"An isolophile's collection of Fantasies & Phantasms contains tales of hypnotic whispers of twinkling dreams, fluttering to creation in mind's unknown crevices as manifestation of creatures in God's mind, dreamt while cradled in the arms of sleepy i...
Entry for 'Contests & Challenges' "Contest #16 : No Consequences" hosted by crime
Prompt (Maximum 2000 Words) :
"What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence. The question is what can you make people believe you have done." ~ Sherlock Holmes
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It is thought to be the reality that becomes our perception, but often, it is our perception that becomes our reality; and there the objectivity of truth becomes subjective, until it is that subjectivity which begins to be accepted as objective.
But Ayrash was not a spirit who preferred either the idle futility of unpursued dreams, or the humble grandiosity of philosophy; that was until it struck him with an ingenuity unthought of by the Eirians.
The piercing depths of his eyes flickered around and far across, surveying the familiar yet treacherous surrounding, while in the distance the sea flowed and ebbed, sweeping to kiss the glimmering shore of the Isle of ShadowVille.
"Will the Eirians believe it?"
Ayrash straightened his back, as he stood upon the boulder, his lithe form appearing each bit an unholy predator with a sole of his boot resting on the raised edge, and a long finger tracing the scar on his chin.
"In spite of all their wits, even the Ciardans will." He smirked, glimpsing over his shoulder at the spirits arisen and devoted to his cause, as they gathered in numbers far greater than the Eirians.
Shrouded by the shadows of the trees weaving into a thick canopy above their heads, he returned his gaze towards the shining dome of the Altar of the Goddess Ierósia, and the patrolling white specks who were Eirians, assembled and assigned to protect the Altar from him and his ruination.
He grinned at the sight; the fear and trepidation he could invoke in the stoutest hearts, and wondered if infiltrating the Altar in seek of his desire would be as joylessly easy as nearly each battle with them.
For the Empires, Eirian and Ciarda, despite their likeness of an incorporeal physicality, were as dissimilar as sol and lune, birth and death, and as creation and destruction. In spite of the Goddess' creation of the day for Eirians and the night for Ciardans, their war for dominance over the Ierós' five kingdoms remained ever unceasing and timeless.
But with their near constant conflict, boredom creeped in and settled. At times Ayrash desired for Eirians to display some spice; he even went so far as to imagine teaching them some trickery for the sake of a satisfying game.
Ayrash swiftly leapt off the boulder, sweeping a fleeting glance over the spirits, as he summoned the surrounding shadows which rolled to him in thick waves, spiralling up to lick the tips of his fingers. It nestled in the palms of his hands, coalescing to firmness and the strength of a metallic hilt, lengthening further to a tapering blade of a sword as black as the infinity's breath.
