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This article was written by Ahpolki Inika. Please do not add to it without the writer's permission.
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| The Eyes of Dathachuri | |
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| Story | |
| Setting |
An unknown forest, Dathachuri's domain
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| Date Set |
Unknown, presumably before the Reign of Shadows
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The Eyes of Dathachuri is Ahpolki Inika's entry for the Spring 2014 Contest.
Story[]
Colour. A wonderful little thing, is it not? How it can vary between cool and warm, light and dark, dull and glossy. It brings flavor and identity to the world and beyond. It allows us to tell the difference between good and bad. In short, we wouldn’t alive without colour. How else would one being know the difference between an elixir and a poison?
Whom am I to tell you that, you ask? What kind of person would think of such a thing? I, dear one, am simply an artist. I have mastered the ways of the brush, the pen and the sword, and the song of the bard. Within such careers, imagination and inspiration are vital tools. And while my sources are vast and endless, colour is, above all else, my personal favorite.
And once more, it played an important part in my works. You see, I am but one member of fine organization. I work with the Oisulli Murtaeht, a group of likeminded fellows. Actors, bards, painters and sculptors, writers, and so much more. And like me, they share a passion for creativity. And it was because of them that I could see the world for what it truly was.
We were once hired to perform The Violet Sign, an old favorite of our audience. I had the honor of designing the stage, within the wilderness of a forest (whose name escapes my memory, sadly). So much variety within this peculiar place. Small Rahi flutter and chime, with those wondrous songs of theirs. The trees each had their own unique shapes and patterns. It was a shame, having to cut them down for materials. Ah well, at least their beauty would be used for something productive. Once the stage was built and coated with paint, we went to work on the props and costumes.
The forest provided us with the necessary materials. The plants and trees gave us their leaves, the birds their feathers, and the beasts their skins and furs. We wove the costumes, curtains, and flags, each one in wondrous colors. Our carvers produced the furniture and props from the wood we had gathered. Our illusionists practiced the arts of Light, bending the spectrum to their will. Our actors rehearsed while the performers prepared for their stunts.
Within a few days, the stage was completed, the tents and venders were set up, and all of our staff was prepared. The audience poured in, like water out of a spring. It was no surprise that they were awed by our works. Our performance of The Violet Sign were but the tips of the statue. Xuaf the illusionist, the Visorak Pyramid, the Daring Rolas, and so much more enlightened our viewers. All of my hard work had paid off.
The next day, though, was when my world changed. One of my coworkers approached me, claiming that the ring master wished to discuss promotion with me. I felt honored at the time, and so I followed. I soon entered his office, and beheld a new sight. There was a yellow circle painted onto the floor, surrounded by candles of alien colours. The ring master, a male Vortixx, was standing among some cloaked figures.
He stepped forward, his ebony armor glowing in the warm lights. “You have come,” he said in a soft, calm, voice. “For a moment, I was afraid that you wouldn’t.”
The master stood before me, at least half a bio taller than I. He placed a clawed hand on my shoulder. “I’ve been watching you for some time,” He begins. “You have the eyes of an artist, an open and resourceful mind.”
He points a sharp finger to my left. I turned, and beheld another surprise. It was one of my old paintings, depicting a sunset within the Southern Islands. A volcano was breathing smoke in the background, the twin suns partially covered by the growing cloud of black. In the foreground was a young, dense forest, akin to the one we recently rehearsed in. And if memory was correct, it was lost when a nameless Dark Hunter stormed the village it was in.
Before I could speak, he interrupted me. “It was not easy,” He said. “But we managed to track it down. It was being displayed at Ga-Metru of Metru Nui when we found it. It took some bargaining, but we managed to buy it back from the Matoran.”
He pointed me toward my right, and I obeyed. Within a glass case was one of my poems: The Red King. Out of all my works, it was my personal masterpiece. And, admittedly, my most controversial.
The ring master cast his glace back to me. “It took guts for you to write a poem about Alxor,” He said. “From what I’ve heard, both the Xevthians and Mersions were rather… Sensitive about the subject.” He patted the case, as if it were some kind of pet. “And yet, as an artist, you didn't censor your materials. You weren’t afraid of the public’s opinion, regardless of whether it offended them or not. You were determined to voice your own one.”
He guided me to the circle, hand on my shoulder. Once I was at the center, the hooded ones aligned themselves on the edges. I heard them chat an unfamiliar tongue under their breaths, a rhythm without name or tune. The ring master stood before me, chanting in the same language as well. He took out a small sack from behind his desk, and reached his hand in. When it remerged, he had a fistful of white powder. He blew it into my face, much like how some female would to her lover. I unwittingly inhaled the foreign substance, feeling it invade my lungs.
The world spun as if I were caught in a whirlpool. All shapes began to melt away, down to where there was nothing but an infinite collection of colours. I would call it a rainbow, were it not for the fact that rainbows usually had seven lights of the spectrum. Soon they collapsed upon me, and I began to drown in them. I tasted a number of different flavors from the hues, though none of them could be described in words. And when I tried to move my limbs, the darkness swept me away.
After an uncertain period of time, my eyes raised their curtains. The light seeped into my mind, and vision returned to me as I rose. At first, I thought that I was dragged back into the forest, with the numerous trees around. As the fog cleared, however, I was standing corrected. The leaves were not their usual spring colors. Instead of just the forest-green many are accustomed to, there was a multitude of others as well. It looked as if someone splattered paint all over them. The sun was a carbon-red, the sky a sickening yellow.
I spotted a Ga-Matoran near a green waterfall, humming as holds some food over a fire. The fire in turn held some belongings within its flames. I could make out an old plush toy of a Po-Matoran being in the pile. A shadow speed past me, chasing a small Rahi. What struck me was the shadow wasn’t its traditional midnight-black. Rather, it was a fiery orange. More colorful shadows appeared, pointing toward a path in the alien forest. With great reluctance, I entered.
The forest bore some of the strangest beings I have every laid my eyes on. My mind is still struggling to comprehend their unworldly shapes. Trying to describe them would be like describing sound to a deaf being. The trail ended at pair of stairs, made- no, grown- from a crystalline substance. The shadows lead me upwards, slithering around like Bog Snakes. Strange lights poured out of the steps, many of their colours being unnamable. As I climbed higher and higher, I began to see the structure in its full form. The steps widen, going as far being a kio. Their range would decline as I ventured upwards, leaving me to conclude that this was a pyramid. My suspicions were confirmed when I reached the top and beheld a new sight.
Sitting on a throne of light was a robed figure. At first glance, I thought He bore a Miru Nuva. A closer observation, however, revealed that wasn’t the case. The mask had no mouth or eyeholes, and the fins on it looked more like spikes from a crown. In His hand was a simple wooden staff, bearing intricate markings of unknown origin. The thing that stood out the most were the robes, though. Or rather, their colors. The robes kept changing their color-scheme, from those of the seven spectrums to those without names. And while I could not see His face, I could feel His grin creeping across my being.
“So…….” The being cooed coolly. “Another Kewa has wandered into my garden….”
The colored shadow took positions behind Him as he stood up. When He spoke next, His voice suddenly became warm. “You're expecting me to shoo you off, aren't you? Fear not, little one, for I do not mind visitors. I welcome all with open arms."
A strange and wondrous sound entered my ears. Enthralled, I found myself turning to see a group of indescribable entities floating about Him. They were each playing an instrument of some form, such as drums or flutes. Some of their played a soft melody, others played a dreadful orchestra. But not even they, however, could drown His voice.
“And what a wonderful specimen, you are! Have you come to drink the finest nectar of my flowers, or hear the songs of nature?” He inquired, tapping His clawed digits. “But I am getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? Tell me little bird, what would your name be?”
For a moment, I could hardly even speak, let alone breathe. But when I finally revealed my name to Him, He simply placed His hand on my shoulder and guided me to a view of His domain. It was majestic from here. The sky was now a forest green, the red sun sinking into the horizon. I could see the icy-blue moon rising in the opposite direction.
"Beautiful, is it not?" He said. "Colour has always fascinated me, you see. It adds flavor and identify to the world. It signifies one's emotions. It inspires the artist and the musician. Without colour, life would be dull and flavorless."
He turned his attention to me. “Trichromatics have a rather small view on the world. I, however, can see what others can’t. I can see the hidden wonders and horrors of the universe, the deepest and darkest of secrets.”
He places a finger on my forehead. “And I would like for you to share this gift as well.”
I felt a burning sensation within me. Everything bubbled and blurred, the new world vanishing into the nothing. I screamed as the foreign force flowed through my veins. The world I once knew of returned to life, exactly as it was when I had left. The ring master was still before me.
He smiled. “I see that our lord has taken a liking to you,” He said.
I nodded in reply, and his smile evolved into a grin. He and the hooded ones bowed for moment before clapping their hands. For a moment, the world flickered, changing colour. No, it wasn’t changing colour. It was adding colour! I felt my hand across my face for a moment, and noticed that my Kanohi had changed. One of the robed ones handed me a mirror and I snatched out of his hands. What I saw then was what changed my life. In place of my old Kanohi was that of a Hsifarbez: The Great Mask of Tetrachromacy.
“Welcome to The Oisulli Murtaeht,” The ring master congratulated.
Characters[]
- The Oisulli Murtaeht
- The narrator
- A Vortixx ringmaster
- Xuaf the Illusionist (mentioned only)
- Rolas (mentioned only)
- A few more members in hooded cloaks
- Dathachuri
- An unknown Ga-Matoran
- Colored shadows (Most likely a subspecies of The Abstract)
Trivia[]
- This short story was influenced by Weird Fiction, a genre of speculative fiction that emerged in the late 1800's.
- The scene with the Ga-Matoran is a reference to the teaser trailer for The Vanishing of Ethan Carter, an indie game developed by The Astronauts. Like this story, it was influenced by the Weird Fiction genre.
- The Violet Sign is a reference to The Yellow Sign, a fictional symbol first appearing in The King in Yellow. The color violet is also opposite of yellow on some color wheels.
- The narrator's poem, The Red King, is also a reference to The King In Yellow.
- The main image is actually an edited picture of one of Ahpolki inika's Art projects.