____
Of Fa’Maana Temple, and what lies there
Though there would be many a way to begin a tale of such, I choose this, for the temple of the Ajtéan goddess Fa’Maana is a sacred one, though it stands in ruin. Year upon year did the ever growing forestry lay claim to the temple’s back walls as vines crept along them, leaving arrays of bright orange flowers in bouquet-like clumps.
In the middle of the floor sat the granite statue of Fa’Maana, her lower snake half coiling around her base to meet the vines that slowly claimed her as well. She reached to the sky, her head held high though her eyes remained closed and her palms outstretched and open.
Deeper down into the underground of the temple was a barren chamber, brightly lit from nonexistent sunlight. It was almost completely untouched by the outside, with the only sign that there was such a thing as the outside was an ancient tree with bright pink ever blossoms that drooped over a small bed draped in silken sheets. The room itself had a high ceiling with small paintings all around the walls, which were circular and painted a light yellow that looked white in the light.
Many left the room as if it weren’t there, some not knowing it existed at all, and others who simply detested the so-called monster who inhabited the room. While many had never seen the girl who lived there in the chambers, still rumors and mysteries surrounded it, blossomed fear, which then grew into hatred for the thing they’d never seen, or that they knew to be true for that matter.
The monster who lived there, though ridiculed and hated for the thing she was, loved all the beings of that world, just as she loved her home of Juhn in the marvelous country of Zanoma, high in the nameless mountains that lay far, far south of Dunart with its skulls that hung from its darkened, pointed gates. Between the two was the closer neighbor of Pagona from which the vines came, and with its winding rivers and bright fires that glowed nightly and the beating of their festival drums.
It was from these forests, a place the Avohwé protected with great pride, that a young man made the trek to Zanoma through enemy territory. He stood straight-backed with a long sword slung over his back and a gun in the holster on the left of his hip and his hair stayed tucked under a black and silver army styled hat. He stood a testament to the grand country that was Dunart and of the Rhujattan people for whom he wore the Ouroborous.
The snake who ate his own tail was burned into the back of his neck, staining, marking him forever as a soldier under Dunart. A title he, as his father once had, wore proudly, and would wear until the day he died.
Under the darkened eaves of the forestry, he quickened his pace through the familiar maze-like roots and walls the thickly packed trees created nearer the end. From farther to his right he could smell fires, as could always be seen in Pagona late into the night. For these people, he held no fear or hatred, surprising to many in his own clan.
He smiled, for he could hear the squealing laughter of a dear friend’s young daughter. After a moment more of walking he came into a small clearing where he could see the twilight drenched sky, mixing arrays of pinks with plum, orange, and a slight yellow that would fade fast. He only smiled and turned on his heel right, into the direction of the hypnotizing drum beats.
. It sounds like a great saga beginning to unfold, but I have to say I agree :
