Chapter 6: The Noble War (A Prologue)

Nine there were, lifted and blessed with vision of the infinite, perceiving directions unknown to mortal vessels who, toiling in the turbulent deeps of the spheres still tremble at the darker glories. From the grandest immensity to the final implosion, their eyes probed into enveloping hidden beauty, and in the soft shelter of Beulah they purged their former anxious thoughts. 

  Righteousness and virtue thrived unchecked within their stores of knowledge and sublime emotion. Anger over injustice, joy over success and affection over vulnerability. Reason and its sibling rival passion, and the urgent concern over those still stricken with age. Those radiant souls reveled in cosmic infancy and sang with reverence their songs of ascension. 

            And given such glory that life and light can shed like skin from their mercurial scales, they sprinkled salt over their own wounds to replace with autonomous apparition what they lost in their dismal wanderings. In that tunnel, endless and desolate, they dissolved in the mindless thoughts of the sleeper's animal cravings, they being left free to raven in the dreamless dark. 

And you forlorn, sparks of star stuff riding on an evanescent wind, will you cross the threshold of their asylum? Will you follow the toll that awakened you? Will you turn your backs to the East where the infant stars vent their nascent plumes? Ulro darkens in the West, indignant over its umbilical link to the abyss where writhes the unfettered shadow in its consumption. 

Haleon brooding in his realm, dark and labrinthine, by memories pained did he in anger burn his dream of Zar Zafaran to an ashen husk. With indignant flame he razed his own kingdom of memorial bliss to mere cinders, angered by the harshness of his ruin, and those cinders he cooled with his frozen temper, having woken from his conniptions and in cold hate settled. 

In Nessus on a bed of sweet-scented bile lays Topar, poised to comfort in her denial and her love of deformity, for best it is to love than to chafe within halls of blood, straightening bent limbs and walking upon broken legs. Lovely Topar in her halls of blood and salty waters, Nessus she wove from devolution, the City of the Rotten, and in Nessus stirs the Sea of Decay.  

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