Whispers of Libila

[Leve Dara 11]

As the philosopher destroyer many words that are hers do drift across my weary mind. And while so many are unworthy those words I shall share with you all, that you might have a glimpse at her glory. Here I shall collect the whispers I hear, whispers I know come from her, never at peace.

---

~ Accumulation of Flesh ~

As silence.

She's a cold and drifting fog,

Settles upon the mind

And digs deep into the soul.

As fear.

Your eyes so wide and fretful,

Peers into the depths

And seeks solace in sight of the unknown.

As hate.

Her gaze yellow cruel,

Glaring fiercely in the wash of your lantern

You'd wish you were dead too if you knew the truth.

As servants.

We march on bloodied ground,

Heartless animals feasting on the fallen

Her will churning them through the earth to keep us strong and wicked.

As Libila's Summoned.

Enraged and yearning,

Convert or die.

Feed us in victory

or feed us in defeat.

[Looroll 0]

Nice but I noticed a mistake

Enraged and yearning,

Convert and die.

Feed us in victory

[Bael 1]

Nice but I noticed a mistake

Enraged and yearning,

Convert and die, then /gofemale.

Feed us in victory

Me too.

[Wossoo 1916]

It isn't a mistake at all. The true BL saying was Convert or Die...

The current BLers who changed it are just wannabe  >

[Guest Siege]

It isn't a mistake at all. The true BL saying was Convert or Die...

The current BLers who changed it are just wannabe  >

[Leve Dara 11]

And to the weak and faithless,

If you are not strong enough to take it for yourself

Then do not expect her to embrace you.

For if you are weak,

You are as nothing.

But if you are strong,

You shall have everything.

Do not fret for how pathetic you are

Be assured that you are more than they,

Who are unwilling to sacrifice themselves

For what they wish to have.

She does not expect the mortal mind to understand

Though know her judgment hovers above all

Waiting to cut down the unworthy

Like soft grain before the scythe.

This time is your test.

She hungers for the failures

As much as those that are true to her nature,

For they shall be as fodder and food

To the pure.

[wwiiol 0]

I enjoy reading your stuff, levedara.

[Guest Ephemeral]

Your meter is good - very good actually, and both pieces flow very well and read naturally.

However, there's a slight blargh in:

"As Libila's Summoned."

Sort of breaks the meter between the other opening phrases and this one. Something like "As the Summoned" would fit pretty well, but "Libila's" seems to bust rhythm to shreds - or at least for me.

Very good stuff all around though, you should definitely right more.

[Ghosted 0]

Good work Leve`Dara!

I enjoyed reading it!

[Lunn 235]

its convert and die. Nothing else nothing more. Very nice leve.

[Leve Dara 11]

~ .Scythe. ~

From the top down,  Swipe.

Cut, Their soft flesh.

Rip,  Their  weak hearts out.

Bleed, Their lives upon the ground.

Consume,

The flesh of the faithless.

Convert,

Those strong enough.

Kill,

Everything that stands in your way.

Curved, this is malicious

Malevolent, long and sharp

Scythe, this is her instrument

War, the dance she plays to.

Consume,

Souls of the fallen.

Convert,

The cruel and enraged.

Kill,

Whoever dares to bar your way.

[Emoo 4398]

Hmmm definitely some of the best work i've seen. Keep it coming 

[Leve Dara 11]

A simple story of the truth of the Gods.

I have been a simple man, I toil the land and harvest my crops and bend my knee to the gods that have given me this free life to live in these peaceful lands. How blessed am I under the watching eye, with Vynora's gifts I work easily the earth and raise my humble home. How blessed I am under the peaceful gaze, with Fo's warmth I tend my crops and grow the lush fruits in this quiet cove surrounded by tundra. How blessed am I under the protective arm, as Magranon has shown me the vision of sword and shield that I might keep back the creatures that stalk the cold plain.

I have found this place perfect, nestled softly in a cove that scars the coast of a great tundra where nothing grows. Here I saw a chance for something beautiful and strong. So I have toiled with their blessings to raise trees and find strong stone, to make a home out of nothing. Here I have known peace and I have prospered, in a quiet reverie that has lasted many a year.

Woe was I when under their blessing came circumstances that I had never dreamed of, for so remote was I that hostility had never crossed the meandering thoughts of my peaceful pondering.

Upon my return from daily endeavors, long have I struggled to find in my distant mine better ore that might grant me stronger tools, I find myself gazing upon an unwelcome sight. Two things are wrong with what I see before me, the first being a mangy man dressed in the tattered cloths of a poor life, with his thin frame casting a sickly shadow across the crime he has committed. There upon the ground my one hen dead, a testament to this man's evil ways, her feathers cast about in a grizzly display, while he stood unconcerned and chewing upon a raw slab of her flesh. Such wickedness! I wept in my heart at the loss and the terror of facing such a cruel being that would come to my home and take what was mine.

Daring to speak this wretch loosed his tongue. He ushered words of ignorance and disregard. No remorse had he for my loss, with a fickle sorry and an empty promise, maybe if he found another chicken he'd bring it back for me. He even dared to challenge me, if not a lock on my gate, am I not offering unto my neighbors the bounty of my earnings? Am I not willing to share with the needy? How I quaked in my boots at his offhand denunciations of guilt and bid that he go from my home to leave me in peace, and quickly into the shelter of my walls I fled to pray for help and guidance.

And to Vynora I raised my voice for surely she that held in her heart the will for a strong civilization of man would have an answer. I begged that I be given my revenge. Yet unto me she only said;

'Oh farmer of the land, maker of roads, how sad it is to see. You must be grateful to this man, for he has brought a gift of knowledge to you in this quiet place. I shall show you the lock that he has spoken of, and you may make one to protect those things that you would be grieved to share. Use what you learn well my child and you shall prosper.'

Shocked I was that my loss could be called a blessing in disguise. Resigned to a wounded fate I studied the idea in my mind that held the workings of the lock and went to sleep so that I might wake early in the morn to face the trek to the mine and create this device.

The morning held not the man, gone from my sight as I had bade him, and so wearily I made my way distant to the dark hole where many hours did pass before I again saw the light of day. Triumphant though troubled I emerged with lock in hand. Two I had made with some great effort, one for my home and one for my field, and a key tucked deep in my pocket. Imagine my shock when around the bend I came, betwixt the narrow clefts of the deep valley, there was he this man of spite and before him the trees I had struggled to raise in this barren waste. Trees upon the ground. Felled and dead before him. So livid was I that loudly I cursed in tones meant only for the most hated of enemies. Yet this man so deceitful merely gazed at me with an expression bored.

Woe the wicked, I denounced his right to live, I befouled his lineage and set cruel fate against him with my tongue. Yet he to me would only say that trees are of the land, that he could not know these trees are my own, for if they were my own would I not put them behind a fence? My knuckles white with the fury of my grip upon the locks I had made I stormed into my home and took my sword from under my bed.

To Magranon then did I raise my pleas for surely he so strong and just would see the righteousness of my need. Yet unto me he said;

'Oh warrior in the field, slayer of wolves and wicked beasts, how it pains me to see. What law has he broken for you to be so full of hate. You must know that your sword cannot be turned upon an innocent in my name. For surely to the land you are both equal, and while one my plant another may cut. Take from the earth with your pick-axe as I have bade you to do, and guard your land with walls and the locks of dearest Vynora. Turn aside your anger child, and learn from this, for your struggles will make you stronger.'

Weeping with hurt I cast my sword aside, clanging coldly against the bricks of my oven. Weak from being chided so I crawled into my bed and fell into a restless slumber dreaming of the peace I once had know and shivering from nightmares of malicious thieves scouring every inch of my sanctuary.

The next day was one of hard effort and every moment of it was plagued by the sounds of my nemesis tearing wood to pieces. From the nearby rock quarry I gathered much stone and I set it to the earth as I had been bidden to do. Being short a lock I connected the field directly to my house though it shamed me to lose the open freedom of my once much enjoyed back door, where previously I had spent many hours weaving cloth in the peaceful evenings. Though my task was completed late in the day time away from this plague was to my mind a wise excursion and so I set my legs in the long march to distant hills with my sickle on my belt and a longing for tall trees warmed in my heart.

Late was the hour of my return and nearly my death in the darkened terrain did I find. As my feet did follow a once familiar path I stumbled, tumbled, and rolled, staining myself with dirt and debris as I met the soft earth violently. When my agony had passed I crawled from the strange pit on my path and held my lantern high for a vision of what had become of the land that once I had loved. Scarred and ruined, dirt in piles, tundra ripped to shreds and gentle slopes turned to mad dives, I felt strangely hollow as I witnessed my life's work turned to rubble. Carefully I picked my way past strewn gravel and scrap piles while my eyes without a flinch bore down upon the back of my nightmare as he dug at the earth with his hateful shovel. Not a word did I say but to my domain I crept where I spread my collection of sprouts upon my bedside. Many damaged from my fall but still holding enough life to seed the earth I wondered if I should continue with this struggle.

Whispering with a weight of sorry I called out to Fo for surely the lover of life would recognize the tragedy of my story and grant me some reprieve. Yet unto me Fo said;

'Oh gardener, spreading seeds, life bringer, how it pains me to see. Do not fill your heart with wickedness, for in my eyes is not the Thorn also a plant that may grow free? Do I not tend all roots with my love? Truly some may open wounds yet all life is sacred and I will grant no ill will to your neighbor for surely he must live as well as you. Learn from this and do as my peers have told you.'

Empty I pushed the sprouts from my bedside and slept where I had knelt, the nights temperature seeping through the stone floor and working its way deep into my bones, making them feel as cold as my heart had become.

The pain of waking was a blossom of reality as every inch of me creaked in protest at the treatment the floor and given. A dull throb filled the back of my skull as each joint echoed its protests yet none of this compared to how downtrodden I felt in my soul. For every blessing I once thought granted upon me was stripped away and it seemed there was no hope in this place. As I went to my door it was then that I noticed through the window the fog. Wet and sickly, almost red, so thick I could hardly see. Stepping slowly from my abode I furtively glanced this way and that. Confused by such a dark spectacle I felt a sense of dread as I slowly edged towards the home of my usurper.

That sight was one that I have framed deep in the back of my mind never to be forgotten. Around her was a nimbus of light, dark yet bright, and upon her face was an inflection of timelessness unmatched by centuries of existence. Something inside of me instinctively shuddered as I dropped to my knees. Gazing upon what she held in her hands the awe I felt was like the weight of a collosus and I could not hope to keep my footing. The scythe was a frightening thing. So many times had I used such an instrument yet in her hand it was more than just a tool to reap the earth. In her hand it was a blade to sheer souls. The cold glitter of its blade was undiminished by the stain of blood along its midsection and the long, thin, trail of blood dripping down towards the ground seemed somehow appropriate. The head she held in her other hand was satisfying to my notion of justice, though my stomach quailed at the gore, dangling loosely below it as she held it in a light grip by the hair. His face looked terrified, as if every monster from hellish Jackal had presented themselves to him before his life was neatly severed away from his horrified body.

And I said to her, though I did not know her name, that I would be hers for all time. And she said to me;

I am Libila and I am true. I will not forsake you, reaper of the land, cutter of the trees, and killer of living things. I see how strong you are and I release you from your bonds. No more shall you suffer lessons at the hands of your brothers, but they shall learn from you. You will teach them the meaning of trespass, and none may trespass against you so freely again. You are my vassal, and I give you the right to kill. Leave their bodies to the earth and I shall never let you hunger, remember how they have hurt you and I shall always keep you warm.

Elated I rose from the ground and called to the sky, my cries echoing off the clouds, and filling the air with a promise of vengeance. I saw that she was gone then leaving where she had stood a darkened patch of ground. Upon it was his corpse cold, and the bloody scythe, yet no head could I find. As I took the meats of his dead flesh and lifted the scythe into my hands I felt a warmth seeping from the earth. Marveled I crouched to touch the earth and found it soft and alive, pulsing and rustling against the body. Draining it of all its vitality. And as I touched it, I could tell, that it was feeding me, feeding me with him.

When I set out that evening I felt no regret. I am certain I heard a whisper of worry leaking from the shattered altars of the three I had left behind. Scythe in hand I set out to teach a lesson in blood.

[Guest Redsyndicate]

Very, very, very nice Leve'Dara

I liked this line the most:

those things that you will be grieved to share

[Emoo 4398]

Wow....just wow....

This is an absolute masterpiece!

Not only is this a story this is a teaching, one which should be read by all!

[Guest Redsyndicate]

should be read by all!

I think this would definately confuse most people I know, none of whom even know what Wurm is. If you want it to be "read by all" then we should convert it into terms that most people would understand, like the Greek gods. But I completely agree with you, Leve' should probably publish some of her works.

[Emoo 4398]

Well i did mean "Read by all" in the sense that everyone who plays Wurm should read it but yeah now that i think about it given the right spin this could be turned onto a good story of Morals for "everyone" (this time i do mean everyone) to relate too.

[Guest Redsyndicate]

Well, if I were given permission by Leve'Dara to do so then I could do just that, convert it into a regular story for everyone. Then Leve' could just go and publish it somewhere. Its just a thought, but it could happen.

[Guest Zeno]

Well done Levex, the first parts were not really my style but the story was well written.

[drunkenrabbit 0]

>=)

[MadWallaby 1]

An excellent piece of necromancy.  I had not read this before.

[Guest Redsyndicate]

Whatever happened to Leve` Dara? 

[Leve Dara 11]

I was on vacation in Florida for about 3 1/2 months with a laptop that didn't like Wurm very much. However I am returned. More works to come once they settle in mind.

[Leve Dara 11]

~ . On the Forward March  . ~

   ~ . Shadows Recollection . ~

             ~~~~~~~

The land spreads far and wide,

Ripped and torn by the mark of man,

The mark of death.

The roads spiral across the expanse,

Scars left behind and forgotten,

A minor expense.

The people stand upon the shores,

Worn and weary yet wanting more,

True to hunger.

And in the ruins ravens peck,

While jackals seek no rest amid bones left scattered,

My children feast.

So the people sail on,

To the south they seek riches not yet discovered,

Wishing for what is left behind.

Never good enough, they find,

And in my arms the rotting wastes,

We Wait. We Grow. We Remember.

So to the abandoned in wretched verse,

To the scorned I wail and pose,

Come to me.

That I shall take you home,

Land not new but old and bathed in blood,

Where remains feed the living,

Feed them from the dead.

[Mypoppy 57]

Amazing work, especially the story of the poor farmer.. Almost makes me want to go BL Almost..