The Herald of Bad Times To Come

I Signs of bad times ring The coming of the Elder days When old and new join together, rotting away. Is there anything left? All pray, hoping some good will stay As Earth glides into mordant clouds Perhaps forever, or just for a day. Either way... Come what may Even the Sun becomes It's own prey. So it continues to be written. ___*___ Handwritten Note, Date unknown Found by Balkin On the floor of Eagle’s Beak Cave II dig ___*___ ‘So it does,’ he thought, thinking of the old poem... ‘Continue to be written.’ The clearing suddenly became very quiet As the Antlered Man emerged from the deeper adjoining woods. Exuding great strength He silently, without fanfare Moved through the crowds of Elves, Fairies A few Giants, and an assortment of Midland peoples. Upon seeing him, all separated from him Each with their own kind As they had at first when finding the hanging object. It, silently swaying from the old oak’s main branch. ___*___ ‘Bartholomew, that was it,’ the Antlered Man thought Recalling the Wood’s ancient name ‘Bartholomew the Elder.’ What was it exactly he read…? So little, he only remembered that title Known by most people Except for tonight… When he thought better, using its secret true name One he already knew, on a more relative level. ‘Bartholomew, He Who Stuns into Silence.’ This he knew as it's true secret name Known only to a few historian scholars… and him. As he added more lore from his memory ‘More often than not… Living well up to that name, like... tonight?’ How much in this hanging was this old ancient Wooded wisdom responsible for? Bartholomew, a lone sentinel That for well over a century surviving... Now stood alone, the sole large living occupant of this wide field. This, of an expanded acreage, surrounded by woods That without the fine grasses And seasonal blooming of red flowers Held little other life calling it home. Except evidently for now, seeing those here celebrating? Or was that only one of relief. Or, as in the past, just by those passing by Both offering proper reverence Though assuredly never staying long. Not even the fairies were known to linger here now No matter the best of nights for Ring-singing When the fall, full Moon was in it's best Reflective, mystic calling glory. ‘No dancing then... And no revelry from them here this evening…’ he muttered As he glanced over at their group Fluttering at a safe distance Quiet, nervous, looking ready to bolt. He looked at the brightest, their yellow, twinkling leader. ‘Surely they are not part of this...’ he surmised. ‘Hmm,’ he also thought... ‘Was that leader holding the group together... Was she who he thought it was? If so, how did she fit into this? She, Yalu, one who was he knew Surprisingly very wise... And always seemed close to any meaningful actions… Like here'. ___*___ Automatically looking down, He could still sense the Earth-shock In dried bloods the deep soil held… Still waiting for a final absorption... ‘So much of it… rivers of it,’ he recalled. He felt his memory wakening to the long past events He had witnessed here. Actions which, though those times May have been thought so far distant... Still, sprang up vividly into clearer memory As if yanked by threads. ‘His threads?’ For he himself had been present back then. That feeling, strong, came on in a weird sensing. Threads of thoughts and deeds, indeed He felt each of the field’s occupants were now yanking on… The threads holding the object there swaying from the tree Where he had been hung. He walked up to the center group gathered The leaders who, upon seeing him Separated to offer him honored clearance... And in their respectful silence, remained quiet Waiting for him to first speak… no introductions needed. All knew who he was Acknowledging their awareness of his prowess Power of course, and standing in the group. ‘Well,’ he announced gruffly, looking up At the hanging body of one of the Ancient of Days... One he recognized now as an important acolyte One of, The Three Servant to the Most Ancient of Days. ‘Curious,’ he thought. ‘What was he doing so far South, here?’ He quickly shuffled that inner query aside For a later private discussion. “Who is going to explain this travesty…?” he said aloud Speaking in his most authoritative voice... One that allowed no preemptive discussion. After all, these were his woods, his to protect And, hold against all evils. He looked for a leader to supply the answer Nothing, it remained quiet. Until, from the back of the group Came a small diminutive voice. “I saw it all…” she said. (to be cont'd)