Extended Scribble

They, a wise people, living in harmony with their world. She, a stranger from the worlds beyond the stars, arrived mysteriously.

 The air is warm, the orchards full of fruit, and the sky clear of clouds. These are unusually pretty circumstances for the stormy season, but they weren't about to waste time wondering about it when there was a picnic to be had! Mother and sister prepare baskets of food, brothers ready the horses, and Father ties up the dogs so they would not follow and get tangled up in their fun. 

As they ride, Father insists that despite the celebration, the full share of work for the day must be done. Mother and brothers protest, but sister only grins and sets her horse to a gallop, that she may arrive quickly and get a good start on the fruit picking. Brothers follow and then surpass her shorty after, having laid their claims on the strongest and swiftest horses, and Mother and Father merely shake their heads at their children's antics.   

After this foolery, they all end up arriving at their favourite gathering spot at about the same time... and find a strange figure. A lady with long, braided hair lay on the ground in the center of the clearing, curled up in a fetal position with her back facing to them...

Being kind, they took her in.... and she shook their world.

Their attitude is one of calm, of peace and simple pleasures, of taking their surroundings as they saw them. Hers is one of action, firey passion that threatens to destroy their culture. From this description she sounds like a dreadful invader, but she is necessary: their culture had stagnated, they had little creativity or curiosity or wonder. They are an old race, with memories as far back as their ancestors had ever lived, and needed a rebirth to keep from rotting a silent death.

She sits at the base of a beautiful statue, in the center of the town square. A band of playful children see her- they shied from her, then the boldest of them came to talk to her, abandoning her boring friends. "Stranger, where did you come from?"

"Truly, I could not say"

"Silly lady! How can you now know where you came from?"

"Oh, I know where I come from- but I don't know where here is, so I couldn't describe to you where my home was in relation to this place"

"Huh..." The child didn't have anything else to ask her right then, but on a regular basis she made it a point to pester her with questions, since the answer always made her think.

She taught them art and inventions and science, taught them to always ask questions, always seek new perceptions, and never take anything for granted.

"Fly!" At this command, a rain of flaming arrows came to the invading army. Their shields fend off the arrows with as little consequence as helicopter seeds flying from their parent trees, but again and again, the arrows fly... they were too afraid of the invader's weapons to climb down from their protective walls and face battle, and so they waste the only weapon they felt able to use. The invaders fashion huge machines to break down the walls, whilst they can only watch and tremble with fear... so now it falls to her to protect her new people. She disappears, hides herself in a remote corner that none should think to find her in, and loosens herself into a trance. She dives deep into the depths of herself, until she escapes through the other side of herself, and her spirit flies outside her body. 

She keeps herself inside this mortal realm, close to her body, and forces herself to follow the "sound" of fear and lust and righteous fevor, all the mental voices of this drama howling into the aether. As she knew she would, she feels no darkness in the invaders, nothing she could use to distinguish them from her people, so she must use the spells she laid in the defensive walls as a guide. She knows the invaders will not be dissuaded by anything less than a complete miracle and astounding drama to acompany it, and she does not wish to inflict death, so. She stretches her arm out to the sky, clasps hands with the sun, letting the sun's rays flow down her arm and burn through the cloud cover- but only over her city. For the northern front being assailed, she screams to the sky a summons for a strong wind to blow them away; at first it is a steady gale, but when they get used to it, she invites the wind to twist about, claim their wooden shields for its own and drive their weapons toward their vulnurable skin. She is using much of her power to feed the sky's assault, but she simply skims the energy off all the emotion all these people are emitting, feeding the chaos to the storm. Lastly, for those sensitive enough to see it, she spins wisps of energy into more formidable constructs, weaving elements of protection and fright and avoidance into them, letting them take the images their birth energies would have them take; the better to affect all the invaders she could reach with them. Apparently the invaders all have some sensitivity, for they all ran away in a great fright, and never bothered them again. One set of aggressors down, a dozen more to come, she knew.... but not today, and that is enough for now.

A few wars result, internal and external, but with her help they prevail and do well for themselves. She was the ray of sunlight they needed to wake them from their stupor, and now all is well... if it weren't for the external threat too great for her adopted people.

The warrior, young in body but old in soul, stares out the balcony. The festive flags dance in the wind, but somehow doesn't seem to touch her: her braided hair remains at her back, her lose robes move not an inch. She bows her head, offering a prayer... and the people she lives among would be shocked to find whom she offered that prayer to.  

The youth races up the stairs, and collapses at her feet. After taking his breath back, he exclaims "Blessed one, do not do this! You shall surely die!"

Not bothering to look back at him, she instead addresses her words to the sky. "Indeed, that is the plan..."

"We still need you!" the anguished boy cries, the perceived betrayal stabbing his heart. Overwhelmed with loss, he dives off the balcony, intending to die on the sharp rocks far below. His plan is foiled, for a great gust lifts him back up and deposits him on the balcony near the stairwell, away from the warrior. Her voice full of reproach, she replies calmly "Your people shall find another one to worship, and I grow weary, more than you can ever know. Even the gods deserve death. Now, leave me".

They have no name for it; she knows plenty. It is great in power and desires only destruction and ruin, and she is their only hope of their survival. All are saddened, for they also see her death in their defense; but they knew she was needed, and so she fought, and died, and bought these people another milennia of peace and growth.

And only the youth that befriended her, in the first century of her stay, ever realized that she never let anyone get to know her...