[center][b]Date: Unknown
Fararu Luminescence, the Holy City of Aranagh[/b]
[hr]

[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/f14a4108-2727-4026-b734-a040a5328637.jpg[/img]
 
[i]Kind solace in a dying hour.
Such, Axbak-Kamen, is not now my theme—
I will not madly deem that worldly power
may shrive me of the sin
that unworldly pride hath revell’d in—
I have no time to dote or dream:

You call it hope—that fire of fire!
It is but agony of desire:
Through my atrocities and slaughter -- 
I still catch cinders of the haunting dream
of the Luminescence's daughter..[/i][/center]


[i]''Negh… Worthless. The last lines does not flow…''[/i]

In the dark temple of Axbak Aranagh, the Conqueror sits crossed legged before the altar of Axbak Kamen, writing, outpouring his soul on a piece of parchment held in his calloused hands, put against a hand-held wooden board.

An idol of the Luminescence’s daughter rests on the altar before him, though it failed to capture her beauty. Like a depiction of the sunset could never hope to truly integrate the glamour of the true sunset. Replicating such beauty is not in the fingers of the artist, only the Divine.
He takes up a blank slate of parchment, and sets it on the board to put into words his laments.

[center][i]In my torch I carry your light
Where its rays sear me true
Pain of your flame is reminder of the why-
Of why I took up the flaming sword

In my charger swift I delight no more,
Nor in costly garb and in finery,
Little do I care for conquest’s booty
Who is there the glory that is mine to share?
Before whom shall I of my conquest boast?
Tore whose gaze shall I my rich garb display?[/i][/center]

[i]''No.. no.. Worthless, wretched.''[/i]

With a savage gash he scratches the last lines, then fumbles the paper altogether before casting it away. He tries again on a new piece of parchment.

[center][i]O! craving heart, for the lost flowers 
And sunshine of my summer hours. 
Th’ undying voice of that dead time, 
With its interminable chime, 

O! Axbak Kamen
Know thou the secret of my spirit 
Bow’d from its wild pride into shame. 
O! yearning heart, I did inherit 
Thy withering portion with the fame, 
The searing glory which hath shone 
Amid the jewels of my throne,

Tears in the eyes never convince,
But rather defies under weight of sins
All the same, I bid you, grant me your boon
As I walk your armies into the den of Ualfrüm[/i][/center]
 
Finished writing, he is scarcely content with it, yet perhaps the Divine Fire may appreciate it all the same. The Conqueror offers the writ up to the pyre upon the altar. The old fumbled parchment swiftly catches fire and in seconds is subsumed by flames. Smoke rises towards the ceiling dome of the sanctum, and the Conqueror knows that through such revered rituals, the writ has passed the boundaries of worlds into the otherworld, where his loved one is waiting.

[i]‘’Fire of Fire, brighter than all flames. This I dedicate to Axbak Kamen and you.’’[/i]

He rises from the altar, about to leave the sanctum’s premise. When suddenly, a flicker appeared from the cinders remaining of his writ upon the altar. A flare. The Conqueror turned around, and his golden eyes widen in disbelief: 
[i]‘’Mulk Khamun.’’[/i]

The form of a woman appeared upon the altar, a blazing beacon more stunning than you could imagine, her long hair flowing radiantly about her head with the likeness of sun-beams. It is a display of such regal majesty that to behold it, takes the breath from the Conquerors lungs.

When their eyes meet she stretches out a hand to him, smiling warmly and with otherworldly grace. She wants to say something. Possessed and enraptured the Conqueror is not himself, and takes a small step towards her. He reaches out his battered hand to clasp hers.
And at the moment their fingers touch she flickers out. Like a lamp that had been abruptly turned off, she vanished. The Conqueror is perplexed, and the light leaves his eyes. 

His knees fall upon the rigid stone tiles before the altar. He is truly alone.

[hr]
[i]''Amir Shaykh Gurkani…''[/i]

The Conqueror had only just left the sanctum when a voice calls from out the dark, with footsteps reverberating towards him.
[i]‘’Forgive my intrusion, it is I; Hierophant An-Mara. Rekindled as your most humble, willing slave.’’[/i]
The Conqueror does not look him in the eye, staring stark at the murals on the walls with his arms placed stiff to his back.
[i]‘’An omen, my Amir.

Late in the night, as the silver beam of moonlight shone unto the pond, I beheld therein three carps, two silver and one gold. The gold one had died, but drifted at the pond’s surface, with the two silver ones rapidly swimming circularly about it, as though keeping it afloat. Than.. a single droplet landed on top of the golden carp’s eye.’’[/i]

	[i]‘’Elaborate now, Hierophant.’’[/i] The Conqueror speaks orotund. 
[i]‘’It is a sign from the Sun God. The Silver carp, truly it represents you, where the golden carp represents the late Luminescent. The Sun God at last acknowledges you as The One successor of Kamen’s Lineage, keeping his authority afloat on this mortal coil.’’[/i]
	[i]‘’Are you certain of this?’’[/i]
[i]‘’I speak these words beyond the shadow of doubt, Amir Shaykh. The omens are right.’’[/i]
	[i]‘’And who, pray tell, is the other silver carp, if one of them is me?’’[/i]
The Hierophant lowers his head, and strokes his long grey beard.
[i]‘’Time will tell, Conqueror.’’
[/i]