BmZuzu
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[!] The following can be found where written books denote [!]
Parable: The Crown, Sword and Quill
Choose. Parable: The Crown, Sword and Quill
That was the only word a man heard, then silence. Before him stood an old wooden table, weathered and worn, upon which rested three items: a golden crown, a gleaming silver sword, and an ornate quill poised above an empty parchment. There was nothing else, he could see nothing else. He could not move away nor move closer, he could not speak, but his thoughts remained his own - that much he was sure.
A dream. Or a nightmare.
Choose.
The word was heard once more. It was indiscernible where the word was spoken from, but it urged him again for the third time.
Choose.
The golden crown gleamed with an inner radiance, its intricate design speaking of regality and sovereignty. Beside it, the sword reflected the mysterious light, its blade sharp and resolute, embodying strength and the potential for both defense and offense. And finally, poised delicately above the blank parchment, the quill seemed to hum with the promise of untold tales and profound revelations.
He reached forth for the Crown.
The once darkened lair with nothing but the table, transformed into a long opulent hall carved of the most splendorous marble. When the man looked down upon himself he found himself standing as a King, draped in a flowing robe of purple a mantle of fine white fur upon his shoulders and on his body a tunic of rich gold silk. Step, after step, his feet moved without instruction. The hall passed him by on either side, slowly. Upon them hung tapestries of his achievements. Servants bowed. Men and women alike shouted his name in praise and in worship. His enemies trembled in their holds that crumbled away.
Grand doors marked the end of the hall, embellished with bands of gleaming gold that traced an elegant carving of a Griffin.
They opened and he found himself seated upon a cold throne. The darkness settled in once more, He was now an observer. He looked to himself seated on the throne and could not tear his gaze away. He could not speak, he could not move, only observe.
He saw servants, attendants, soldiers, knights, brothers, his wife, all come and go. He saw his own countenance shift, he grew weary, cold and uncaring. The halls that once echoed with benevolent decrees now quivered beneath the weight of arbitrary commands. He ignored the counsel of advisors and the cries of the oppressed. He expanded his conquests, seeking to amass even greater wealth and dominion. The once-prosperous empire now strained under the weight of its ruler's avarice. The very fabric of unity that had woven the empire together began to unravel, replaced by the harsh threads of oppression and resentment. He tried to tear his gaze away once more, he tightly shut his eyes and wished for this nightmare to end. His heart ached. His heart fell cold, he opened his eyes once more and saw himself slumped to the side on the throne, a blade in his chest and his crown tarnished in a pool of his blood on the floor.
_____________
Choose.
He heard again. As he blinked, the scene had returned to the dark lair once more. His hand mere inches away from the crown. He withdrew his hand with panted breaths. But still, he found himself unable to move, unable to leave, unable to wake. He looked at the other two items.
Perhaps this time, the quill.
He reached forth.
✠
Again the lair transformed. He stood upon cold stone with his bare feet. He was dressed in simple brown robes and held a thick book underneath his arm. Before him sat a small group of children crossed legs eagerly gazing at him and awaiting his teachings. No marble, no carpets, no fragrant candles - just the cold stones and hard wood of a humble chapel. Yet a warmth filled his heart, a joy of guiding and enlightening others. He too crossed his legs and sat down before the children. He took the book from underneath his arm and rested it upon his lap as he flipped through the pages and opened his mouth to read –
The scene shifts, and again he finds himself in darkness. He is looking at himself once more. He sits in a dark room before an old wooden table, illuminated only by a small candle at the corner. He sits before a blank parchment, holding his quill between lightly trembling fingers. Upon the table are also sprawled multiple other parchments each written in different scripts. The titles are clearly visible for him to see. ‘A truth behind the veil’, ‘The strength of mystics and the true path’, ‘What is the truth’, ‘Propaganda and misinformation’. He struggled to discern the genuine wisdom from the cacophony of misinformation that surrounded him. Riots littered the streets, The people shouted for justice. They bore swords and fought for values they knew little of at the behest of those who knew even less. The chapel crumbled. The quill, once a symbol of enlightenment, became a harbinger of confusion, its ink staining the once-pure waters of knowledge.
_____________
He blinked and he found himself in the lair once more. He thought to himself, what this nightmare meant.
Choose.
He heard once more. Now he could see dull golden eyes peering at him from beyond the darkness. He withdrew his hand from the quill.
What would the sword show him?
No, he thought to himself.
He did not want to bear the pain of a fall again. He had felt the fall of the crown, the fall of the quill, would he have to bear the fall of the sword?
He reached forth for a final time, and took hold - of the sword.
Again the lair transformed. He stood upon cold stone with his bare feet. He was dressed in simple brown robes and held a thick book underneath his arm. Before him sat a small group of children crossed legs eagerly gazing at him and awaiting his teachings. No marble, no carpets, no fragrant candles - just the cold stones and hard wood of a humble chapel. Yet a warmth filled his heart, a joy of guiding and enlightening others. He too crossed his legs and sat down before the children. He took the book from underneath his arm and rested it upon his lap as he flipped through the pages and opened his mouth to read –
The scene shifts, and again he finds himself in darkness. He is looking at himself once more. He sits in a dark room before an old wooden table, illuminated only by a small candle at the corner. He sits before a blank parchment, holding his quill between lightly trembling fingers. Upon the table are also sprawled multiple other parchments each written in different scripts. The titles are clearly visible for him to see. ‘A truth behind the veil’, ‘The strength of mystics and the true path’, ‘What is the truth’, ‘Propaganda and misinformation’. He struggled to discern the genuine wisdom from the cacophony of misinformation that surrounded him. Riots littered the streets, The people shouted for justice. They bore swords and fought for values they knew little of at the behest of those who knew even less. The chapel crumbled. The quill, once a symbol of enlightenment, became a harbinger of confusion, its ink staining the once-pure waters of knowledge.
_____________
He blinked and he found himself in the lair once more. He thought to himself, what this nightmare meant.
Choose.
He heard once more. Now he could see dull golden eyes peering at him from beyond the darkness. He withdrew his hand from the quill.
What would the sword show him?
No, he thought to himself.
He did not want to bear the pain of a fall again. He had felt the fall of the crown, the fall of the quill, would he have to bear the fall of the sword?
He reached forth for a final time, and took hold - of the sword.
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