herself as
stricken as though pierced by an arrow.  This text had been recorded as having emerged
within a kedar performance before the Csarine of the day herself.  One moment the bard
had been singing a well known melody and the next it had transformed as she declared a prophecy that left her audience shaken and awed.

Beware the Dark Hunter he will return
When he does, Pallahade will burn.

Beware there is no place to hide
Dark Hunter's passion has not died
He will pursue to steal your bride.
His hate for *you*, spurs his pride.
Listen to these words well sown
Add anothers 'strength' to your own.
United in love and truth profound,
This will thwart the hunters hound.
~~

This verse too was found in the illustrated tome.  Breathed out of the bard into the still
crowd of a simple woodfaring folk when she visited them in her later years.  They had reputedly taken the verse to heart as an omen of the future.

Mirvon finally laid aside the tome.  It was one of the prizes of his collection, telling as much about the lives of the two lovers and the world of Uen at that time as it did of the supposed prophecies for the future.

He then looked up at the framed transposed copy of a long recognised foretelling which hung over the mantle which surrounded the small grated fireplace.  Supposed.  Here was one prophecy that certainly seemed to have come to pass.  One could not afford to overlook these mystical foretellings....nor the forebodings...

Putting away childhood quickly
She facing her tests complied,
Flower of youth stolen so soon
The *future* will stay by her side.

The strength of the *future*
The strength of the faithful Roug
The iron of her own strong will.
Will hold Uen 'tried and true'.

Look to each other and look to them
Forwithin the death comes life
Lonely within, lonely without
Love grows without effort or strife.

Take heart O' leader of many
Take heart and know it is right
Through many a turn and twist
YOU WILL SEE AN END TO THE NIGHT!!
~~

Reluctantly, he turned then to another paper.  A single sheet, charred at the edges and the
hand was either that of one who was mad or the nearest thing to it.  Nothing was known
of the writer or its origins.

Sent by her master beware her sting
Her love is a dead and shriveled thing
She will be sent to the *Heart*
To rend, stab and tear it apart!
~~

At this point, the old sage runs the backs of his knuckles against his weary eyes and
glances at a crumpled piece of parchment, smaller than the usual standard size.
He lifts it away from the pile and attempts to straighten the folded down
edges before laying it out flat before him and reading it's contents.

Mirvon looked at another rolled scroll, neatly penned with a controlled hand which almost belied the history that surrounded the strange verse.  But then, this was a second or third generation rendering of a much older scroll that was no longer stable enough to be handled.

A tragic story accompanied this verse - and one that could only make you question if there were really anything in it at all....for these were the crazed mumblings of a slowly dying man who had just lost his Bondmare in the war of the Dark Time.

According to the healers records of the time, as the life faded out of him over a series of stretched out days, the Uen Roug had ranted the phrases in no particular order, often repeating the same line many times in succession, until the end.  Years of study by Mirvon's
predecessors had come up with what they felt the most likely ordering of the text.  Who knew however if they finally had it down correctly - or if indeed any of it was more than the grief ravings it appeared to be...

one will reach
for one to return
many will die
but few will learn

many arrive
and many are torn
all give up
so one can form

many and many
using many as one
all of them mingle
and one is undone

one returns many
when some do unite
until one is lost
to many in night

many now gone
so one remains
giving one to many
in many refrains

none will know many
and many know none
until one is returned
when three become one
~~

~~
Purity bequeathed on the one walking with grace, beauty, and love
Wounded heart makes strong, gaining courage from above
The part played unknown as the song must sing alone
Finding the missing key, where others may never have known
~~

Suppressing a tired yawn, Mirvon contmeplated retiring from his work for the evening,
but his eyes fell on yet another scroll tied off with a golden ribbon. Odd that he had not
noticed before now...

~~
A stranger comes from far away,
carried on the waves of fate.
A cold breeze bids stranger stay,
Guarded soul blossoms late.
 
Higher than the blazing sun
A stranger rises to the fight.
And when the fighting has been done,
the stranger melts back to the night.
 
Given life by purple cold,
the stranger finds a love unknown.
And when, the love, stranger takes hold,
The stranger's heart will find a home.
~~

~~
Through aching darkness, three must come.
Brought together by the loss of one.

Life to life and soul to soul,
two must form a greater whole.

Soul to soul and heart to heart,
two by one are torn apart.
 
Heart to heart and mind to mind,
three must bond but never bind.
 
Mind to mind and life to life,
three through pain will wield the knife.

Through deepest battles three have won,
Brought together by the loss of one.
~~

After many hours of study, the elderly man finally pushed away his books for the evening, neatly stacking his fresh notes to one side of the massive desk.  Dyleni, his niece would be waiting for him with a cooked supper and liberal scoldings for working so long without
a break.  Then after, more brain food in a stimulating game of chess with the Head Librarian Otsuego, he looked forward to discussing the potential mistranslation he had found on one
of the many prophecies that he had studied tonight.  And yet, if it really was a mistranslation on the part of his ancient counter-part, the resulting text simply made no sense....

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(Disclaimer: Credit goes to the creators of these prophecies, but
names  are  withheld to ensure that the verses remain a mystery.)

Rainbow's End is the creation of Amber McNett
Page Designed and Maintained by player Rebecca Engelmann
~Text is written by Dela, Rebecca and the players of the individual Prophecies~
~Inkwell Image by CelticHeart Creations, Used with permission~