Aura Storm Campaign Journal

© 2004  Myrystyr

    Different names, but always the same prayer.

    Centuries of weathering had worn the towering statue into near-formlessness. Gone were the bright paints and shining jewels. Features and outlines now only hinted at a vague humanoid shape.

    It could have been anyone's god, once.

    Untold ages ago, a shrine had once housed the proud statue. Gleaming in the sun, the edifice had welled with voices lifted in grateful devotion. Mingled fragrances from countless offerings had permeated the building. Life had clustered around, secure and content.

    Contact with other peoples brought mixed blessings. Trade enriched the shrine, briefly. Then war had swept the settlement away.

    Vegetation claimed the charred ruins. Over generations, surviving fragments of the faithful crept back to dare now-forbidden rites before the idol. Fearing a purge, the cult elders had it moved. Lightless whisperings ensued.

    Eventually, the conquering force waned. The statue was brought forth from hiding, re-adorned, worshipped openly once more. But the world was changing; the people had tasted the gifts of other gods. Mythologies had widened, placing the statue in a lesser role. Soon it became a curiosity, a relic of strange days - a memory to be smiled at. Though whether the smile was wistful, nervous or dismissive varied by onlooker.

    Overshadowed, it slumbered. As do all such things when no longer attended. World events moved on, unmindful. Wars, upheavals and reversals ebbed and flowed as though waves on the ever-changing sea.

    The statue was looted at some point and set up as a trophy. A new faith swept the lands, forcing old images into its new scheme and smashing those that did not fit. Unfamiliar prayers were raised to the misnamed idol. Dimly waked, it sensed once more the presence of devotion. Energy flowed; minor blessings occurred. It basked in power.

    Suddenly the world changed again, this time far for the worse. The sky split; drought, pestilence and burning hail scoured the fertile lands. Whole cities sank beneath the lashing waves, or into the noisome underworld. Death and chaos reigned as survivors fled, fought, sheltered and banished.

    The statue was forgotten once more.

    Slowly and painfully, focussed around the city that had taken the statue, civilisation struggled anew.

    There it stands still, with others of its kin; they line a thoroughfare reeking with the babble of many tongues, and the welter of many hopes and fears. Swollen with many peoples, the city is their home too.