| IN THE YEW FOREST
Madgy's gnarled fingers swirled thoughtlessly in the tepid blue-green waters of her scrying bowl. Her eyes stared into the gloom of her cottage unseeing. It had been days since the sudden visit of Lady Robyn and still she had heard no words on the fate of Lord Starmore. Her repeated attempts to use her scrying bowl to foresee what was to be were clouded by indistinct images and confused symbols. This was certainly very strange. She arose from her chair and withdrew from her cupboard her favorite teapot. She filled it with the water she had gathered from the meadow dewdrops and hung it on the cast iron hook that hung over the dying embers of her hearth. She then filled a small egg-shaped tea ball with her special blend of teas and set the pot to warming. Certainly this would comfort her, she thought.
She sat down by her small window and gazed out at the meadow that ran south of her house. The mist fairies danced about the thick foliage in their usual carefree manner. She could feel her growing unrest, at this sight, and would have cast a lightning bolt or two in their direction if the teapot hadn't picked this time to begin to beckon. She turned from the window as the teapot's summoning song reached its whistling loudest.
Madgy poured her tea into a small ceramic cup, a cup she had owned since she was a small girl. The relief on the sides of the cup, hand painted by some forgotten craftsman, reminded her of old stories of the sisterhood. Running her fingers over the small images, she felt reassuring and the warmth of the tea within soothed her ancient fingers. She fell deep into thought. Images of witches covens and strange creatures filled her mind. Faces, which have long since been clouded over in her memory, once again emerged. She felt homesick.
Suddenly a dark face appeared in this roiling vortex of thought. A face not remembered for a long time…the face of a warrior from the past. In his hands he held a bowl. Brother to the scrying bowl she treasured, this bowl had been crafted in the early times when the gods contested for control of this world. This mystic bowl, when filled with the proper ingredients, would allow the god's minions to communicate with their deities. It was known in those times as the Bowl of Communion. If the proper formula could be found, perhaps it could be of use in contacting Starmore.
The malaise of the past few days fell away like shedding muddy clothes and her spirit soared. She rushed to the chest that stood under the window and began to franticly throw its contents on the floor beside it. It had to be in here somewhere! Finally, as the bottom of the chest became visible, she spied the scroll tube she was seeking. She stuffed the scroll tube into her traveling bag and made haste to gather her other traveling supplies. She gulped down her tea and looked once more out the window by the chest. The mist fairies continued their prancing dance among the broad leaves. As she readied herself for her journey, she thought…dance my children…dance!
ORACLE SPEAKS
As may be obvious, Oracle has kept me a long while. Oracle has given me visions of Madgy Figgy crossing the ocean to deliver a scroll. I see Robyn weeping...though whether they are tears of joy or sorrow I cannot tell. I then flash to the Dark One. Standing alone waiting for what I know not. It appears as if the Dark One has been wandering for a long while...searching enemies to destroy and wrongs to right. Or maybe rights to wrong. Once again I know not. I do know that one way or another this Dark One whose form continues to haunt my every prophecy will be instrumental in the return of Lord Starmore. I also feel that he may signal an earth-shattering change to be felt all over Brittania. For the first time since I can remember in recent Oracles, no messgage was ingrained into my thoughts...only hope. Until we are whole again, I shall continue to sit in Oracle regularly and tell all what I see. Until next time I remain your humble vessel of knowledge.
Vharaek,
Phoenix Prophet
COULD THIS BE THE ANSWER?
The life of a prophet has been difficult as of late. I rarely sleep as I spend most of my time in Oracle trying to gain answers. Answers for myself as well as the guild. Let it be known to all members that Oracle may have finally given us the answer we seek. As I mentioned in my last prophecy I foresaw Madgy handing a scroll to Robyn. Through more meditation, I have gleaned the date of this occurrance. Five days hence, Madgy Figgy shall appear before the guild house. What shall happen after that I may never know. Oracle has been very draining for me, both physically and mentally. I feel as a service to all I must continue to try to find the answers, or at the very least, help all to piece together the puzzle. I will once again sit in Oracle after this and I ask that everyone reading this pray to the Phoenix for my continued strength. I know not how much longer I can keep up at this pace, I have NEVER done this for such a prolonged period before.
Until all is again well, or my strength leaves me forever, I remain,
Vharaek,
Phoenix Prophet
A TIMELY MESSAGE
Salim sat quietly as he looked from the narrow window. His attention had been drawn to the vial of poison perched precariously in the window ledge. He had been in the middle of applying the deadly oils to his kryss when he had heard a strange sound from the window. He gazed searchingly through the opening when he was startled by a streek of feathers which lighted upon a nearby tree. It again took flight and hurled directly toward him. As he flinched back from the window, his elbow knocked over the small sitting table on which he had placed his kryss. It hit the floor with a clatter and went skidding across the stone floor. Salim looked back at the opening in time to see a large owl filling up the arched window as it landed.
Salim, unwilling to spook the immense bird, remained mothionless. The large white bird regarded him with interest. He began to very slowly withdraw from the window glancing over his shoulder in the hopes of locating his migrating kryss. He was poised to dive for the floor when the bird spoke.
"The humble Witch of Yew, Daughter to the Great Trees and Friend to the EFP sends her greetings. She petitions you to assemble Tuesday hence for she will arrive on this day with tidings of extreme interest to you and your brethern."
Its voice was deep and slow and reminded Salim of a wise monk with which we had studied in his youth. He formulated a reply but he found he has unable to get his mouth to form the words. So startled was Salim that he stood transfixed as the great bird launched himself from the window ledge and disappeared into the setting sun.
The Grim One stared out the window silently. The long red rays on the waning sun shone intermitently through the gently shimmering leaves of the silver maples. The ground outside Gladstone danced with the translucent images of prancing fairies. He recalled the Yew Witch and her hut in the forest clearing. He remembered the wonderous peace which seemed to reside there. He wondered if she would bring this tranquility with her. He hoped she would bring others with her to help raise the sorrowful mood of Gladstone. His attention was drawn to the festival of twilight being played on the ground before him. The hypnotic swirling and twinkling seemed to sooth his dark mood. Perhaps her friends had begun to arrive already.
WATCHING
Golden eyes scan the horizon for the third day. A small red dot arrives upon the edge of the ocean beating frantically toward the great figure perched on the ledge. It starts to drop as it gets closer nearing the crest of the waves. Alarm shutters as bright wings take flight to catch the little one in a claw and return it safely to land. As the bird begins to speak incoherently its heart suddenly gives out. Sadly the golden eyes look upon the wrecked body of its favorite bird, laying silently, never reavealing its urgency.
Anxiously awaiting other messangers the day passes slowly. No one is seen as the sun drops into its firery death, drowned by the darkness of the cold night. Golden eyes pierce the blackness crying for one who is lost...
As a silent prayer is sent upon the wind "My children hope is but small, keep the flame burning through the darkest hour we will search together....."
ARRIVAL AND DAWNING OF PROPHESIES
It would seem as if the time is upon us. 'tis but one day until the hopeful fulfillment of my prophecies shall come to fruition. I shall be at Gladstone to answer a few questions about my prophecies if possible, although I doubt I can shed much more light than I already have. I shall be with you in spirit shortly thereafter. I shall watch in my crystal ball, and hope things turn out well. I am afraid the Dark One has invaded far too many of my dreams. I wish this whole ordeal to be over so I might return to my mission of finding and destroying my father. Should things not turn out well, I shall put my personal desires aside again and return to Oracle as many times as is necessary to return our friend and mentor, Starmore, back to the reins of EFP.
Your Humble Servant,
Vharaek,
Phoenix Prophet
And the Saga will continue...........
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