LAMENT OF THE HUNTED
FOREWORD BY AJAX OF CLAN HELIOS
Of all relationships between the Nine, no is more infamous and widely debated as that between the Warden and the Stag. With both gods being known for their passionate belief systems, it doesn’t take a long look into their history to understand why followers of these churches find themselves at odds so often. Though at a glance, the two would seem to be on the same side, a closer look reveals the details to be their fatal flaw. The Church of the Warden is heavy in its core tenants of justice, and many of the plays written about him and his journeys display this well; he’s a man who knows what he wants, what he believes, and how to get it, and he isn’t fond of those who try to stand in his way. And though the Stag is similar in this headstrong nature, he’s also much more attuned to his heart in his actions, a distinct antithesis to the Warden’s belief in objectivity in judgement. It’s these aspects of these deities and their relationship that makes A Boat Ride Down the River of Souls such a fascinating play: though most of the piece has been lost to time, just the first few pages provide an almost entirely new glimpse into both gods, even going as far as showing affection between the two—a fact that in itself has raised questions about the legitimacy of this play. So let’s take a moment to examine the source Elatan was a wood elf, born in the northern gardens of Wandergrove, about 1197 B.A. He was raised a follower of Nassëa—the original goddess of the Grand Courts—and even worked as an archivist for the then King Laucian, but he had a deep love for the nine, some twelve-hundred years before they would give the gift of magic to the
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CLAUDIUS BELEGAR realm and establish themselves as a major pantheon in the region. Though he’s most notable for having such a large collection of works centering controversial figures such as the Stag and the Sívëmetta, his plays Lendamar and The Tragedy of Kayin & Havel have become cultural staples among scholars, especially so among the Disciples. So why would such a well-respected archivist and writer—one to whom we literally owe the names of our moons to—have one of his works so greatly questioned that it’s been removed from the archives of both the Oberyan Empire and the Kingdom of Fotaren? There are several different reasons; whether or not they hold any weight is a matter of opinion, however. The first is the obvious fact of it being unfinished. A Boat Ride Down the River of Souls was Elatan’s last play, having died halfway through writing after being conscripted into the Oberyan War in 1065 B.A., having only been 132 at the time of his death. To make matters worse, the half he completed was essentially lost by the time his works were made part of the official canon in 532 B.A., meaning a good majority of his plays ended up being scattered across the region for nearly five centuries. To this day, scholars are unsure if they’ve located all his works; a certain sect of Disciples are dedicated to finding and archiving all his works—located in the Outer Limits, as they believe he may have sold many of his plays while travelling. The second aspect to this tale is that of the minotaur. Being a minotaur myself, I can say that within the clans of the Holy Mountains, there are few within us that don’t hold some form of respect for the Church of the Hunted. Me and my husband have been followers of the Stag since we came of age, and though my clan is primarily under the watch of Tavros, the knowledge of the Stag’s actions to save our people are widely known and appreciated. With this in mind: the Oberyan
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Empire and the Kingdom of Fotaren both believe that the Stag did not save the minotaur, and have listed their reasons for removing this play from the archives as false presentation, as there is no records from either nation recording a plague to the caliber of what was described in the play. Because I am writing the foreword of this play, and not anything requiring any sort of hard citation, I can safely say I do not agree with this ruling. The Disciples of both Wandergrove and the Outer Limits have shared and published records of a plague that spread among the Holy Mountains—and the Oberyan Empire—around 5000 B.A., which would coincide with the first eruption of Mount Vala, which is also mentioned in the play. However, because both nations don’t officially recognize the Disciple archives as part of the official canon, such records were not considered in the decision. Like I previously said—I do not agree with this judgement, it was decreed by the official Church of the Nine. The third—and personally, most fascinating reason—is the fashion in which the Warden and the Stag act within this play. This is a look at these gods at a very early stage in their reign over Tolis—it seems to be one of the first times the Stag and the Warden are actually speaking face to face. But let’s break that down: First is the Stag. In many of Elatan and Sailadel’s plays, he’s portrayed as something of a trickster god. He manipulates mortals, monsters, sometimes even his fellow members of the Nine, to achieve his goals. Though usually working for (somewhat) noble causes, it’s essentially a self-admitted fact that he is a very good liar and takes great joy in playing games with his prey. Which is what makes this play such a fascinating look into him, in my eyes; though it starts off with a quite traditional version of the Stag, pressing at the Warden with a typical,
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CLAUDIUS BELEGAR heavy handed charm, it doesn’t take long for the Warden to draw a line, revealing a much less traditional Stag beneath. Then comes the Warden, who, despite being portrayed fairly similarly to most of his lore, differs in one simply act: how he speaks to the Stag. In more recent depictions, he speaks to the Stag with a bitterness, almost a contempt for his presence. They rarely exchange more than a few words, and those they do share are normally less than friendly. To see them portrayed as being almost friendly towards each other is almost unheard of. And with the added layer of displays of affection and what some interpret as flirtation to the mix, it finds itself in the territory of fiction to many readers. In the end, however, with all this in mind—I still feel A Boat Ride Down the River of Souls is one of—if not the most important of Elatan’s plays, and a vital piece of canon regarding both the Stag and the Warden. We are presented with a look at the gods earlier in time than almost every playwright’s scope; one that goes so far back, two of the most infamous members of the Nine are hardly even acquaintances. Claudius Belegar’s translation provides an intimate look into one of the most infamous plays in our realm’s history and lays out one simple fact that it seems our people refuse to acknowledge: a string of fate connects the Warden and the Stag. Within every mention of these two gods, there is no other mention of such a connection outside of this excerpt. One can choose to believe this speaks to inaccuracy, but I believe this tells us something very different: since the very beginning—our paths have been connected. For what, however, seems to remain only in the pages lost to the sands of time.
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AN EXCERPT FROM ELATAN’S A BOAT RIDE DOWN THE RIVER OF SOULS
DRAMATIS PERSONAE STAG WARDEN
SCENE.—A boat traversing down the River of Souls. TIME.—Mythical.
ARGUMENT Long before the Awakening, the Nine still held their positions as soldiers among the higher powers. Though their own council, they answered to the gods before them; the First Pantheon. As time went on, the Nine proved themselves formidable heroes, while still holding a fondness towards the mortal realm. They gave gifts often; fire, language, the rain that fell before their crops, the second moon to light their nights. It soon became known of the kindness of the Nine as their number of worshippers began to sore. Those who reigned among the first Pantheon did not share such affections. Hiros, guardian of souls and keeper of the dead, released a plague unto the lands, one that wiped out the minotaur of the Holy Mountains, and began to spread across what is now known as Wandergrove. The Nine were enraged by this, and staged a revolt against the deity that ravaged the continent. After three decades of battle, the Warden and the Stag were able to dismember Hiros,
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CLAUDIUS BELEGAR scattering his body across the Piyit Ocean, finally destroying his heart in the volcanoes of the Forgotten Isles, causing a mighty eruption. But all was not well among the Nine; debates began over what to do with the souls of the minotaur killed by Hiros. Some, like the Warden and the Warrior, believed that they died natural deaths, and that their souls should be allowed to cross the Rive of Souls into the Realm of the Nine. Others, such as the Stag and the Shadow, believed their lives had been unfairly reaped from them, and that the minotaur should be returned to the Holy Mountains as a form of apology for the transgressions by the gods. A conclusion was never made, but a pressing issue soon arose: the River of Souls no longer had a guardian. In the end, it was decided that the Warden would become the new keeper of souls, having already been serving as the boatman for the river, deciding who should cross to the Realm of the Nine—and who should spend eternity drowning in its depths. Still unsatisfied with the needless slaughter of the minotaur, the Stag offered to ride down the River of Souls with the Warden and make his case for their lives.
[Enter Stag and Warden, at the edge of the River of Souls, Warden standing within his boat.]
STAG And so our journey begins, dear friend. Shall I begin with a song? A lament for the hunted, who dwell in the waters below us, judged ever so fairly by the late Hiros? Would a ballad suit their needs, so helplessly clawing against the darkness beneath our feet? Though I suppose such tragedies cannot be helped, nor can they be remedied by the likes of me. That is what we’ve learned, is it not? It is not a matter of justice
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WARDEN I am not your friend, nor will I be a willing participant in the theatrics you’d so enthusiastically weave to the rest of the Nine. Those below us hear nothing but the raging waters, feel nothing but the weight of their sins. Do not question Hiros so plainly for his beliefs when it seems you have none. You are correct only in the lack of power you hold on this boat; a silver tongue will only get you so far in a place where it cannot shine.
[The boat departs.]
STAG How silly of me to believe that one such as yourself would be able to comprehend such complexities as empathy. No, things are fairly simple, are they not? The good cross the river, the wicked suffer beneath your feet. All is well, so long as it is you who decides.
WARDEN Was it not I who commanded the Nine to victory against Hiros?
STAG I don’t recall; it seems I was occupied meddling in the affairs of mortals to prevent another genocide.
WARDEN Have you fallen back on dramatics so quickly?
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CLAUDIUS BELEGAR
STAG Life is dramatic sometimes, dear friend. Apathy is not importance.
WARDEN I am not your friend.
STAG Not even now? How long has it been since you shared a companion down this river, my humble ferryman? How long since you exchanged words instead of blows? I imagine some time; your etiquette is dreadful.
WARDEN I was not aware I should be concerned in how I present myself to one as low as you. Was it not you who proposed such a journey? Or have you given up hope for the souls of the minotaur?
STAG Do you think me beneath you?
WARDEN I do not think of you.
STAG You wound me; how shall I ever make my case with such a lack of hospitality?
WARDEN Do you wish to save the souls of the minotaur, or do you wish to play games?
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STAG I thought I was balancing the two quite effortlessly. Shall I choose one?
WARDEN So long as you wish the minotaur to live.
STAG Then I suppose I shall end my pleasantries here.
WARDEN If such foolishness could be called that.
STAG Compared to what truly wishes to escape my tongue, yes.
WARDEN Then I ask you give me your words without refrain. I do not wish to speak to a character. Sing your plight, little deer; you are not here to please me, and I am not here to read into your words.
STAG Very well. I present myself upon your river for the sake of the minotaur, whose very lives were reaped from them at the hands of meddling gods. I wish to speak for them and the kin that shall never come to be, and to rightly restore their place within the mountains.
The lives of mortals exist in tandem with our own; as much as those among us would like to believe that we are above them, they are vital to our existence. What is a god without worship? It is like a lover
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CLAUDIUS BELEGAR without love, a river with no water. A keeper of souls with no souls. Those who dwell among the mortal realm are reflections of us, who we were, who we are, and who we all become. Ashes to ashes.
WARDEN Dust to dust.
STAG And so the cycle continues. To pretend we are any more significant in the Star’s Eye than them is arrogant, and to say that they are to suffer for our sins is nothing less than unjust. I appeal to that in you which strives for upholding such justices and plead that you see it in your heart to restore the lives of the mighty minotaur, so that they should roar again.
WARDEN I will admit, I was beginning to believe that tales of your words were exaggerations; I see now they were true. You speak with a fire inside of you—one that burns with a passion for those who dwell among the living. I suppose it speaks to a more appealing vision of you than your visage would suggest.
But as noble as your words may be, I find them lined with the words of a romantic, not a god. Appeal to my emotions, my passions, and you’ll find yourself no better than the souls within the river, grasping at nothing. I care little for our place in the Star’s Eye, and little for what mortals represent. The minotaur you wish to reclaim from the River did not die of our actions, nor our war, but a plague that befell them at the hands of a god. Every soul in here has fallen at the hands of a god,
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LAMENT OF THE HUNTED whether it be by flood, fire, or the whispers of those of darker intentions than we. Why should the minotaur be the exception to such a fate?
STAG Flattery will get you everywhere, beloved. Though I will not deny my talents, it is vital I inform that there is no game I play here. Such tales represent a version of me that only exists because I allow it to. My visage, unsettling as you may find, is what dwells beneath silk hoods and silver plates. I present myself bare to you to as a gesture of my sincerity; my heart is yours to see, lest you think this another of my games.
To say the minotaur fell for as natural a reason as flood or fire would be to ignore the workings of the strings of fate. Those who fall to flame do so because their string has burnt to ash; those by flood have corroded by sea. Those slain are cut, those frozen are shattered. Though we set such events into motion, we only do what is decreed by such fates. The strings of the minotaur have not been severed, not burned, not shattered, not dampened. They run along the shores of this river, across the roof of this cavern, among the space between us. Perhaps such strings are not visible to you, but they remain as clear to me as the sorrow within your eyes, the anger within heart.
The minotaur did not die because fate decreed it; they fell at the hands of a vengeful god who played with the lives of mortals as though they were nothing more than pawns on a war table. Your respect for Hiros and his legacy is not unfounded, but memories do not speak to the man
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CLAUDIUS BELEGAR of the hour. You must pull your head from the waters of your own river, dear friend—all that lurks beneath are ghosts.
WARDEN You speak as though you know me, as though you are some form of melindo1 to me. I am not your friend; you are not my companion. We are two souls drifting along the river—if such strings extend to us, I can assure they do not intertwine. Though I see sincerity in how you have bared yourself to me, I still find you acting as though our words are the pawns on the war table you speak of. If this is the case, I can assure I am just as skilled a tactician as I am a soldier; you shall not catch my back.
There is a respect for Hiros that remains within me, that much is true. But if you believe my respect for him went deeper than his worth as a guardian, you have presented your neck, little deer. I do not defend his actions as a god, nor do I misunderstand the circumstances of which he released his plague. You stood by my side as we severed his head, it was you ‘round my waist as we cast his heart unto flame.
Perhaps the reason I protest is because I do not see the strings of fate so plainly as you do; these strings you speak of are nothing more than a concept to me. How can I consider what I cannot see? The evidence you have presented me requires me to take you at your word, and not even the sight of your bare figure could sway such trust in me.
1 melindo of the Qenya ‘mel-‘ (to love) ‘-ndo’ (masculine). The prefix ‘mel-‘ can be translated as both friendly or romantic; because the word can take multiple meanings depending on context, it has been presented in the original Qenya.
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STAG I find myself offended by the insinuation that I would be so dishonorable as to strike at your back. Though it is in my best interest to know when my opponent is vulnerable, I assure that should I wish to bite, I shall do it within your line of sight.
The way in which I see the strings of fate is a talent I alone possess; that much is true. But if that is what it shall take to prove the worth of the minotaur, then it is a talent I shall share. Should you like to see the world as I do, dear Warden? Such a task is not for the faint of heart; do be sure you’re quite capable ‘fore a decision is made.
WARDEN Do you jest, my prey? I am not weak of mind nor heart, and surely do not fear that which you so plainly see. The strings of fate, should they truly exist, are nothing more than a guide to me. I should like to see what they decree and understand the path I am on.
STAG Then you misunderstand the purpose of the strings; they are not a guide to how we shall live, nor are they binding. They represent our connection to others. Those we love, those we hate, those to which we owe our lives.
WARDEN How very curious.
STAG Would you like to know more?
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CLAUDIUS BELEGAR
WARDEN I suppose that depends on what you’d like to teach me.
STAG Very well. As I press my lips against your brow, let the strings of fate be known to thee; in all its beauty and its horror, may the ties that bind reveal themselves.
It is through these strings, dear Warden, that everything exists. Everything we shall do, everything we shall be lies within each strand. A line of black for a destined hatred; not contempt, nor dislike, but a pure form of hatred for one another. These are the strings that topple empires, wage wars, destroy men. Like strings of red, they wrap around the heart, though not in an embrace, but a painful grip. Hatred can tear at the heart just as love can mend it.
In strings of blue lie the truest of alliances; the unbreakable bonds between brothers in arms, siblings and scholars with minds alike. Wrapped around arms, they join us together, create a connection between us and our brethren, our kindred spirits.
WARDEN What of this golden string?
STAG Ah, a keen eye. Strings of gold represent a life debt unpaid; those tied by acts of heroism and valor. They wrap from the hero’s bicep to the innocent’s lungs, a reminder that the very air they breath is in the debt of someone else.
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WARDEN Should we not have such strings lining our arms, in that case?
STAG Hardly. These aren’t simply acts of vigilantism or goodness; they are direct actions against the strings of fate. They are the actions of people who choose to save individuals, who put the state of their own fate in jeopardy for the chance to save another. This act creates a bond that cannot be broken; not even by us. They are the strongest and most rare of bonds—I myself have only seen a handful.
WARDEN And the string that connects us?
STAG Grey.
WARDEN What fate is in store for us, then?
STAG A string of grey is a destiny even the fates have not determined, its subjects too unpredictable, their connection too unstable. These strings change colors when a fate has been decided—though it’s not unheard of for such strings to shift multiple times. And you’ll find the string that binds us connects us by—
WARDEN The heart.
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CLAUDIUS BELEGAR
STAG Curious, isn’t it? It seems red or black lie in our future.
WARDEN Curious indeed.
STAG I should inform that strings of grey are very uncommon; the presence of so many among the river are only a testament to what I’ve spoken before. These lines of fate have been tampered with my the hands of the gods; their strings are not unbroken, but still await a fate to be fulfilled.
WARDEN What shall happen if they stay like this?
STAG Eventually, their souls will be ripped apart by the tension. Neither realm will claim them; their fate will forever go unknown.
WARDEN I see. And you believe the minotaur are in store for such a fate should we not save them?
STAG I believe nothing; I have shown you the truth, in its many colors.
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WARDEN Well, I can’t much argue with my own vision, little deer. It seems I owe you an apology.
STAG I require none, only your word that the minotaur shall be returned to their rightful place in the mountains.
WARDEN I suppose I have no choice; you have shown me reason of which I cannot argue.
STAG Then I offer my thanks. Do not concern yourself with completing the journey to the Realm of the Nine; I find I’m not very fond of boat rides.
WARDEN And how do you presume we retrieve the souls of the minotaur without returning to the Realm off the Nine?
STAG Such measures aren’t necessary; I retrieved the souls many days ago.
WARDEN And how did you accomplish such a feat without a boat?
STAG I’ve found the souls of the punished are kind so long as one offers the right thing.
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CLAUDIUS BELEGAR
WARDEN And what would what be?
STAG Forgiveness.
WARDEN I see. If I may ask, why then, if you had already retrieved the souls, did you offer to accompany on this boat ride?
STAG I did not wish our string to turn black so quickly.
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